**FAMILY HISTORY OF**

**William Kester Wilson**

**and**

**Edith Virginia Gallien Wilson**

**through**

**anecdotes and recollections**

**by**

**William Kester Wilson**

**and others**

**Edited and compiled by William Kendall Wilson**

**August 1994**

** William Kester Wilson 1994**

**All Rights Reserved**

**Regular Edition**

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Without the initiative, encouragement, persuasiveness, and support of my
son

**WILLIAM KENDALL WILSON**

this document, for whatever it is worth, would never have been written.
Until my demise, it would have been a task in the planning stage that I
was going to start next year after I had completed some tasks that were
more timely. Bill did 100% of the planning and 95% of the work.

William Kester Wilson

notes

Arden and Mittie Wilson built their house from \$2000 life insurance
from Mittie\'s first husband; house probably cost \$3000 (WKW thinks
they made it too big and lonely; during winter mostly in kitchen, heated
living room only for guests)\--note house built 3 yrs after Kester was
born; Arden considered having kids a big responsibility\--thus had only
two; this matter came up when a neighbor discussed with Arden adopting a
child; when Arden was visiting Kester once, he picked up some history
books; one by Toynbee was pretty good he thought, but another one
(forgotten) he thought was too deep; so, despite his lack of schooling,
he was quite intelligent.

> PREFACE

This family history is put together for several reasons. First, I want
to do it. Second, when one is gone, his memory is gone, and his family
does not have access any more to what is in his memory. If one does
this, he must do it while his mind is still fairly active. For years, I
intended to get a lot of family history from Dad. One time when he was
about 87 and already had had a stroke, I suddenly became aware that his
mind had deteriorated to a place that no family history would be
forthcoming. Third, everyone likes to think that he will be immortal.
After one passes to whatever reward, if any, that is coming to him, he
is quickly forgotten. Of course, I remember my father and mother and
brother Kermit, but very few other people will remember them. A few of
my cousins, the youngest of whom is about 60, remember Mother, Dad, but
not Kermit. In twenty years they will likely be gone, and no one will
remember them. Therefore, whatever memory remains must be written down.
Fourth, I hope that my descendants will have some appreciation for how
things were and especially the personalities of their ancestors. Some
little understanding of their ancestors may help them understand
themselves. I have no illusions about my family. Although I think both
my family and Edith's family are many cuts above the average, they
definitely are not in the great category. However, one's family history
can be interesting even though it is not about great people.

I have included some documents that neither Edith nor I authored. One is
a description of the descendants of Joshua and Sara Woofter Adams,
prepared by an oil company in Buckhannon. They wanted to drill on the
property, and the lease was divided into about 500 shares. They tracked
almost all of them down, and, as I was of great assistance to them, they
sent me a copy.

Another document that is included is a description of Amy Smith's
wedding and her wedding trip. The wedding occurred about 1930 and she
dictated a chronology of the wedding and their wedding trip in September
1987. This is a masterpiece in itself.

I have tried to be as complete as possible in the more mundane aspects
of the family history. Whenever possible, I have given the dates of
birth and death and the names of children and spouses even if I know
nothing more about them. Each generation is given a number consistent
with the numbering in Barr Wilson's book *Descendants of John Wilson,
1756-1827*. This number appears in roman numerals after each person's
name. My generation number is XXI. Okey and Alma Gallien and Arden and
Mittie Wilson are in generation number XX.

The family history is organized into five families. The first two are
the families of my paternal and maternal grandfathers, the Wilsons and
the Adams. The third is the family of my paternal grandmother, Mary Jane
Nay. The fourth and fifth are the families of Edith's maternal and
paternal grandfathers, the Gamsjagers and the Galliens.

William Kester Wilson McLean, Virginia

This family history is based largely on the recollections of my father,
William Kester Wilson. This work gives a rather exhaustive coverage of
the people and times from about 1890 to 1990. Other documents, most
notably Barr Wilson's History have been used to fill in gaps. Although
Barr Wilson has been careful to point out inconsistencies, most
documents and testimonials rou­tinely contain errors of fact. People
giving information about long-dead family members often confuse names
and dates; court clerks and census-takers misspell names and write down
incorrect information. I have tried to write a readable summary of the
early history of our family. Because of my lack of primary source
material, I have not attempted to thoroughly document my sources. I
leave this for others with the dedication and energy to write a
scholarly family history. Also left to others is the challenge of
compiling a lively family history of the current generations (e.g. XXI
and following).

As with any major undertaking, there are still many gaps in the history,
and numerous minor errors have undoubtedly crept into the work. Some of
the work involves the traditional historian's task of sifting through
piles of docu­ments, extracting the relevant information, and weighing
the evidence for con­flicting facts and impossible events. Such confusion
is often caused by illegible handwriting, people of the same age having
the same name, or simple clerical mistakes. The information is gathered
by perusing records at National Archives, genealogical libraries,
courthouses in West Virginia, and churches in Bad Goisern and Obertraun,
Austria. Other possible pursuits include locating graves, exchanging
information with other family historians, and talking with old timers in
West Virginia. Gathering additional information and correcting errors
would be an interesting hobby for anyone with an interest in history and
a scholarly dedication to the pursuit of truth.

The accuracy of names and dates of birth, marriage, and death is of
minor interest to me. Spelling of names in our sources is by no means
standardized; in most cases I have settled on a single spelling (e.g.
Gallien, not Gallion or Galion; Minear, not Manear or Maneer; Matthias,
not Mathias). Most of my in­formation is from secondary sources that are
prone to errors. According to my scientific training, I have been
careful to copy this information accurately, but I have not attempted to
resolve or call attention to minor discrepancies between sources.
Therefore, this history should not be regarded as a highly reliable
source of exact names and dates. I hope the truthfulness of what lies
between the lines meets a higher standard than the material presented as
fact.

It is difficult to tell interesting stories about our family without
offending some people. As in any family, we have liars, swindlers,
murderers, and idiots. Some of these were black sheep, and others were
outstanding members of their community. Because this History may fall
into the hands of some relatives who would understandably be offended,
we have removed some of the stories that could be libelous. The
unbowdlerized stories might also be harmful to these people and their
descendants, who have no way to defend themselves against possible
innuendo. I hope this History is more interesting reading than a
tele­phone-book listing of names and dates, but not so provocative as to
incite any­one to drag us into court.

Because the manuscript is composed on a word processor (Microsoft Word,
Macintosh version 5.0), it can be updated with ease at any time and
printed as a new edition. Page layout is still a chore, because updates
usually require repositioning of picture placeholders and manual
rekerning. Two files are on disk, one with text only and the other with
kerning and picture placeholders. Photographs have been scanned at 600
dpi on an Epson ES-1200C scanner and saved on 230 Mb magneto-optical
disks. For printing, the photographs were converted to 300 dpi in
Photoshop, transferred to Word with encapsulated Postscript, and printed
on a LaserWriter Pro 630 at 300 dpi with the Photograde and FinePrint
options turned on. Because each 300-dpi photograph contributes about 1
megabyte to the Word file size and dramatically slows the program down,
text files with the photographs were not saved.

in Photoshop select picture (command-A) and copy with command-option-C

paste into word-xxx

In addition to typing and editing this manuscript, I have written a
back­ground of the geographical and economic setting. I have also
excerpted mate­rial from several sources, sometimes without permission or
thorough acknowl­edgment. The written sources are listed in the Appendix.
As a defense against litigious folks who are inclined to harass those
with a creative or entrepre­neurial bent, our family history must not be
seen as a commercial scholarly work and should not be sold at profit or
be distributed beyond our family.

I am especially indebted to Barr Wilson's History for information on
early ancestors my father never knew or even heard about. This material
deals with many subjects we usually associate with remote history, such
as skirmishes with Indians, holding of slaves, fighting the British in
the Revolutionary War, and voting to approve the Constitution. Showing
our family's connection to these events helps us feel a connection with
early American history. In some branches of the family, we also see the
influence of European history, such as the Scottish rebellion of 1715 in
protest of the overthrow of the Stuarts.

With the exception Alma Gamsjager Gallien's ancestors, all of whom came
from the Hallstätter See region of Austria, the vast majority of our
ancestors came to America from the British Isles before the
Revolutionary War. These ancestors came to Virginia either directly or
via the middle Atlantic states (Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey). In
contrast to the aristocratic plantation owners in eastern Virginia and
Maryland, our ancestors were the peasant farm­ers who eked out a living
in the mountains along the western frontier. Many of these ancestors,
who were accustomed to fighting the Indians, also fought against the
British in the Revolutionary War. Despite their pugnacity, our an­cestors
were largely spared from fighting in subsequent wars, perhaps because
their energies had become directed more productively into farming.

Lest we take too much pride in this early family history, we must
remem­ber that only the most prominent ancestors will have left any
imprint lasting more than a century. The vast majority faded into
oblivion a generation or two after their death. Furthermore, our genetic
and behavioral inheritance from any single early ancestor is minuscule.
For example, John Wilson, a prominent local politician who voted in
favor of Virginia adopting the United States Constitution, contributes
only 1/64th (less than 2%) to my genetic make-up and probably much less
to the cumulative behavioral patterns of the family. David Davis Wilson,
who died in 1646 and was our most recent Wilson ancestor to have lived
his entire life in Scotland, represents only a 0.2% genetic
contribu­tion; I have about 500 other ancestors in his generation.
Assuming 30 years between generations and no inbreeding even at the
level of twentieth cousins, I would have over four million ancestors of
the generation living around the Twelfth Century. One might conclude
that by going back several centuries, most everyone of European descent
is related. Of course, the estimate of four million ancestors is too
high because there is extensive duplication of ancestors from
"inbreeding," which was common among the close-knit, isolated clans of
Scots-Irish, who often married a second or even first cousin. Also, as a
result of differences in class, culture, religion, and geography,
certain population pools did not interbreed during long periods of
history. It is unlikely, for ex­ample, that going back 1000 years we
would have any ancestors in common with people in Greece or Spain.
Nevertheless, one gets the sense that the further back in time one goes,
the more related we all are. Therefore, it seems futile to try to
understand ourselves as individuals based on the character and actions
of our early ancestors, although these early figures may well give us
insight into our culture as a whole.

William Kendall Wilson Houston, Texas

TABLE OF CONTENTS

**Background**

Geography of Doddridge and Ritchie Counties 1

Life in Doddridge and Ritchie Counties Before 1950 5

**Wilson family**

Early Wilson history 27

William Wilson 28

John Wilson 34

Archibald J. Wilson 42

John Marshall Wilson 45

William Martin Wilson 53

Stella Rebecca Wilson 56

Loe Roy Wilson 61

Otis Guy Wilson 62

Arden Wilson 64

Hervie Kermit Wilson 72

William Kester Wilson 75

**Adams family**

Joshua Adams 108

Sarah Elizabeth Woofter Adams 110

Children of Joshua and Sarah Elizabeth Woofter Adams 111

Mittie Adams Pritchard Wilson 120

**Nay family**

Daniel and Elizabeth Hayhurst Nay 123

Mary Jane Nay Wilson 124

Joseph Oliver Nay 126

Joseph Otis (Cooster) Nay 128

**Gamsjager family**

Matthias Gamsjager 131

John Gamsjager (Sr.) 132

Henry Gamsjager 134

Charles Gamsjager 136

John Gamsjager (Jr.) 137

Frank Gamsjager 138

Ida Gamsjager 138

Alma Gamsjager 142

History Recounted by Alma Gamsjager Gallien in 1982 145

**Gallien family**

Samuel Gallien 151

James Gallien 151

William Thomas Gallien 152

Virginia Catherine Meek (Grandma Nolan) 153

Delphia Gallien 155

Okey Forrest Gallien 157

Memories of Growing up (by Edith Gallien Wilson) 159

**Appendix**

Farms Neighboring Arden and Mittie Wilson 166

Farms Neighboring Okey and Alma Gallien 170

Finding the Gamsjager Ancestral Home (by Edith Gallien Wilson) 174

Amy Smith's Wedding and Honeymoon 177

Excerpts from Barr Wilson's History 183

Joshua Adam's Store 206

Family Medical History 210

Family Cemeteries 214

Sources of Information on the Gallien and Wilson Families 218

Family Trees and Lists of Descendants 222

**Index and List of Figures**

Index 223

List of Figures 229

**BACKGROUND**

**Physical and Economic Geography of Doddridge and Ritchie Counties**

Doddridge and Ritchie Counties are located in the north-central part of
West Virginia. As in Ohio and the northeastern seaboard, summers are hot
and humid, and winters are cold enough to freeze the ground to a depth
of about 18 inches. The last frost comes about May 1, and the first
frost in fall hits roughly October 1. Many snowfalls of several inches
occur in winter, but the snow usually melts within a week. Rainfall is
plentiful and evenly distributed throughout the year. Precipitation
totals about 3.5 inches per month (roughly 40 inches per year). Heavy
dew keeps the grass wet until mid-morning. Sunshine is often interrupted
by as much as a week of rainy or overcast weather. Because of the
abundant precipitation and favorable soil conditions, there are many
natural springs, even high on the sides of hills.

The terrain consists of long narrow valleys known as hollows (pronounced
"hollers") and long narrow ridges. The valleys are mostly less than 1000
feet

above sea level, and the ridges are seldom more than 300 feet above the
hollows. Geologi-cally, this area is classified as an eroded plateau.
Land flat enough to be safely nego­tiated by a tractor or mowing ma­chine
is highly prized. The flat bottom land, typi­cally 100 yards wide, is
valued for farming. In order to maximize the tillable acreage, the roads
wind along the hillside or on the hill above the creek, which usually
follows (or is made to follow) one side of the hollow. Flat parcels of
land up to 100 yards wide are often found on rounded hilltops. The other
2/3 of the land consists of steep hillsides, which were often cleared
and used for pasture.![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in"
height="6.0in"}

The hillsides can be used for pasture only if the \"filth\" (bushes and
small trees) is cut once a year. The filth that cows don't eat includes
ironweed, this­tles, blackberry vines, wild rose, and small trees and
bushes. On the hillsides too steep for tractors and brushhogs, cutting
filth is a labor-intensive job, once done with a scythe and now usually
done with a gasoline-powered weed eater. During the past fifty years,
the cost of farm labor has risen enormously relative to the value of
farm products. Consequently, it has not been possible to prof­itably
maintain hillside pastures, and most are now "grown up." However, the
economics of cattle production might be tipped back in favor of the
small farmer by the combination of cheap oil, availability of
weed-eaters and brush­hogs, a large unskilled underclass, and the world's
unabated appetite for meat.

Most roads and houses are located in the hollows close to the fertile
bottom lands. Here, wells are easily dug, and the hills afford
protection from the cold winter winds. Only today does one appreciate
the good views of the rugged landscape and abundant sunshine offered by
a house on the ridge. Locating a house on a ridge had no practical
benefit to the early farmers except for protec­tion from the flooding
that plagues the hollows. During floods, water can rise very quickly,
washing away entire houses and their occupants. The deadly flood of 1950
washed out scores of bridges, large and small, in the vicinity of West
Union and Smithburg. Many houses near a creek were washed away or filled
with water up to the attic or second story. Although the Gallien house
is in a hollow, Rush Fork was out of the path of the heaviest rains. The
Wilson house was built on a ridge, perhaps because the available hollow
was too small and isolated and because the ridge location afforded many
acres of relatively flat land as well as access to the good road along
the Pullman Ridge.

The soil is a mixture of red, white, and yellow clay and limestone and
is suitable for growing grains and grasses. However, except for some
bottom land, the soil is quite rocky. Moreover, only a small portion of
the land is flat enough to use for meadows and fields, which may be a
considerable distance from the farmhouse. Often land was used for
meadows certain years and for corn in others. Field corn, the principal
crop, was ground into meal for corn bread and was also fed to chickens
and other animals in winter. Many farmers also had several apple, peach,
and cherry trees. Grapes, blackberries, raspber­ries, huckleberries, and
gooseberries were also cultivated. The Wilson farm had a large berry
patch and various fruit trees. The Gamsjager farm had gooseberries, and
the Gallien farm had an apple orchard and many other fruit trees. All
that appears to be left are a few Concord grape vines on the barns and a
couple of apple trees on the hills.

The natural vegetative covering is a hardwood forest. If the filth is
not cut, pasture land will revert to forest within a few decades. First
softwoods such as the poplar (tulip) tree dominate. These are later
supplanted by oak and hickory, with a sprinkling of walnut, beech, elm,
ash, butternut, and conifers. Many large stands of pine trees were
planted from seedlings given away by county agents. The once common
American Chestnut is completely gone. So are many of the large wild
animals once native to the area: bison, black bear, wildcat, timber
wolf, panther, and elk. Most of the smaller animals, such as raccoon,
mink, woodchuck, opossum, fox, skunk, squirrels, rabbits, and deer, have
sur­vived the intrusion of development.

With the decline in farming in recent years, property is valued largely
for its trees and minerals. Some hardwoods, especially walnut, are
valuable and are selectively harvested for lumber. Because the
economically undesirable trees, such as hickory, are left standing in
this harvesting process, these trees are be­ginning to dominate the
hardwood forest.

The climactic hardwood forest is quite free of underbrush and does not
support a large deer population. However, deer abound on grown-up
pasture land. Such cleared land grows up into an inhospitable underbrush
of blackber­ries, poison ivy, wild rose, and various bushes. The wild
rose, which was in­troduced in the 1930s by U.S.D.A. County Agents as a
useful hedge for fencing livestock, has proliferated and become a
serious nuisance because it is foraged by animals only as a last resort
and is not easily brushhogged. Now, however, wild rose can be controlled
by introduction of a fungus that selectively attacks it.

Doddridge and Ritchie Counties are located on the Allegheny Plateau. In
such an eroded plateau, the topography is defined exclusively by water
drainage patterns. Not surprisingly, streams and watersheds played an
important role in the settlement of northern West Virginia. Many
boundaries, such as county lines, run along watershed divides.

The headwaters of *Rush Run* are near the boundary of three large
water­sheds. Water on Rush Run drains into *Cove Creek*, which flows
south and ulti­mately drains into the Little Kanawha River. The Cove
District of Doddridge Co. contains St. Clara, Rush Run (Rush Fork), and
other areas (mostly) in the Cove Creek watershed. Buck Run and *Little
Buck Run* (Gamsjager/Wysong homestead) drain the St. Clara community and
flow into Sand Fork, which also drains into the Little Kanawha River.

Water in Grove flows into *Middle Fork*, which flows through Summers
(site of the Adams homesteads) and joins the South Fork of the Hughes
River near Berea. Curiously, Middle Fork is south of the South Fork of
the Hughes River, which begins near Porto Rico and flows through Oxford.
Another tribu­tary is Bone Creek, which flows through Auburn (originally
called Bone Creek when it was settled ca. 1830) and flows into the South
Fork of the Hughes River near Berea. The South Fork of the Hughes River
flows west through Smithville, joining the North Fork at Cisco. The
*Hughes River* flows into the Little Kanawha River, which meets the Ohio
at Parkersburg.

Land a couple miles north of St. Clara is drained by Tom's Creek
(running along Route 18), which flows into *Meathouse Fork* near New
Milton. William Thomas Gallien lived along Meathouse Fork near Avon. His
wife, Virginia Catherine Meek, was raised across the hill in the
watershed of *Buckeye Creek*, which flows through Miletus and Nina.
Buckeye Creek and Buckeye Run, which flows west from Salem along Route
50, join near Sherwood and, together with Meathouse Fork, become Middle
Island Creek at Smithburg. In early lit­erature, any large stream near
West Union might be referred to as Middle Island Creek. Now Middle
Island Creek refers only to the stretch between Smithburg and
Sistersville. Middle Island Creek has been called the "longest creek in
the world." Before the Ice Age, it may have drained into an ancient
river that joined the St. Lawrence.

Ritchie County and the Wilson family is more connected with the
watershed of the North Fork of the Hughes River. Beason refers to the
*Beason Creek* wa­tershed, which extends for a few miles along Route 74
about midway between Pennsboro and Pullman. Beason Creek flows northward
and meets the North Fork of the Hughes River near the home of John
Marshall Wilson. Some other nearby tributaries of the North Fork of the
Hughes River: *Lynncamp Run* (parallel to Beason Creek, the next stream
to the east), *Buzzards Run* (tributary of Lynncamp, beginning near the
headwaters of Beason Creek), *Bunnell Run* (flows southward from the
outskirts of Pennsboro to the North Fork of the Hughes River. *Bond's
Creek* flows southward from Highland through Pike and west of
Harrisville to meet the North Fork of the Hughes River at Cornwallis
(North Bend State Park). The North Forks of the Hughes River flows west,
skirting Harrisville and bisecting North Bend State Park and Cairo
before meeting the South Fork at Cisco.

The *Pullman Ridge* (where Arden; and Mittie Wilson lived) lies between
Harrisville and Pullman and is flanked by watersheds of *Rockcamp (Run)*
on the north and *Indian Creek* on the south. Rockcamp Run, a small
stream, flows into the North Fork of the Hughes River just northeast of
Harrisville. Indian Creek, which begins in the Nay homestead, becomes
quite large before flowing into the South Fork of the Hughes River at
Beatrice. Arden Wilson's farm was entirely in the Indian Creek
Watershed, whereas rain falling immediately to the north of his farm
took an entirely different path over most of its journey to the Ohio
River. The early Wilson's set­tled along the upper reaches of the *Tygart
River*. Brushy Fork is a tributary of *Elk Creek*, which together with
*Hacker's Run* and *Fox Grape Run*[,]{.underline} join the Tygart River
near Philippi. The Tygart begins south of Beverly and flows north­ward
through Philippi, Grafton, Fairmont, and Morgantown. Just across the
Pennsylvania border, the Tygart joins the Cheat

River to become the Monongahela River, which in turn joins the Allegheny
River at Pittsburgh to be­come the Ohio.
![](media/image2.emf){width="4.569444444444445in" height="2.275in"}

Selected counties and their county seats:

Barbour Philippi

Doddridge West Union

Hampshire Romney

Hardy Moorefield

Harrison Clarksburg

Lewis Weston

Marion Fairmont

Monongalia Morgantown

Randolph Elkins (Beverly)

Ritchie Harrisville

Taylor Grafton

**Life in Doddridge and Ritchie Counties Before 1950**

Until about 1800, Doddridge and Ritchie Counties were inhabited only by
Indians. Indian tribes, such as the Mingoes, the Delawares, and the
Shawnees, traversed this region, which served as a buffer between
hostile Indians to the north and south. These Indians were mainly
hunters and gatherers. Many graves, burial mounds, and ceremonial mounds
containing artifacts have been found in this area. Arrowheads,
spearheads, and other artifacts up to 20,000 years old are found in
abundance. An Indian mound might be 10 feet in diame­ter and 3-4 feet
high. Mounds often contain a skeleton, covered by layers of hard clay
and flat stones, probably for protecting the corpses from wolves. Larger
mounds may be 30-40 feet in diameter and 10-12 feet high. In Doddridge
County, there are remains of small Indian villages and a network of
trails. Mounds have been found near Blandeville, Smithburg,
Morgansville, and Sherwood.

During the early 1700s when the population of the British colonies was
concentrated near the Atlantic coast, land west of the Allegheny
Mountains was under French control. Because the French were more
interested in trading and exploring than in conquering and colonizing,
the French and Indians got along rather well. The American colonists
were at odds with the French, who threat­ened to close off the colonies
to westward expansion, and with the Indians, who were trying to defend
their homelands. By the 1750s, westward expansion by the colonists
combined with alliances and conflicts in Europe led to the Seven Years
War (French and Indian War). The French were soundly defeated and in
1763 lost virtually all their territory in North America, including the
Ohio River region desired by the Virginia colonists.

Parts of West Virginia along the Ohio and Monongahela Rivers began to be
settled in the late 1700s. George Washington surveyed land along the
Ohio in the 1750s and staked out a claim on the Ohio side of the river.
By the 1770s, there were forts at Wheeling and at Moundsville and
settlements at Clarksburg, in the Monongahela Valley near Morgantown and
Fairmont, and in the Tygart Valley near Elkins, but the vast wilderness
was largely under Indian control.

Several of our ancestors were among the earliest pioneers. While serving
in a campaign against the Indians in 1777, John Wilson was wounded in an
am­bush between Wheeling and Moundsville. In 1783 David Clayton, the
paternal grandfather of Elijah Clayton, went into partnership with a man
named David Anderson and got control of 10,000 acres in Marion County
(near Fairmont); the partners were evidently unable to maintain control
of the land, but David Clayton stayed in Marion County and was one of
its early prominent citizens. The maternal grandfather of Elijah
Clayton, Henry Amos, moved from Delaware to the head of Indian Creek in
Monongahela (Monongalia) County in the 1780s. After the murder and
scalping of neighbor Jacob Straight, Henry Amos and other local farmers
built the Amos Blockhouse for protection against "roving bands of
treacherous and bloodthirsty savages."

Settlement of the Virginia frontier shaped the character of the pioneers
in ways that ultimately had a major effect on American history. The
coastal areas of Virginia and other southern states had fallen into a
feudal system of planta­tions, whereby wealthy aristocrats oversaw the
labor of slaves. The northern American colonies developed on the western
European pattern of farms worked by small landholders. The latter
pattern evolved naturally on the Virginia frontier, in part because the
rustic life was unsuited to the aristocracy. The in­troduction of
feudalism on the frontier was also deterred by many other factors,
including the rugged terrain and the abundance of land. Clearing and
farming a tract of land and aggressively defending this territory
constituted better evi­dence of ownership than a piece of paper issued
from a remote seat of govern­ment. Moreover, popular demand had persuaded
the government to make land titles readily available at low prices.
Under these circumstances, an industrious peasant or recently freed
indentured servant was equal (or superior) to an aris­tocrat of noble
origin. On the frontier, hard work counted more than status. These and
other fundamental differences that evolved between eastern and west­ern
Virginians played a pivotal role in the ratification of the American
Constitution and also portended the split between Virginia and West
Virginia during the American Civil War.

In the early 1800s, one could obtain a land grant (e.g. 400 acres) from
the Governor of Virginia. The individual first had the land surveyed and
then ap­plied to have the land "patented." Those with patriotic service
(e.g. fighting in the Revolutionary War) had priority. Land surveyors,
such as John and Archibald.; Wilson, easily became important and
influential.

Doddridge and Ritchie Counties were settled somewhat later than the
coun­ties to the east and west. The Tygart and Ohio Valleys were settled
early, fol­lowed by adjacent areas, such as Clarksburg, which had over 50
houses by 1798. Salem was settled in 1790, and a blockhouse was
established. Pennsboro was first settled about 1800, platted in 1822,
and incorporated in 1885. Harrisville was platted in 1822.

A few individuals acquired large tracts of land and tried to attract
settlers to colonize the area. In 1793, the price of land was dropped
from \$1 per acre to \$2 for 100 acres to encourage settlement and to
help the poor. However, large amounts of land was bought up by wealthy
residents of other states. For example, in Randolph Co. in 1810, 490
non-residents had average landholdings over 10 times those of the 300
local landowners.

General Harris acquired a large portion of the nearly 300,000 acres now
comprising Ritchie County. Of the roughly 200,000 acres in Doddridge
County, Lewis Maxwell acquired 16,000 acres south of West Union about
1810. (Much of this tract is still intact, and was proposed as a federal
prison site in 1989. Local opposition defeated this proposal.) A
settlement called Lewisport (after Lewis Maxwell) was established on the
hill across Middle Island Creek from the present-day courthouse in West
Union. By 1820 there was a store and a "blockhouse," or stockade where
settlers could take refuge during Indian at­tacks. The town was also
called Union to signify the union of the early inhabi­tants against the
Indians. (When the railroads came and a station was built southwest of
the settlement, this new area became known as West Union. The original
town site is still called the Blockhouse Hill section of West Union.)

Ritchie County likewise had only a handful of settlers before 1830. One
of these was William Marshall Wilson's maternal grandfather, Barton
Hudkins, who was born in Randolph County, later moved to Barbour County,
and at age 46 became the first pioneer in the White Oak region of
Ritchie County.

In the early 1800s before roads and railroads were built, access to this
rugged area was difficult. Early settlers had to contend with clearing
the land and providing virtually all their food, clothing, and shelter.
They were also subject to attack by Indians, who resented their
intrusion into lands that had been held and carefully husbanded for
millennia by Indians for hunting and gathering. Occasional harassment by
Indians continued into the 1870s. Once when Grandma Nolan, was a young
girl, her mother spotted Indians around their beehive. Her mother herded
the children inside and made them stay quiet. The Indians took the honey
from the beehive and left without incident. By 1900, all the Indians had
been exterminated from Doddridge and Ritchie Counties. Some
intermarriage apparently occurred, for a few prominent citizens of
Doddridge County proudly claim to have Indian blood. It is rumored that
Bennett Hudkins, great-grandfather of William Marshall Wilson, was half
or one-quarter Indian (Wilson History, p. 387).

The Ritchie-Doddridge area began growing when the Northwestern Turnpike
(old Route 50) was built in the 1830s. Ritchie Co. was created from
Lewis, Wood, and Harrison Counties in 1843, and a courthouse was erected
in Harrisville the following year. Doddridge Co. was formed from parts
of Harrison, Tyler, Ritchie, and Lewis Counties in 1845, with the county
seat fixed at West Union, which was incorporated in 1850. Most of the
early settlers came from counties further east, such as Harrison,
Barbour, Randolph, and Hampshire Counties, but some early immigrants
came by train or boat on the Ohio River and walked in from Parkersburg.
Early grist mills, churches, and post offices were estab­lished in towns
such as Harrisville and Pullman in the 1830s and 1840s. The White Oak M.
E. Church near Pullman was organized in 1842, and the pioneer church
building was erected in 1845. Land for the church and cemetery was
donated by Elijah Clayton. Communities in Doddridge County developed
slightly later, perhaps because the land there was more rugged and
inaccessible.

One large tract of land near St. Clara was owned by a land syndicate,
whose agent was Joseph Hubert Diss Debar, a young man from the city of
Strassbourg in the Alsace region of France. Diss Debar came to West
Union in 1846 and began attracting settlers to the land. He reportedly
would meet groups of immigrants at the coast and lure them to the land
with maps showing a navi­gable river (the Hughes River) and a railroad
traversing the region. These early settlers, who were promised 40 acres
of land, had to walk from Parkersburg. They found the land too isolated
and inhospitable, and all but three families left. Later settlers had to
pay \$1.50 per acre for their land. In 1852, Diss Debar built a home in
what is now Leopold (the Joe Hinter farm) and gave this region the name
St. Clara after his deceased wife Clara, whom he regarded as a saint.
(The name now applies only to the community northeast of Leopold.) St.
Clara is located in the Cove District of Doddridge County, encompassing
the only part of the county not drained by Middle Island Creek or the
Hughes River.

The pronunciation and alternate spelling of St. Clara has a curious
origin. When the Catholic Church was formed in St. Clara, it had to be
named after an actual (Catholic) saint. Fortunately, there was a St.
Clare, and the church was named the St. Clare Catholic Church. The
pronunciation St. Clare has stuck with most of the community, even with
Lutherans, who still usually spell the name St. Clara.

The Gamsjagers arrived in this area about 1865, some 20 years after the
first settlers in the St. Clara area and over a decade after the coming
of the

B&O railroad to West Union (1852) and the founding of the St. Clara
Johannes Evangelical Lutheran Church. Religious services were held in
homes for many years until a building was constructed. Most of the early
St. Clara settlers were of Austrian or German descent, and the services
were conducted in German until about 1900, when the English-speaking
children of the immigrants began to prevail. The 1870 census shows
virtually no one of foreign birth except for a few Irish in West Union
and numerous Austrians, Germans, Swiss, and Prussians in the St. Clara
area. The 1900 census of Doddridge Co. shows 13,663 whites, 25 colored,
and 129 foreign born. ![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in"
height="6.0in"}

Until the middle of the Twentieth Century, nearly everyone in rural
Doddridge and Ritchie Counties worked as a farmer. The early settlers
kept cows, chickens, hogs, sheep, and occasionally goats. Horses and
oxen were used for pulling plows and wagons. The Galliens once had a
mule, but mules were less popular than in the South, where they were
valued for their ruggedness and their ability to withstand heat. Cattle
were the most valuable farm animals eco­nomically. Dairy cows provided
milk that could be sold to dairies, and fattened cows were sold to
markets in Pittsburgh or Baltimore. Hogs were raised chiefly to supply
the family with pork and lard.

Farming methods were primitive compared with traditional farm practices
of some other cultures (e.g. Chinese or Biblical practices). Crops were
seldom rotated, and fields were not allowed to lie fallow every few
years; depleted crop land was simply used for pasture. Barnyard manure
was seldom applied to fertilize fields, and fields were not rejuvenated
by planting a crop of legumes. Large amounts of hay, which was generally
stored in haystacks rather than in barns, spoiled in the weather.
Nevertheless, the farming methods could support a large family with an
abundance of food and provide some excess production for outside income.

Just as the industrialization and modern agriculture was draining West
Virginia of its farmers, efficient farming methods were being adopted by
the educated farmers of Okey Gallien.; Jr.'s generation. However, the
hilly terrain of north-central West Virginia made the traditional farm
products of livestock, hay, and grains uncompetitive with comparable
products produced in the flat­lands further west. Introduction of welfare
and the exodus of labor to large cities removed incentives for West
Virginians to develop alternative agricultural products or industries.
For these and other reasons, farming practices changed remarkably little
from those of the early settlers in the middle 1800s up to the demise of
farming a century later. Described here are the Gallien and Wilson
farms, which were in operation mainly in the period 1910-1950.

The hillier cleared land was used as pasture for cows and sheep. Cleared
land that was flat enough for a mowing machine was valued as a meadow.
Hay cut from these meadows a few times a year was stored in haystacks
and barns on the Gallien farm. Arden Wilson stored all his hay in barns,
as he didn't believe in haystacks. Meadow land was often used for field
corn. When wooded areas were cleared for field corn, only the largest
rocks were cleared. Many rocks the size of a fist or larger were left.
This practice helped make hoeing corn one of the least popular chores
for children.

The Galliens grew corn to grind into corn meal for human consumption,
often in the form of corn bread. Corn was also grown to feed livestock.
Corn was fed to chickens year round and to horses in winter. Hogs were
also given corn in moderate amounts. A separate variety of corn raised
in the garden was used for "roasting ears."

Local mills, such as a gas-powered mill in Pullman, were available for
grinding the corn into meal. Other mills, such as the one operated by
John Gamsjager and John Smith in St. Clara, were used to saw lumber.

The Galliens and Wilsons kept many cows, both for milk and for beef. The
cows foraged in summer and ate hay in winter. They were never fed
grains, partly because the principal grain available was corn, which
cows can\'t chew because they lack upper teeth.

![](media/image3.emf){width="6.194444444444445in"
height="4.319444444444445in"}

Sheep also ate grass in summer and hay in winter. The Galliens first
sheared sheep themselves with a hand shearing machine and later hired
out the job. The Wilsons had their sheep sheared by Bud Starkey, who had
a hand-turned machine and charged 10¢ per head.

The Galliens kept two hogs to butcher and two to reproduce. They sold
off the extra piglets in the litter. The Wilsons bought their hogs. They
kept one or two, depending on the needs of their family. The hogs were
allowed to forage in a fenced area of roughly one hog per acre. The hogs
were mostly fed mid­dlings (a cheap bran bought at the feed store) and
slop (peelings, grease, table scraps, and waste milk), but they were
given some corn.

Chickens were fed corn and clabber, which is milk that inadvertently
soured. Chickens were valued for laying eggs. When a chicken permanently
stopped laying, it was ready for the stew pot.

Horses ate grass in summer and hay and corn in winter. They were used
for pulling buggies, plows, and mowing equipment. Some horses were used
for riding to town or to neighbors, but this was somewhat of a luxury,
and more people walked than rode horses.

The Galliens and Wilsons seldom ate wild game. Perhaps once in ten years
they ate squirrel or rabbit. This was not because game was less
palatable but because hunting was time-consuming. Other families ate
turtles, fish, squirrels, and deer. However, prosperous farmers felt
that their time was more produc­tively spent farming and that if a family
got much of its food from wild game, that was because they weren't very
good farmers. Considering the deer over­population now plaguing much of
Doddridge and Ritchie Counties, it is hard now to imagine that deer were
scarce in the early 1900s, when a few dozen families lived on Rush Fork
and had converted most of the deer's natural habitat to farm land.

The early industries in Doddridge and Ritchie Counties were mainly grist
mills and lumbering. Grist mills were located in almost every community.
After the coming of the B&O railroad, lumber for cross ties and other
wood products came into demand. The oil and gas industry also required
lumber for oil rigs. The combination of the railroad and the nearby
abundant forests led to a thriving lumbering industry that still
survives. The narrow-gauge Pennsboro and Harrisville Railroad was built
to haul virgin timber to a stave mill in Pennsboro. Another railroad was
built in Ritchie County to haul natural asphalt from a large outcropping
deposit that was later mined. Rivers were also used to raft timber to
market. In the late 1800s, there were numerous water saw mills on Middle
Island Creek. Staves for railroad ties and oil barrels were rafted down
Middle Island Creek to St. Marys, a town on the Ohio River. Large
quantities of yellow poplar were sawed and floated to a chair factory in
Marietta or to factories in Pittsburgh. Because nearly all the trees
could be used for some purpose, the land was generally clear-cut,
leaving it ready for farming. By 1912 about 65% of the land had been
cleared, and virtually all the farmers "woodlots" had been culled.

Wood was the principal fuel in the 1800s. There was little coal in this
part of West Virginia, although Matthias Gamsjager was fortunate enough
to have on his property a surface deposit of coal, which he used to heat
his home for many years until the coal was exhausted. At this time, oil
was sometimes collected where it formed natural pools on or near the
surface, and occasional gas wells were drilled in the 1860s. However,
drilling for oil and gas did not begin in earnest until the 1890s. The
rapid expansion of drilling activity after 1900 at­tracted many oil field
workers, including numerous Irish and Italian immi­grants. The South Penn
and Carter Oil Companies drilled for oil, and the Hope

Natural Gas Company drilled for gas. Okey Gallien spent many years
supervising the construction of pipelines for Hope Natural Gas be­fore
settling on the Rush Fork farm.![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in"
height="6.0in"}

The Okey Galliens had gas be­fore 1920, and the Arden Wilsons got gas in
1924. There was a gas well on Rockcamp, and Arden Wilson and Jim Primm
shared the cost of building the line, which ran along the surface except
for tun­nel­ing under the road. As Arden was not much of a plumber, they
paid to have the work done.

Gas was a big improvement over wood for cooking and illumi­nation. Gas
lights operated like modern camping lanterns and pro­duced light much
brighter than candles and oil lamps but decidedly dimmer than electric
lights. Gas was also useful for heating, al­though it often cost \$4 a
month to heat a house in the winter. Because houses were drafty and
uninsulated, unvented open gas stoves could be used without danger of
asphyxia­tion. (The notion that it is healthy to sleep with the windows
open may nevertheless have arisen from anecdotes of people dying in
rooms with the windows closed.) In the interest of economy, only certain
rooms had gas stoves, and many went to sleep in cold rooms. A person
usually gets free gas if there is a producing well on his land.
Unfortunately, neither the Galliens nor Wilsons had free gas before
1950.

The abundance of gas and oil led to the establishment of industries
requir­ing large amounts of natural gas. Glass factories, such as the
Ideal and the Window Glass Factories, were established about 1906 in
West Union. Lamp black or carbon factories were built near Smithburg and
Hannadale (a commu­nity along the Hughes River north of Harrisville).
Plants to extract high-grade gasoline from natural gas were operated in
Smithburg from 1919-1924 and in Hannadale during the 1920s. Arden Wilson
bought drip gas in buckets from the small Hannadale plant for 15¢ a
gallon. This gasoline gave his cars more zip than gasoline from service
stations.

Carbon black is made by the incomplete combustion of natural gas and
other petroleum products. This fine soot-like material (probably rich in
fullerenes) is used mainly as a pigment (e.g. in printing inks, printer
ribbons, carbon paper, etc.) and was previously used to improve the
abrasion resistance of rubber. The carbon black industry began in the
1870s mainly in Pennsylvania but did not prosper until after 1890. In
the years from 1890 to \~1930, some half dozen carbon black factories
were built along the B&O rail­road in Doddridge County. One pound of
carbon black could be made from 700--800 cubic feet of natural gas. A
typical factory employed 5--10 people and had a capacity to produce
5000--10000 pounds per day. The factories, which sat on top of rich
high-pressure gas fields, were supplied by their own gas wells. Most of
the labor seemed to involve collecting and packing the carbon black into
barrels for transport. Because the manufacture of carbon black is fairly
simple and because natural gas is essentially a waste product in
petroleum refineries, the price of carbon black has never been strong.
Once the readily available local sources of high-pressure natural gas
were depleted, the cost of the natural gas (e.g. from pipelines) became
prohibitively expensive for manufacture of carbon black. As in other
localities, this wasteful, low-tech industry thrived in Doddridge and
Ritchie Counties for a couple of decades and then disappeared.

Drilling for oil and gas, which came to a standstill during the Great
Depression, has continued at a moderate pace since 1940, but the
ancillary en­ergy-based industries have virtually disappeared except for
an ornamental glass factory near Ellenboro and a marble factory in
Pennsboro. The latter claims to be the largest marble factory in the
world, a tribute not to the size of the fac­tory but to the decline in
the popularity of marbles.

The Hannadale carbon black plant was moved to Louisiana in 1929, about
the time the Pennsboro and Harrisville Railroad was abandoned. Several
years earlier the spur line from Hannadale to Pullman had been abandoned
when both the locomotives had wrecked or exploded. This was a marginal
railroad at best and suffered several droll mishaps. One locomotive went
speeding off the tracks into a pond and was never recovered. Another
time, part of a train was parked underneath the bridge where the
Pullman-Harrisville Road crossed the tracks near the Pisgah Church. The
bridge collapsed during the night and de­stroyed part of the train. A
trestle between Pullman and Jimmy Wilson's house once caught on fire
from hot coals thrown off by the train. Fixing the trestle was too
expensive. So, when the train would reach the damaged trestle, the
passengers got off and walked to a train waiting on the other side. One
day an engineer inadvertently sped across the missing trestle. The train
plunged into the ravine below, killing two people. This train line ran
through Rockcamp, the hollow north of the Pullman Ridge. After the line
was abandoned, Lincoln Wilson took up the track in return for the land,
which he sold back to the original owners. Much of the Rockcamp road
follows the old railroad bed.

Until the 1920s and 30s, people in rural West Virginia got around in
their community by foot, horse, or buggy. Shipping out produce and
carrying in supplies was an arduous job. The means of transport
available were obviously

impractical for shipping goods long distances Until the railroads were
built in the mid 1800s, very little was imported or exported in
com­munities dis­tant from a navi­gable
waterway.![](media/image2.emf){width="4.569444444444445in"
height="2.275in"}

Before the railroads, personal travel beyond one's community was a major
undertaking. Up until 1920, even most "highways" were dirt. Not like the
improved dirt road up Rush Fork with its firm rock base, but just plain
dirt and mud. In winter and spring these roads were virtually
impassable. Travelers in wagons and cars would get "hung up" every few
miles when they had to cross a big mud hole, and the passengers then had
to get out and help push the car or wagon out of the mud. As a result,
many people would jack up their car for the winter and store it on
blocks until the roads dried out in late spring.

There were few bridges except across rivers and large creeks. The roads
in the hollows simply forded the smaller creeks and runs at a wide,
shallow spot. After a rain, the water would often be too deep to safely
cross, even with the high clearance of the early cars. For these reasons
alone, a long trip was a formidable and worrisome undertaking. In the
1920s, the main roads were im­proved in a campaign to "Haul West Virginia
out of the mud." These improve­ments enabled Harry and Amy Smith to go by
car to Atlantic City in 1927 on their honeymoon, a trip that went
smoothly once they had left the muddy back roads of Doddridge County.

Trains, by contrast, were quite reliable and comfortable. By 1920, there
was an extensive network of railroads and electric railways that enabled
young, independent people to travel. Both Okey Gallien (around 1910) and
Kermit and Kester Wilson (about 1930) made many trips by train in
north-central West Virginia. Aunt Stella outdid everyone by traveling to
Europe.

However, in an economy in which most people were subsistence farmers
with little outside income, travel for pleasure was an unthinkable
luxury. And because there were always animals to feed, hay to stack,
corn to hoe, and a thou­sand other chores to do, no industrious farmer
considered travel during the warmer months when the roads were halfway
passable. The less industrious farmers seldom had the money or
motivation to go anywhere. Even in the 1930s, many people had never gone
beyond the borders of their home county. Automobiles and improved roads
enabled people to travel long distances and be independent of mass
transportation. But habits die slowly. As late as the 1960s, many West
Virginians had never been outside their state and thought of Washington,
D. C., some 200 miles away, as a remote, exotic place.

Because the farmers seldom traveled outside their community, their
out­look was very parochial by today's standards. The population of
Doddridge and Ritchie Counties was remarkably homogeneous, consisting
mainly of Scotch-Irish and English stock. Before Second World War, there
were no Jews and virtually no blacks living in either county. Clarksburg
had 200 -- 300 Jews and Parkersburg \~100, and a very few Jews attended
Salem College during Kester Wilson's years there (conflicting statements
on the latter point in *West Virginia Jewry* notwithstanding). Catholics
were originally barred from Virginia, and few Catholics settled in West
Virginia, perhaps in part because of prejudice against them. From the
large waves of immigration from southern and eastern Europe in the
decades preced­ing World War I, only one or two Italian families settled
in this area. Kester Wilson saw a Negro for the first time in
Harrisville when he was eleven years old. He stared at the man, who was
working as a bricklayer. The man noticed him and said, "Hello, boy."

There was a clan of people known as guineas or "guinea niggers." These
people had some Negro blood, although they had blue eyes and a fair to
medium complexion. Today they would easily pass for Caucasian.
Originally, a pioneer wasn't permitted to bring Negro slaves to Randolph
County (where John Wilson lived), but guineas were permitted. The
guineas maintained their family ties, even though the institution of
slavery scattered family members all over the frontier. Those who
managed to run away or be freed would always return to Chestnut Ridge,
where the clan was established. The guineas lived in small colonies in
or around Barbour County and generally intermarried among them­selves,
perhaps because there was considerable stigma attached to fraternizing
with or marrying them. Their predicament is reminiscent of the buraku of
Japan.

Because the guineas lived in small, isolated clans, inevitable
inbreeding led to genetic abnormalities, particularly a tendency to
idiocy. The anonymity of larger towns enabled guineas to mix and be
assimilated into the general popula­tion, but in rural areas they were
easily identified and ostracized. This is most unfortunate, as many of
them were very intelligent and capable. Neither Edith nor Kester knew of
any guineas in Doddridge or Ritchie County. In fact, Edith had never
heard of guineas until a visit to the Okey.; Gallien, Jr. family in
Philippi. Her niece Theresa was talking about her classmates and said,
"Oh, I don't play with her. She's a guinea." Kester had to explain what
Theresa was talking about.

A person's standing in the community was measured in no small part by
how neatly the house and farm were kept. When the Gallien and Wilson
families were driving by a farm, they would look to see whether the
place was kept up well. A good coat of paint on the house, a mowed lawn
with flowers and shrubs, and fields clear of filth indicated a well-kept
farm. Old cars and piles of junk in the yard indicated that the people
were "trash." A man who regularly dressed in a starched white shirt and
a tie would be considered an upstanding member of the community,
especially if he attended church regularly. Demerits were given for
drinking beer, swearing, and spitting, commonplace behavior among losers
and "no-counts." This Puritanical view of morality and propriety may be
a remnant of the Calvinism that John Knox brought to Scotland a cen­tury
or so before the Scotch-Irish forbears of West Virginians settled on the
American frontier. Nowadays, such judgments are based less on the size
and neatness of the homestead and more on urban values like the size of
the pay­check, as reflected in acquisitions of large new cars and
satellite dishes. And men now often go to church in a sport shirt open
at the collar.

The spitting alluded to above is quaint habit of the older generation of
men in rural West Virginia. Arden Wilson had this habit. As often as
once every few minutes, he would gather the saliva in the front of his
mouth, making a guttural noise similar to clearing his throat, only
further forward in the mouth (like making a noisy ach sound in German).
Then he would spit, and a spot of saliva would land on the grass or dirt
a few feet away. Of course, he only did this outside. Since he didn't
chew tobacco, it is strange that he would take up spitting. He tended to
spit more in the presence of company, an indication that it was a
nervous habit. It was also probably a habit of machismo, originating
perhaps from tobacco chewers. Okey Gallien didn't spit, although on Rush
Fork, Port Lowther and other men were in the habit of spitting. Even
today one encounters many old timers who still spit. This habit is
disgusting to many people who grew up in West Virginia, but an outsider
is likely to find it either an extremely droll custom or an expression
of hostility.

Aside from spitting and slovenliness, crime was rather rare. In fact,
when the old Harrisville jail was declared unsafe and had to close in
1977, Ritchie County had so few prisoners that they could be housed in
the small jail in West Union. A popular subject for gossip was talking
about men who were in jail. Alma Gallien, who in later years lived a
stone's throw from the jail, became an expert on this matter.

John Marshall Wilson was not religious, and of his children and
grandchil­dren, only Arden and Jimmy were religious. Arden and Mittie
were of differ­ent minds regarding religion. Mittie was Baptist, and
Arden was Methodist. Mittie wouldn't take communion in the Methodist
Church, so Arden usually went alone to church. He taught Sunday School
and attended church regularly. The Galliens and Gamsjager families
attended the Lutheran Church in St. Clara.

Apart from the regular church services, there were occasional revival
meetings. Most people on Rush Fork weren't very interested in revival
meet­ings. Although the Okey Galliens felt belonging to the Lutheran
Church in St. Clara was more proper for people of their standing in the
community, Alma Gallien would sometimes go to revival meetings at the
Dunkard Church on Bear Fork. She would usually go with Nannie Lowther,
who was her age. Sometimes Ronzel and Pearl Burton, Zeffie Spurgeon, and
others would go too. All the kids would go along as well. The revival
meetings consisted of fervent singing, preaching, and speaking in
tongues. People moved by the spirit would run up and down the aisles.
Every year the same people would get saved. They would go off and
continue their sinful ways, and the following year they again repent and
be saved again. In 1966 Brenda and Bill Wilson stumbled into a similar
service on a Sunday evening in a small church in Richmond, Indiana. The
congregation consisted of Appalachian expatriates.

When Edith and Kester were growing up, nearly everyone kept the Sabbath.
The Galliens never worked in the fields on Sundays except unless an
emergency came up, such as rain threatening to spoil hay that was down.
Butchering hogs or changing cattle to another field was never done on
Sundays. Apart from cooking, housework was also not done on Sundays.
After church, the Galliens usually went visiting or entertained
themselves with pastimes. Playing cards games like cinch and rummy was a
favorite activity. Most other farmers did not work on Sundays. Alma
Gallien would comment disapprov­ingly if she saw someone hoeing in the
garden on Sunday. Because she liked to keep busy, Alma might
occasionally hoe in the garden on Sunday evening. Arden Wilson was also
pretty strict about keeping the Sabbath; he never worked in the fields
on Sundays.

In later years, the moral prohibition of work on Sundays gradually
eased. At first, people used the excuse that they had to work to avoid a
loss (e.g. raking hay before an impending rainstorm). Later as church
attendance and the respect for religious practices diminished, many
farmers treated Sunday as any other day. Now that the taboo against
working on Sundays has virtually disappeared in the younger generations,
it is common to see people working in fields and gardens on Sundays.

Games were a popular pastime, especially on Sundays. The Gallien
chil­dren liked to run hoops along the road in summer. Sometimes they
would play marbles or make swings in the apple trees. The girls played
dolls in the cellar house, and Bill Gallien did carpentry as a hobby; he
sometimes made doll furni­ture. They also played Chinese checkers,
dominoes, and cards, especially rook, set back, and old maid. Playing
dominoes was a real incentive to learn to add. Outside they would play
tag and hide and seek, and at school they played prison­er's base, fox
and geese, baseball. In winter they went sledding on the hills. The
Gallien children all joined the 4H at age 6. Their projects included
raising lambs and calves, sewing, and canning. The Galliens were also
active in the Women's Club, the Farm Bureau, church and school socials,
4H camp, and the county fair.

Once Kester had a lamb in a high school project, but, unlike the
Galliens, the Wilsons were not joiners. Arden Wilson liked to play
croquet, which the family often played with Chester Dixon and Margaret.
Arden and Guy were the experts at croquet. The Wilsons also played
checkers, dominoes, and flinch. Flinch is a card game that doesn't use
face cards, of which Arden didn't ap­prove. Kester spent most of his
spare time reading.

Communication, like transportation, was quite parochial until the 1960s.
Telephones were very popular, and by 1910, most houses, even in the
country, had crank telephones. The Pritchard Telephone Company, founded
and oper­ated by the family of Mittie Adams Wilson's first husband, Grant
Pritchard, served much of Ritchie and Doddridge Counties. Telephone
service allowing essentially unlimited local calls cost \$12 per year or
\$10 in advance.

The telephone switchboard was open from 7 am until 9 PM and on Sunday
7-9 am and 4-6 PM. At other times, one could only call people on his own
line. A line (like a party line) might have a dozen parties. Of course,
all the phones on the line were connected. To place a call to someone on
the same line, one simply rang up the appropriate code. For example,
Arden Wilson's ring was two longs and a short, and the Galliens on Rush
Fork were one long. Of course, anyone else on the line could also pick
up their phone and eavesdrop. To call someone on another line, say if
the Galliens were to call the Wilsons, one went through the Pullman
operator, who rang up the appropriate code on the other line. Pritchard
Telephone had operators in Harrisville, Pullman, White Oak, and several
other towns. The operator's job was usually handled by just one person.
Nowadays it is inconceivable that anyone would be willing to operate a
switchboard for over eighty hours a week with no vacations, but years
ago it may have seemed like a cushy, high-tech job compared to
subsistence farming.

In order to call long-distance, say to Fairmont, an operator connected
the call to the Bell line. Until the Bell system came to the Pullman
Ridge about 1960, calling in or out was an uncertain proposition that
might involve several operators and ultimately give a poor connection.
The difficulty and expense of making long-distance calls added to the
isolation of rural Doddridge and Ritchie Counties.

The Pritchard Telephone line ran through Rockcamp. Consequently, William
Martin Wilson's house on Indian Creek, only half a mile from Arden
Wilson's house, was on another line and was accessible only during the
hours the switchboard was open. Arden installed a private phone line so
that his par­ents would never be isolated. This had the added advantages
that no one could eavesdrop and one could have long conversations
without worrying about tying up the line. In order to use the private
line, one flipped a switch and cranked up a ring. The private line had a
separate ringer with a different sound so that the Wilson's could
identify the source of the incoming call.

Strangely enough, people were far less interested in electrification
than in having telephones. Electrification was not introduced into the
rural areas until the 1930s, although towns like West Union and
Harrisville got electricity much earlier. Even though the cost of rural
electrification was borne mainly by the federal government, many people
resisted having electricity brought to their homes. Much to Ma
Galliens's disgust, Okey had an electrician wire their house when
electric lines came to Rush Fork. The electrician was paid \$9 and three
bushels of apples. The Wilsons didn't think they could afford
electricity when it came to the Pullman Ridge in the 1930s. Besides,
they could operate their radio and telephone from batteries, and in
summer they hardly needed lights since they went to bed shortly after
dusk and arose at dawn. Even in 1947, Kester Wilson was barely able to
persuade his mother to let him wire their house for electricity.

Few houses had running water before electricity, as running water
required a pump, which was most conveniently electrical. The Galliens
had a drilled well. This well, which goes below the creek bed to a
"vein" of water, is six inches in diameter and has a perforated casing.
It has never gone dry. The hand pump was conveniently located just off
the porch outside the kitchen, and a pitcher pump was located by the
kitchen sink. In the summer of 1947, Bill Gallien and others installed
an electric pump in the cellar and ran plumbing to the kitchen. The
inlet line for the pump ran under­neath the house and tapped into the
well casing. The old hand pump continued to function, thus providing a
backup during power outages. Later in the year, a toilet and shower were
installed at the top of the stairs in an open space that had been
planned for a future bathroom thirty years before when the house was
built.

The Arden Wilsons got their drinking water from a well. Once or twice a
day either Dad or I walked a hundred yards down to the well and filled
the two-gallon water pail. This well had been dug rather than drilled.
It was a round hole 12 foot deep and lined with rocks. The well was dug
at a spring or wet spot on the hill. The hole probably filled up with
water at ten feet and was dug another couple feet down to provide a
reservoir. A siphon would have been used to drain the hole while the
digging was being finished. In 1988 Kester Wilson had a new well dug
west of the house near the road. This well was drilled 165 feet deep,
and the pump was located 150 feet down. However, this well ran dry after
six months. Perhaps this well seems less prolific than the old well
because an electric pump makes it easier to run the well dry. The old
well was located in a cattle pasture less than a hundred yards from the
old sewer drainpipe.

In 1916 the Arden Wilsons built a cistern that provided them with
running water. At the time, the Wilson house was the only one in the
area with running water. The water on the roof of the cellar house and
the main house was col­lected in a large tank in the basement of the
workshop. Because bird droppings and other filth were washed into the
tank, the water is used only for washing and bathing. Originally, the
tank was pressurized with a horizontal hand pump to 15--40 psi. The
cistern required little maintenance except for occasional cleanings and
fix­ing a waterlogged pump. In the fall of 1948, Kester Wilson installed
a Fairbanks-Morris electric pump when he wired the house for
electricity. (Mittie Wilson had wanted a Meyers pump.) The pump lasted
for 40 years. In 1988 Kester had a large new cistern installed with a
diversion valve to discard the first few gallons of water contaminated
with bird droppings. A cistern is especially practical for a house on
top of a hill, where water is usually more in­accessible.

Until 1947, the Galliens heated water in a one-gallon tea kettle on the
stove. They used at least five kettles a day of hot water. Three kettles
were used to wash dishes. Half the kettle was diluted with cold water
and used to wash the dishes, and the other half was used for scalding.
This excessive attention to sterilization was perhaps warranted in those
times predating antibiotics when in­fectious disease was the major
killer, especially of small children. Additional hot water was needed
for canning and bathing. Water for washing clothes was heated in a big
iron kettle outside. This kettle, which was \~20 inches in diame­ter and
\~18 inches deep, held several gallons of water, was heated on a tripod
over a wood fire. The Galliens used home-made lye soap for washing
clothes, but they bought soap for washing their hands and faces.

The Arden Wilsons originally heated water on their wood stove. When they
got gas, they installed a water tank with a gas burner. However, there
was no thermostat, and someone had to remember to turn off the gas when
the water got hot. There was a laundry tub in the basement next to the
hot water tank. In later years, Mittie Wilson acquired a wringer washing
machine.

Perhaps because hot water was not readily available, the Galliens took a
bath only once a week, on Saturday nights. (Underwear was also changed
at this time.) Each person got one kettle of water. The fussiest ones
went first. In later years, the kids took private baths in their rooms;
afterwards they would open the window and dump the water on the porch
roof. Okey and Alma bathed after the kids went to bed. In summer the
Gallien kids supplement their weekly baths by going swimming in the
creek. In those days Rush Run seemed to be considerably larger and have
several deep swimming holes. (It is unclear whether this apparent
shrinking of the creek reflects the distorted view of small children,
changes in rainfall patterns, or decreased runoff as the surrounding
land has grown up into scrub and forest.)

The Arden Wilson family had hot running water but still bathed only once
a week. In winter bathing might consist of just washing ones feet. (One
must recall that the bathroom was not very well heated.) In summer
Kester, who went barefoot, would wash his feet daily. In the 1930s, he
hooked up a shower in the basement by the laundry tub. Arden had a
special technique for bathing. He would run about a gallon of water into
the bathtub and splash himself until the dirt turned into mud. Then he
would wipe himself off with a towel and let the water out of the tub.
Mittie got to clean up the mess.

Arden Wilson had a pair of hair clippers and normally cut his own hair
and Kester's hair. Kester's mother cut her own hair; only in her later
years did she occasionally go to a beauty parlor. Kester got his first
haircut at the basement barber shop near the courthouse in Harrisville
when Kermit died in 1928. This barber shop is still operating (although
the owners have changed several times). Kester got a haircut there in
1990. It cost him \$2.00, much more than the 25¢ he paid in 1924 but
considerably less than the going price in McLean (\$10--20). Arden
always cut his hair very short until he married Mary. She asked him to
let it grow longer.

Okey Gallien cut all the children's hair and Alma's hair. He used a pair
of hand clippers. Although the clippers were kept sharp and oiled, they
still some­times pulled hair instead of cutting it. Haircutting was done
on Sunday after­noons. The Gallien girls dreaded haircutting time because
they had to sit still for a long time. Okey was a perfectionist, and he
would carefully shingle (taper) the hair in back. Getting the hair
perfectly even and shingled seemed to take forever. Cutting bangs went
much faster, but even that seemed to take too long. The girls hair was
bobbed (i.e. cut just below the ears) with bangs in front. Alma kept her
hair long for many years. However, long hair was not compatible with
infrequent bathing and the dirt and sweat that were part of the daily
routine. Eventually, Alma also began keeping her hair short. When Edith
was in high school (mid 1930s), a beauty parlor opened in Jane Lew. They
charged only \$1.98 for a permanent wave. The equipment was antiquated
and people were occasionally scalded, but the Gallien, Ruppert, and
Burton girls would get a group together and go to Jane Lew.

Okey also cut hair for Jennings Hurst, Eustice Burton (Ronzel's father),
and others on Rush Fork. In return, they would cut Okey's hair. There
was a similar informal hair cutting cooperative at the Brannon's near
the mouth of Rush Run. People could always go to West Union and get
their hair cut for a quarter, but bartering haircuts was cheaper and
more convenient.

Running water also made it easier to brush one's teeth. Kester Wilson,
who always had a bathroom with running water, brushed his teeth daily
with a real toothbrush and Colgate toothpaste. His father cleaned his
teeth with a willow branch that was fluffed up at the end with a knife.
In later years he switched to a toothbrush. Edith Gallien also
originally used a birch or willow branch (fashioned by Grandma Nolan) as
a toothbrush and baking soda or salt or char­coal from a fire as a
dentifrice. When the children were given toothbrushes and a small tube
of toothpaste in the Rush Fork grade school, they were so proud and
happy! The toothpaste was soon gone, but the toothbrush was treasured
and kept in regular use far longer than the six weeks dentists now
recommend.

In those days, most people in their seventies had false teeth. People
simply thought it was normal to lose their teeth in their sixties. Since
fillings, crowns, and root canals were seldom done, a toothache usually
meant getting the tooth pulled. Consequently, by middle age, most people
had many missing teeth. Fever, colds, and infections were often
attributed to abscessed teeth. If such ailments became chronic, one had
his remaining teeth pulled. Okey Gallien got false teeth in his early
fifties (before Edith and Kester were married). Alma Gallien, who always
brushed her teeth with a toothbrush, had a bottom plate in later years
(i.e. all her lower teeth were pulled), but retained her upper teeth.
Arden Wilson never had false teeth, although he had many missing teeth
and a mouth full of gold caps. Mittie Wilson had her teeth pulled in her
early forties. She went to a dentist in Harrisville to have false teeth
made up, but they never fit properly. After a few tries, the dentist
gave up and sent her to his cousin in Cairo, who made her a set that was
almost as bad. Later she got a much better set of teeth from another
local dentist.

Birth and death was handled very differently from nowadays. Nearly all
births took place at home. Kester and Kermit were born in the old
three-room house. The babies were delivered by Dr. Hosie Rymer (the
grandfather of Ralph Rymer). The Galliens were also born at home. Minnie
Burton, Kate Ruppert, and Nannie Lowther all helped Alma, whose bed was
moved to the parlor for the occasion. Dr. Chapman, who lived in the town
of Hurst, came on horseback.

Deaths usually occurred at home also. The neighbors would then lay out
the body to be washed and dressed for burial. The night before the
burial was the wake, when several people would stay up all night and
watch over the body. The body was usually taken to church for the
funeral. Everyone went to fu­nerals. Afterwards the body was taken in a
hearse to the cemetery. Cemeteries were located on hills as a protection
against flooding. Everyone who was fit enough to climb the hill went to
the cemetery for the burial. Neighbors dug the graves. The formula was
six feet deep, three feet across, and seven feet long. The sides were
made straight and clean. Digging a grave was a big job in the often
rocky soil, especially in winter when the ground might be frozen 18
inches down. Okey Gallien and Arden Wilson helped dig many graves.
Kester remembers Arden helping to dig Tom Mason's grave.

Some funerals were held at home, especially in winter if burial was to
be in a nearby family plot. (Many roads were nearly impassable for most
vehicles during the winter months.) Still a minister would usually lead
a funeral service, which might last half an hour. John Ruppert's funeral
took place at home be­cause he was at odds with the local Catholic
Church. Kermit's funeral was also at home. There was no wake, but his
body was kept in the parlor, and the slid­ing door was closed.

Before 1920 caskets were pine boxes made by a neighbor or local
mer­chant. Joshua Adams made coffins and Sarah Elizabeth would line them
with black velvet. John Gamsjager and his mill partner, John Smith, also
made cas­kets. During the 1920s, funeral parlors began to provide
embalming and store-bought caskets. Later funeral parlors also would
keep the body, and host the funeral service.

Although many changes that have occurred in the past hundred years are
linked to transportation and communication, a more profound but largely
un­sung revolution has been in sanitation. Except for the discovery of
germs, Sir Thomas Crapper's invention of the flush toilet about 1880 was
the biggest leap forward experienced by man. By 1940, all prosperous
farmers had bathrooms with flush toi­lets, but many of the less
well-to-do folk were not so blessed.

Prior to the flush toilet, the slop jar was a common fixture--one in
every bedroom. Although the chronicles are silent on this, there
probably was a small room somewhere that was dedicated to slop jar
activity. In the country in Doddridge and Ritchie Counties, there might
have been a privy in the back of the house. The privy was also called
the out-house, toilet, back-house, or something more crude. If there was
no privy, one relied on the slop jar, which would be emptied when the
mass became "critical." This might be as infrequent as once a week. The
stench in such houses could be overpowering to visitors, especially in
winter if the house was kept hot. These people usually had free gas in
more ways than one.

As toilet paper was unknown, Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Ward
cata­logues were quite useful. Out in the fields, leaves would be pressed
into service. Corncobs were extremely efficient, but their bulk made
disposal a problem. The kernels of corn grow toward the little end of
the ear of corn, so if one draws his hand from the large end to the
small end of the ear, the feeling is one of softness. If one tries to
draw his hand from the small end to the large end, one encounters many
sharp points. Thus, one needed to be sure how he used the corncob. This
is the origin of the term "cobbing one the wrong way."

As not every home had a privy, or at least not a good one, the Roosevelt
Administration built several thousand privies in Appalachia. The Arden
Wilsons and the Okey Galliens got Roosevelt Privies, even though the
Wilsons had a bathroom. I remember there was some sort of celebration
when the 100,000th privy was built. The fellow who built our privy was
Hugh Cottrill. I never knew him, but I saw his obituary in the Ritchie
Gazette about ten years ago.

Along with toilets came the problem of where to discard the waste water.
As a septic tank or field was an expensive, superfluous luxury, a sewer
pipe emptying onto a field over the hill was the best expedient. The
Wilson sewer pipe ran under the garden and emptied onto the ground on
the hillside below until 1987 when Edith and Kester had a septic field
installed. The Galliens had a septic tank built when their toilet was
installed in 1947, but it is questionable how well the tank works.
Probably the raw sewage just empties out a pipe into Rush Run.

During summers there was an incessant plague of flies. The Okey Galliens
had screens, but they still had lots of flies. Fly paper would quickly
become black with immobilized flies. Bill Gallien made a cone-shaped fly
traps with honey bait in a dish at the bottom. The cone would become
black so quickly that it seemed futile to try to reduce the fly
population. Some houses, such as the Lowthers' and the Henry
Gamsjagers', had no screens. At dinner, Aunt Tracy Gamsjager would stand
and brush away flies from the table with a news­paper on a long stick
while the others ate. Even with screens, the Galliens had plenty of
flies at dinner.

Given the poor sanitation and the abundance of flies, it is surprising
that typhoid and other diseases were not more widespread. Two of the
Adams daughters died of tuberculosis, but most of our aunts and uncles
survived into old age, usually oblivious to the untreatable infectious
diseases lurking around them.

Improved sanitation led to larger numbers of children surviving into
adult­hood. More children were always needed to help with farm work.
However, if all the children decided to be farmers, the family farm
would be divided into smaller and smaller parcels with each generation.
One solution was to give the family farm to the eldest son and encourage
the other sons to take up a trade or other occupation. In Europe, these
problems of overpopulation were dealt with through industrialization,
wars, and emigration. Probably many of our ances­tors left Europe to
escape conscription and/or poverty. In America, population pressures
were relieved by moving on to new land in the west.

Our Wilson family originally settled in Hampshire County in eastern-most
part of present-day West Virginia and moved a county or so west with
each generation until John Marshall Wilson established himself in
Ritchie County. By then there was no frontier to the immediate west, as
Ohio and Indiana were already settled. However, he got around this
problem by acquiring enough land for all his children to have large
farms. There was even land for most of his grandchildren (Arden Wilson's
generation) to be farmers, as there was still much idle, less-desirable
land that could be made productive by toil and ingenu­ity. Similarly, the
Gamsjagers provided farms for the generation of Alma and Okey Gallien,
although to do this, they had to move to Oklahoma, one of the last
frontiers. The nomadic frontier spirit in our family may also have
contributed to these patterns. Virtually none of our ancestors remained
on the family homestead, and most farms have been used productively for
only a single gen­eration by any family members.

Population pressures, which would have been substantial if everyone in
Edith and Kester Wilson's generation had decided to be farmers, never
materialized. Instead of producing a surfeit of farmers, this generation
abandoned the family farms by emigrating *en masse* to urban areas. This
wave of emigration can be attributed to a variety of factors ranging
from the decline in prestige and prof­itability of farming to the lure of
the bright lights and high wages of the cities. Because the
industrialization and urbanization occurring during and after World War
II passed West Virginia by, Edith and Kester's generation has been
dis­persed from the mountainous region that had been their homeland for
generations. Without these economic forces, John Denver's "Take Me Home,
Country Roads", a song of homesickness for West Virginia, would never
have made a nickel. (Its botched up geography makes sense only to
emigrants with fuzzy memories.)

The exodus of young people from West Virginia raises the question of why
large urban centers never developed in the state. (Today, the largest
cities in West Virginia are smaller than many obscure suburbs of major
metropolitan ar­eas.) Possible answers to this question are numerous and
controversial. The rugged terrain is hardly the main reason, as large
cities (e.g. Pittsburgh) have thrived despite topographical obstacles;
and some mountainous countries (e.g. Switzerland and Japan) are among
the most prosperous in the world. Taxes on minerals could have been used
to improve schools and roads, which in turn would attract industry.
Because industries located in nearby states (Ohio, Michigan,
Pennsylvania), many of the most industrious and intelligent West
Virginians left the state. The resulting brain drain combined with an
under­funded education system has led to economic stagnation and high
unemploy­ment. These factors combined with anachronistic trade unions
supported by state laws and a misguided welfare system have further
impeded industrializa­tion. For years the work force has been
demoralized. Many are willing to work but find themselves commuting long
distances to low-paying jobs. Mediocre schools and limited job
opportunities have left the work force rela­tively unskilled.

However, other points of view are equally cogent. For example, one can
argue that much of the economic plight of West Virginia stems mainly
from forces that have drastically reduced the economic viability of the
family. The pernicious consequences of these forces are common to most
rural areas. Also, the lack of a large city in the state may be
attributable more to geographic fac­tors and circumstances of 19th
century economic development than to govern­ment policies. In fact, given
the low quality of life in large cities, the West Virginians who stayed
at home may prove to have been the wisest of all.

**WILSON FAMILY**

The Wilson family history up to John Marshall Wilson is condensed here
from *Descendants of John Wilson, 1756-1827* by Barr Wilson.

**Early history**. The Wilson's came originally from Denmark in the
Ninth Century and settled in England. Many of them (they all acquired
considerable wealth) were massacred by King Ethelred in 1002; those who
escaped took refuge in France, and their descendants returned to England
with William the Conqueror in 1066. They then separated: one branch
established itself in England, and the Cadet branches settled in
Scotland and Ireland. The surname does not mean, as many imagine, "the
son of William," but "the son of a wolf," The wolf appeared on their
shield long before they had any hereditary surname. The early surnames
were Wilfsen, Wylsome, and finally Wilson. The family is of princely
origin in Denmark. The wolf appears on the coat of arms today both on
that of the main branch of the family in England and on that of the
Wilsons of Inverness, from whom we are descended.

Our first known ancestor was **David Davis Wilson** (XIII), who was born
about 1646 in Scotland, where he evidently also died. His son, **David
Wilson,** **Jr.** (XIV) was born in the Highlands of Scotland about
1685, before the union of Scotland and England in 1706. He was a Scotch
Presbyterian and apparently took part in the Scottish rebellion of 1715,
which involved the overthrow of the Stuarts and placement of a German
(King George I) on the English throne. When the Scottish rebellion was
suppressed, David Wilson Jr. and other partici­pants in the rebellion
fled to Ulster in Northern Ireland.

Ulster was not any more peaceful then than it is now. The English
estab­lished the "plantation of Ulster" in the first half of the 1600s by
displacing the original tenants of Celtic origin and colonizing the
region with Presbyterians from Scotland. The Catholic landlords were
replaced by English landlords. The English were able to establish
control, despite an Irish massacre of thou­sands of mostly Scottish
farmers and a later reprisal against the Irish, in which thousands of
Catholics were killed. These animosities paralleled the devastating Wars
of Religion between Catholics and Protestants on the European Continent.
Our Wilson ancestors arrived in Ulster decades after the worst fighting.
Still, they must have found Ireland a rather inhospitable place. Perhaps
as a result of their experiences in Ulster, the Wilsons and many other
West Virginians devel­oped their intense dislike of Catholics.

It appears that a sister of David Wilson, Jr. married a White and had
two sons, John and William. The elder Whites set out for America and
left their sons with the family of David Wilson, Jr. The Whites settled
around Cedar Creek in Frederick County, Virginia, probably near other
relatives, as families kept together in those days. Once the Whites
became established, they sent for their sons.

David Wilson's son, **William Wilson,** (XV, 1722 -- 1801) came to
America in 1737 at age 15 with his cousins, John and William White. They
landed in Philadelphia and settled in Frederick County, Virginia.
William Wilson pre­sumably lived with the Whites. This might have been
near Mt. Jackson, where a William White "patented" two tracts of land
(400 and 989 acres) in 1739. Mt. Jackson is a community in the
Shenandoah Valley about ten miles north of New Market and some 20 miles
south of Cedar Creek and Trout Run.

In 1746, at age 24 and almost ten years after arriving in America,
William married **Elizabeth Blackburn** (XV, Feb. 7, 1725 -- 1806),
daughter of **Archibald Blackburn** (XIV). Elizabeth was born in Ulster
and came as a young girl to Virginia, where her family settled in the
Shenandoah Valley area of Frederick County, evidently near Cedar Creek.
This community is located about ten miles east of Wardensville near Star
Tannery. Cedar Creek, about a yard wide, drains a small valley
immediately west of the Shenandoah Valley. The scenery is beautiful, but
the land appears too rocky and rough for agricul­ture. West of Cedar
Creek lie several miles of heavily wooded, rugged terrain, beyond which
is the wide, fertile Capon Valley where Wardensville and Trout Run are
located.

William and Elizabeth lived on Trout Run a couple miles south of
present-day Wardensville. This is in Hardy County, which was originally
a part of Frederick County and later (1753-1785) a part of Hampshire
County. Originally the Capon and Lost River Valleys, rich in deer, elk,
buffalo, and bear, were a traditional hunting ground for the Indians.
The first white settlers came to the Capon Valley about 1730 and shared
the land peaceably with the Indians. Despite the difficulty of farming
in such extreme isolation, these pio­neers were successful. During the
French and Indian War (1756-1763), many farms were burned and many
pioneers were murdered. After the War peace was restored, and by the
1770s, settlers were pouring into the area. William and Elizabeth
apparently arrived at the beginning of this wave of immigration, during
which the population of Hampshire County (then encompassing present-day
Hardy County) increased from 600 in 1750 to 15,000 in 1790. The grow­ing
pains are analogous to those in modern suburban developments that sprout
thousands of houses before shopping centers, schools, utilities, and
good roads can be built. This must have been a bustling time, when
thousands of farmers were "patenting" the land, clearing a thick forest
of oaks, hickory, and chestnut, building log cabins, planting gardens
and fields, and establishing primitive in­dustries to supply this
isolated area. Before wagon roads were built, a barrel of salt might be
worth a cow and a calf. When a rough wagon road was built into the
valley about 1800, freight cost only about 4¢/lb. for each 100 miles.

William and Elizabeth probably moved to the Capon Valley about 1762,
when William Wilson secured a Virginia Land Warrant for 227 acres
straddling Trout Run (Hampshire County Book #3, page 64). This land
evidently became the Wilson homestead or "plantation." Being an
established landowner in a booming region undoubtedly enabled the
Wilsons to become very prosperous. In 1770 William Wilson bought 368
acres of land on Lost River from Andrew Viney (recorded May 8). Soon
afterwards he bought 118 acres straddling Lost River of the Great
Cacapon from David Williams (recorded Aug. 13, 1771). In 1774 he bought
438 acres on Lost River from James Scot (recorded May 10). Probably he
bought these parcels on a "lease and buy" contract, in which the rent
was often only a token ear of corn each year.

Thus owning several tracts of land in Hardy County, William and
Elizabeth were well-to-do farmers. Like other prosperous pioneers, they
had a few slaves. The Wilsons had an orchard, a vineyard for wine, a
liquor still, and various cows and horses. They actively supported the
Colonists in the Revolutionary War. In 1784, they were reimbursed 4 £ 10
s for a cow they had given to soldiers. (Because the new Virginia money
was almost worthless, Virginia issued certificates for soldiers to pay
for food and necessities. These certificates were to be redeemed later
when the new currency became recog­nized.) Many of their children,
including John and Benjamin were soldiers in the Revolution.

William and Elizabeth had eleven children, including our ancestor John
Wilson, the father of Archibald Wilson and grandfather of John Marshall
(Squire) Wilson. They had scores of grandchildren, including 29 by their
son Benjamin. William Wilson and his wife Elizabeth died in 1801 and
1806 re­spectively and are buried in the family plot along Trout Run a
couple miles south of Wardensville. A large stone marker erected in 1953
gives the dates of their children (buried elsewhere): Benjamin
(1747-1827), Archibald (1749-1814), David (1751-1804), William
(1754-1851), John (1756-1827), Moses (1758-1760), Moses (1761-1786),
James (1763-1822), Solomon (1766-1819), Elizabeth Claypool (1766-1848),
and Margaret Ruddell (1769-1826).

This burial site, known as the Old Meetinghouse Graveyard, was lost to
public knowledge for many years. In 1937, a very old Hardy County
resident helped C. J. Maxwell. J.; find them. Nearby they also located
the remains of the foundation of an old church. In August of 1951,
Wilson descendants organized the non-profit "William and Elizabeth
Wilson Memorial Association, Inc.", chartered by the State of West
Virginia. The Association, headed by Judge Minter L. Wilson of
Morgantown, had grandiose plans, hoping for contribu­tions of a day's
wages from each member for upkeep of the cemetery. The Association did
obtain title to the land and a perpetual right-of-way. A large stone was
erected in 1953 and dedicated in a formal ceremony. After these major
accomplishments, the Association lost its purpose. A \$25 fee to the
prop­

erty owner was never paid, no in­formation was placed in the
Miscellaneous Record Book in the Hardy County Courthouse, and the
cemetery grounds were ne­glected. Now the cemetery is rather well-known,
and Wilson descen­dants visit the site every year or so. Edith, Bill, and
I visited the ceme­tery for the first time in 1990. The cemetery, located
beneath large trees along Trout Run, is not being kept up, and small
trees and lichen are attacking some of the stones. The adjoining
property is no longer in the Garrett or Mathias family, but now be­longs
to the family of Alfred Ludwig, a vice president at the Capon Valley
Bank in Wardensville. As the details of the right-of-way to the cemetery
are unclear, we are fortunate that Mr. Ludwig is very friendly and
helpful. ![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in" height="6.0in"}

William Wilson's will (with modern spelling and punctuation) is given
here (the Archibald Wilsons mentioned here are *not* the one in our
direct line):

> In the name of God, Amen, I, William Wilson, of the County of Hardy
> and Commonwealth of Virginia, being sick and weak in body, but of
> sound mind, memory and understanding, thanks be to God for his
> mercies, and knowing that it is appointed for all men once to die, and
> being desirous to settle my worldly affairs and thereby be the better
> prepared to leave this work when it shall please God to call me, hence
> do therefore make and publish this my last Will and testament, in
> manner and form following, (that is to say) --
>
> FIRST, and principally I commend my soul to God who gave it, and my
> body I commit to the earth to be decently buried at the discretion of
> my dear wife and executors hereafter named, who, I doubt not, will
> manage it with all requisite prudence. And to such
>
> worldly estate as God of his Goodness hath bestowed upon me, after my
> just debts and fu­neral charges are paid, I give and dispose thereof in
> manner hereafter mentioned (that is to say) -- I give and bequeath to
> my loving wife, Elizabeth Wilson, one-third part of all my movable
> es­tate after my just debts and the lega­cies hereinafter mentioned,
> also a Negro wench named Sue, during her life or widowhood, also that
> end of my dwelling house, known by the name of by bedroom, and half
> the kitchen adjoining said room, and all the garden where the wine
> grapes are now planted, and the ten apple trees in the old orchard,
> where she shall choose, likewise she shall have not less than fifteen
> bushels of wheat, ten of rye, and ten of corn, three hundred pounds of
> meal, and twenty gallons of rye liquor or brandy annually, and one
> horse and two cows fed (upon her buying the said cows and horse, of
> her own property) at the expense of my son James
> Wilson.![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in" height="6.0in"}
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath unto my sons Benjamin, Archibald, William,
> and John Wilson, and to my grandson William Wilson, son of Benjamin
> Wilson, five shillings ster­ling each, to them and their heirs for­ever.
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath unto Moses Wilson, son of William Wilson,
> two hundred and eighteen acres of that land I bought of James Scot to
> him, the said Moses Wilson, his heirs and assigns for ever.
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath unto my grandson, Archibald Wilson, son of
> Archibald Wilson, two hundred and eighteen acres of that land I bought
> of James Scot to him the said Archibald Wilson, his heirs and assigns
> forever.
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath unto my son David Wilson, two hundred and
> fifty acres of the lower end of the plantation whereon he now lives,
> to him the said David, his heirs and assigns forever.
>
> ITEM, I will and bequeath to my grandson, Jacob Wilson, son of David
> Wilson, two hundred and fifty acres of land, the remaining part of
> that tract of land whereon David Wilson now lives, adjoining to George
> Claypoole, to him the said Jacob Wilson, his heirs and assigns
> forever.
>
> ITEM, I give an bequeath to my youngest daughter, Margaret Ruddle, a
> young Negro girl named Linda, to her the said Margaret Ruddell, her
> heirs and assigns forever.
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath to my youngest son, Solomon Wilson, the
> tract of land known by the name of the Lick place, also the water and
> water courses from the head of the big spring down to the corner line
> between the two old surveys, standing on the S.E. side of said river
> at the head of the long bottom, then the land from the opposite said
> corner of the N.W. side of said run including all the new survey made
> by Mr. Postoak (?) thence down the S.E. side of said run till opposite
> the mill, thence, leaving the run at the head of the bottom and
> running down the middle of the bank which divides the high lands from
> the bottom till opposite the alum rock, thence across the bottom and
> across the run until Blackburn's line including all Blackburn's place
> and so much of the lower old survey as lies on the N.W. side of said
> run and water mark whereon the mills stand, likewise a Negro boy named
> Sam, to him the said Solomon together with the Smith's tools, his
> heirs and assigns forever.
>
> ITEM, I give and bequeath unto my son James Wilson, the plantation
> whereon I now live, except so much of the lower survey as is devised
> as above to my son Solomon, the upper survey, containing one hundred
> and twenty five acres and the lower survey two hundred and twenty
> five, also the Negro wench named Sue, at his mother's decease, to him
> the said James Wilson, his heirs and assigns forever.
>
> ITEM, I will and bequeath that my still and the utensils thereunto
> belonging to the joint property of my two sons, James and Solomon
> Wilson, and that after my debts and legacies are paid, the moveable
> estate be equally divided between my wife, Elizabeth Wilson, and my
> said sons, James and Solomon Wilson, except the bonds and book debts,
> which shall be equally divided between my said sons James and Solomon,
> likewise that Solomon dur­ing his mother's life do pay annually unto
> his brother James for the support of their mother, five bushels of
> wheat and five bushels of corn and ten gallons of rye liquor or
> brandy.
>
> AND LASTLY I do hereby constitute and appoint my sons, Archibald
> Wilson, James Wilson, and David Wilson, executors of this my last Will
> and Testament.
>
> IN TESTIMONY, whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal this
> \_\_\_ day of May 25, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven
> hundred and ninety four, and in the eigh­teenth year of American
> Independence.
>
> WILLIAM WILSON (Seal)
>
> Will book no. 1 of Hardy County, page 207, shows that on September 9,
> 1801:
>
> This last will and testament was proved by the oaths of John Steward
> and James Steward, two of the witnesses thereto, and ordered to be
> recorded, and on the motion of Archibald Wilson, James Wilson, and
> David Wilson, the executors therein named, who made oath thereto
> according to law, certificate is granted them for obtaining a probate
> thereof in due form, giving security, whereupon they with Christian
> Simon and Anthony Miller, their securities entered into and
> acknowledged a bond in the penalty of two thou­sand dollars,
> conditioned as the law directs.

The fate of William Wilson's cousins, John and William White is
interesting (albeit speculative since historical records might be
referring to another John or

William White). Many of their White relatives went on to Kentucky, but
evi­dently John and William stayed on the Virginia fron­tier. These
immi­grants were close-knit and clannish. On the frontier they stuck
together for survival and prosperity, often marrying their cousins.
William White's daughter, Elizabeth, married Joel Westfall, the stepson
of John Wilson. William White and William Wilson, Jr. were in General
Lewis's army, and John White, Benjamin Wilson, and Archibald Wilson were
in Lord Dunmore's army. William White later changed to Dunmore's
army.![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in" height="6.0in"}

The *History of Licking County, Ohio* gives us insight into John and
William White:

> William White was the equal of Jesse and Elias Hughes, John Cutwright,
> and others on the frontier. To them, "a good Indian was a dead
> Indian," and they never passed up a chance of killing one. William
> White was in the party that murdered the Indians at Bulltown and threw
> their bodies in the Little Kanawha River. He was one of the early
> bor­der scouts, and his wife probably raised the crops. Many of these
> early Indian fighters spent their time scouting and hunting, leaving
> the raising of the family to the wife.
>
> After the Dunmore army had reached the Ohio River on their homeward
> march, Archibald Wilson and John and William White (his cousins) were
> discharged at their own request, preferring to take their time and to
> pursue their chosen course for their homes in the Shenandoah Valley.
> They thereupon left the army at the mouth of the Hock-Hocking,
>
> crossing the Ohio River and passed up it on the Virginia side to near
> the mouth of the Little Kanawha, where they found some beautiful
> bottom land. They thereupon proceeded to make what is called 'a
> tomahawk improvement' for each one, which was done by blazing the
> trees and cutting their initials and the date upon them. They intended
> at some future day to occupy these lands, as such titles were valid
> under the laws of Virginia at the time. But John White, who was
> appointed a lieutenant and operated against the Indians, was killed by
> them at Tygart's Valley in 1775.![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in"
> height="6.0in"}
>
> Actually, John White was killed in 1779 (*Haymond's History of
> Harrison County, West Virginia*):
>
> In October of the year 1779, a party of Indians lying in ambush near
> the road, fired several shots at Lieutenant John White, riding by, but
> with no other effect than by wound­ing the horse to cause him to throw
> the rider. This was fatal to White. Being left on foot and in open
> ground, he was soon shot, tomahawked, and scalped. This was in
> Randolph County.
>
> An excerpt from *Awhile Ago Times* (vol. 2, no. 4, by Glen Lough,
> 1973) chronicles an episode in William White's life:
>
> While out hunting one day \[about 1768\], William came upon some
> Indians, and thinking they were seeking his life, killed two or three
> of them. But among the number was a squaw, and as he could not think
> of taking her life, he let her go, feeling confident that she would
> not know him. But she did recognize him. This was in time of peace,
> and it was a grave violation of the terms of the treaty. He was
> arrested and put in prison in Winchester. His people raised such a
> storm about his confinement, and gathered about the jail and beat it
> down and let him out the next day. He escaped with John Pringle to the
> Buckhannon area, where they made their home in a hollow sycamore tree
> near the mouth of Turkey Run on the Buckhannon River.
>
> Another story (*Magazine of the Randolph County Historical Society*,
> 1926) shows that William White was not invincible:
>
> It fell to the lot of Benjamin Wilson to preside and control a trial
> of this character. Captain William White had obtained a military
> warrant for 400 acres of land and had lo­cated it on the valley south
> of the old Brick Church, and James Warwick settled on it and White
> drove him off. Others moved in the cabin with the same result, and
> later, John Couch, Jr., son of John Couch, who with his brother,
> James, had been living on Cheat near Holly Meadows since 1767 and had
> located near Shaver Run below Mill Creek in 1772, obtained the Warwick
> and Canaan claims to land covering White's 400 acres and re­fused to
> "get out." White demanded possession or a fight, and appointed the day
> at Hadded Fort. Colonel Wilson summoned two of his captains to sit
> with him, and the old time-honored method of settling difficulties was
> staged and enacted to a finish. Couch proving the victor, was awarded
> the land, and the contestants washed and bound up their bruises and
> shook hands and departed as friends.
>
> Major John Couch, the son of John Couch, Jr., who was the first white
> child born in this county, said White visited his father after the
> Dunmore war when he was eight years old. He looked at White, who was
> very tall and strong, and wondered how his father ever managed to whip
> such a man. It was said most of the people of the Valley attended the
> cel­ebrated land suit, and there was no appeal, and the distinguished
> young judge had been vindicated in his award.
>
> William White's killing is described in Haymond's *History of Harrison
> County, West Virginia*:
>
> The Indians commenced their depredations early this year, and on the
> 8th of March 1782, as William White, Timothy Dorman, and his wife were
> going to and in sight of the Buckhannon Fort, some guns were
> discharged at them, and White being shot through the hip, soon fell
> from his horse and was tomahawked and scalped. Dorman and his wife
> were taken prisoners. The people in the Fort heard the firing and flew
> to arms, but the river being between the savages, cleared themselves
> while the whites were crossing over.

**John Wilson** (XVI, 1756 -- 1827) was born on Trout Run in Hardy
County. (This is presently a sparsely populated region traversed by the
Lost River and located between Front Royal, Virginia and Moorefield,
West Virginia.) He ap­parently grew to manhood on the family farm and in
1777 at age 21 joined Captain William Foreman's party in the campaign
against the Indians. The fol­lowing excerpts from history books describe
"Foreman's Defeat," a battle in which John Wilson was badly injured.

The first passage, entitled "Deplorable Ambuscade of Foreman's Party,"
is from a *Our Western Borders* by Chas. McKnight, published in 1875.

> Captain Foreman, of Hampshire (now Hardy) County, collected a company
> of men in the South Branch Valley and marched to the Ohio, arriving at
> Fort Henry, now Wheeling, on September 15, 1777, fifteen days after
> the first siege at that place. On Sunday, the 26th ensuing, a great
> column of smoke was seen down the river, and the commander, believing
> that the Indians had set fire to the deserted Fort Tomlinson on the
> Grave Creek Flats (now Moundsville) dispatched Captain Foreman and 45
> men to that place. No Indians were seen, the Fort was intact, and the
> troops spent the night at that place. The next day return­ing to
> Wheeling, the party fell into an ambuscade at "McMechen Narrows" on
> the Ohio River (now in Marshall County), and 21 of the Virginians were
> killed at the first fire, and several were badly wounded. The sad
> event is known in pioneer annals as "Foreman's Defeat" and long was
> heard the sorrowful story in the homes of the South Branch Valley and
> among the Hampshire Hills.
>
> Another author describes Captain William Foreman as a brave and
> meritorious officer, but totally unfit for Indian warfare. After
> finding all safe at the Grave Creek Flats, the party started to return
> the following morning. When they reached the lower end of the Grave
> Creek Narrows, some of the more experienced frontiersmen suggested the
> expedi­ency of leaving the river bottom and returning by way of the
> ridge. The commander, how­ever, hooted at the idea of so much
> precaution and ordered the party to proceed. The order was obeyed by
> his men, including several of the volunteer scouts, but some declined
> to go with him, and one of these men was named Lynn, whose great
> experience as a spy, added to his sagacity and judgment, should have
> at least rendered his opinion entitled to weight. His apprehensions
> were that the Indians, if lurking about, had witnessed the movement of
> the party and would most likely attack them at some point on the
> river. He said that in all probability, that they had been on the
> opposite side of the river and noticed the party go down; that they
> had crossed during the night and most probably at that time were lying
> in ambush for their return. How fearfully were his apprehensions
> realized.
>
> During the interchange of opinions between Foreman and Lynn, a man,
> Robert Harkness, a relative of Mr. Tomlinson, sat on a log near the
> parties, and often said the controversy at times ran high. Foreman,
> who prided himself on being a thoroughly disci­plined officer, was not
> disposed to yield to the suggestions of a rough backwoodsman. Lynn, on
> the other hand, convinced of the fatal error which the other seemed to
> be deter­mined to commit, could not but remonstrate with all the power
> of persuasion at his com­mand. Finally, when the order to march was
> given, Lynn, with six or eight others, struck up the hillside while
> Foreman with his Company pursued their path along the base.
>
> Nothing of importance occurred until the party reached the extreme
> upper end of the Narrows. Just where the bottom begins to widen, those
> in front had their attention drawn to a display of Indian trinkets,
> beads, bands, etc., strewn in profusion along the path. With a natural
> curiosity but a great lack of sagacity, the entire party gathered
> around those who had picked up the articles of decoy, and while thus
> standing in a compact group, looking at the beads, etc., two lines of
> Indians stretched across the path, one above and the other below, and
> a large party of them arose from beneath the bank and opened upon the
> devoted party a most deadly and destructive fire. The river hill arose
> at this point with great boldness, presenting an almost insurmountable
> barrier. Still, those of the party who es­caped the first discharge,
> attempted to rush up the acclivity, and with some success. But the
> savages pursued and killed several.
>
> At the first fire, Captain Foreman and most of his party, including
> his two sons, fell dead. The loss is supposed to have been about
> twenty, including the Captain. When Lynn and his party heard the guns,
> they rushed down the side of the hill, hallooing as though they were
> five times as numerous. This had the effect of restraining the savages
> in pursuit, and perhaps saved the lives of many.
>
> Of those who escaped up the hill were Robert Harkness and John
> Collins. The for­mer, in pulling himself up by a sapling, had the bark
> knocked into his face with a ball from an Indian gun. Collins was shot
> through the left thigh, breaking the bone and completely disabling
> him. Lynn and his companion carried him to a spring, said to have been
> just over the hill, and throwing together their supply of provisions,
> left him in a sheltered position, promising to send a messenger on the
> following day with a horse. Those who were so fortunate as to escape
> the terrible affair made their way safely to Wheeling. Collins, the
> wounded man, was taken off on horseback the second night, and the rest
> were buried in one grave.
>
> The second passage, entitled "Slaughter of Captain Foreman and his
> Men," is from Lewis's *History and Government of West Virginia*.
>
> Captain William Foreman, a brave and meritorious officer, organized a
> Company of Volunteers in Hampshire County, and in the autumn of 1777,
> marched from Romney to Wheeling and went into winter quarters. Several
> families were then residing on the site of Moundsville and the
> neighboring hills, and the savages were threatening an attack. The
> people at Wheeling were doing all that were possible to stay the
> storm, and to do this they hastened away at every alarm. Sunday
> morning, Sept. 27th, 1777, dense columns of smoke were seen in the
> direction of Grave Creek, and Col. Shepherd, Commandant at Wheeling,
> sent Captain Foreman with his Company to render assistance, should it
> be nec­essary. When he arrived, all was quiet; they halted for the
> night and the next morning started to return to Wheeling. When in the
> Narrows, about four miles above where Moundsville now stands, a deadly
> fire was poured on them by an unseen enemy. Captain Foreman, his two
> sons and eighteen others fell dead upon the field. The few that
> escaped reached Wheeling. When the war was over, a stone bearing the
> following inscription was reared upon the fatal spot.

This humble stone is erected

to the memory of

CAPTAIN FOREMAN

AND TWENTY OF HIS BRAVE MEN

WHO WERE SLAIN BY A BAND OF

RUTHLESS SAVAGES

THE ALLIES OF A CIVILIZED NATION

OF EUROPE

ON THE 29TH OF SEPTEMBER, 1777

"So sleep the brave who sink to rest

By all their country's wishes blest."

The third passage is from DeHass's *History of the early Settlements and
Indian Wars of Western Virginia*.

> Captain William Foreman, of Hampshire County, collected a Company of
> men in the South Branch Valley and marched to the Ohio, arriving at
> Fort Henry, now Wheeling, on the 15th day of Sept., fifteen days after
> the first siege at that place. On Sunday, the 26th ensuing, a great
> column of smoke was seen down the river and David Shepherd, a
> County-Lieutenant of Ohio County, believing that the Indians had set
> fire to the deserted Fort Tomlinson, on the Grave Creek Flats--now
> Moundsville--dispatched Captain Foreman with forty-five men to that
> place. No Indians were seen, the Fort was intact, and the troops spent
> the night at that place. The next day returning to Wheeling, the party
> fell into an am­buscade at "McMechen Narrows," on the Ohio River, now
> in Marshall County, and twenty one of the Virginians were killed at
> the first fire and several badly wounded. The sad event is known in
> pioneer annals as "Foreman's Defeat," and long was heard the sorrowful
> story in the homes of the South Branch Valley and among the Hampshire
> Hills.

John Wilson was wounded in this battle and lost the use of his right
arm. ("A ball entered his right arm and lodged in the back of his hand,
crippling him for life.") The next year (1778) he successfully
petitioned the General Assembly of Virginia to compensate him for loss
of his rifle gun (£10), a shot pouch and horn (7s.6d), and a blanket
(22s.6d). Years later (in 1813), at age 57, when he had become a
prominent local politician, he was awarded a pension of \$60 per year on
the basis of his injury while serving as an "old Revolutionary soldier."

A few years after Foreman's Defeat, John Wilson married a widow, Mary
Houston Westfall, whose husband, Joel Westfall, evidently was killed by
Indians in the Tygart Valley in 1778. Joel Westfall's grandfather, James
Westfall, was one of the earliest settlers of Randolph County. When
Dunmore's war started, James Westfall built Westfall's Fort, a large
house enclosed in a stockade. This fort was near the site of Beverly,
which became the county seat when

Joel and Mary Westfall had a daughter (born 1777) and a son (born 1779),
who was born shortly after Joel Westfall's death and also named Joel
Westfall. John Wilson and Mary Westfall apparently had no children of
their own. They apparently lived in Hardy County on the South Branch of
the Potomac River in the early 1780s before moving west to Randolph
County. Records of John Wilson are complicated by the possibility of
other John Wilsons in the area and by the practice of the census taker
to list only the head of household and number of persons present,
whether family members or not.

A letter by Henry F. Westfall, son of the younger Joel Westfall,
describes an attack on their house by Indians. This letter was written
from Buchannon in Lewis County to L. C. Draper on Feb. 24, 1849.
(Grammar and spelling have been altered for readability.)

> My father was but a boy in the days of the invasion here. He resided
> on the South Branch. At one time the Indians came to the house of John
> Wilson, who was his stepfa­ther. After Wilson had done with the labors
> of the day, he laid himself on his bed to rest while the wife was
> preparing the supper. The dogs sprang from their slumber to an attack
> in the yard. The night being dark, the old gentleman knew too well the
> cause. He sprang from his bed to the door. The door was standing open
> and throwed back against the wall \[away\] from where the old man was.
> He consequently had to pass the doorway to get to the door and shove
> it shut. While he was closing the door the Indians struck with a stick
> on the door step. The old man making fast the door called to the old
> lady to put out the fire. After he had fastened the door as well as he
> could, he took down his old trusty gun and prepared her for action
> while the old lady took the ax and my father took an old rusty sword.
> The Indians made several attempts to force open the door, but not
> being able to do so, again they would fall back to get rid of the
> dogs. At every attempt they made at the door, the old man would
> encourage the dogs. They being cross no doubt, but they took hold to
> the savages at every attempt they made to force open the door. They
> thus continued during the night until the appearance of day drove them
> off. Knowing if they waited until light, the old man would wreak his
> vengeance on them for disturbing himself and family during the night.
>
> I now close my communication by saying that I have not been able to
> obtain as much information as I had expected I should. William White
> as I before mentioned was killed and treacherously killed too and
> deserves more honor for active service in defending his country
> against a savage for than his memory ever received in the pages of
> history. White had but two children, one son and one daughter; his son
> William W. White still lives here. The daughter Elizabeth married Joel
> Westfall, my father, raised a large family, and died here. White's
> widow never married but lived to an old age and died near this place.

By 1787, John Wilson and his family had moved to Randolph County, where
John Wilson became active in politics. As a member of the first County
Court of Randolph County (held in May 1787), John Wilson was one of
fourteen Justices of the Peace. The justices elected John Wilson as
Clerk of the County Court, a powerful position he held for over 20
years. Because of John Wilson's lame right hand, he could not farm. He
evidently made his living from a store in Beverly and from his public
service. For collecting the "land tax" he was allowed 200 pounds of
tobacco in 1787 and 300 pounds in 1788. In 1790 he re­ceived 6650 pounds
of tobacco as the Clerk's fees.

Barr Wilson writes that "those early Justices formed a closed society.
They kept the County jobs and County business for themselves. John
Wilson proba­bly kept the Clerks job during the time he was sheriff and
during the time he collected taxes." The County Court made John Wilson
Major of the Militia, a rank he held from 1787 to 1794. He was one of
the original seven trustees of the town of Beverly, which was founded in
1790. From 1798 to 1800, he was the Randolph Co. sheriff, a job that was
rotated among the Justices. From 1893 to 1808 the County Court was held
in his house. In 1809 the Superior Court was established in Randolph
Co., and John Wilson was its Clerk from 1809 to 1811. He was also
"appointed surveyor of the highways from Mudlick in Tygart's Valley to
foot of mountain on northeast side of Horseshoe Bottom."

The court records show several references to .John Wilson. In 1788, he
"asked the County Court to prosecute Edward Hart for importing negroes
into the state, contrary to law." He was involved in a "lawsuit, John
Wilson vs. Uriah Gandy, which the jury resolved by stating 'the
plaintiff must have the horse'." In 1798 he was executor of the will of
Raphael Warthen, his brother in law (see below).

In addition to these jobs, John Wilson was one of two delegates from
Randolph Co. to the Virginia Convention that decided whether to ratify
the United States Constitution. Because Virginia was a very powerful and
influen­tial state, this convention was crucial in determining whether
the constitution would be accepted by the states. The Convention, which
lasted 23 days, was the scene of impassioned oration. Patrick Henry,
supported by James Monroe, George Mason, and other prominent figures
opposed ratification because it would diminish the prominence of
Virginia. Also, many delegates were influ­enced by the desire of the
plantation owners to dodge their \$10,000,000 debt to English merchants.
Virginia had prohibited the merchants from suing in Virginia courts, a
measure the proposed Constitution would prohibit. Other powerful figures
supported ratification, including James Madison, John Marshall, and
Edmund Randolph. John Wilson along with 15 of the 16 dele­gates from
present-day West Virginia voted for ratification. The frontier vote was
critical because the Virginia Convention ratified the Constitution by
only a 10-vote margin (89 for, 79 against).

John Wilson was also instrumental in establishing the Randolph Academy
at Clarksburg. Originally, one-sixth of Virginia county surveyors fees
were ap­plied to the support of William and Mary College at Williamsburg.
Because Williamsburg was very remote from the counties on the western
frontier, the four western-most counties (Monongahela, Randolph,
Harrison, and Ohio) were allowed in 1787 to apply this tax for building
and supporting the Randolph Academy, which was to be built in one of
these counties. Although it was hard to establish a quorum because
several of the trustees were easterners (Edmund Randolph, Benjamin
Harrison, George Mason, and Patrick Henry), a successful meeting was
finally held in August 1788. John Wilson was one of the original
trustees.

John Wilson's wife, Mary Westfall died at Beverly in 1795. Under such
cir­cumstances, it was common for a young or middle-aged man to remarry
within a year or two. On August 2, 1796, John Wilson married **Mary
Warthen** (XVI, April 1, 1780 -- Sept. 26, 1866), whose family (see
below) had moved to Randolph Co. from Montgomery Co., MD. Mary was 16
years old, and John was 40.

John and Mary Warthen Wilson had six children:

Dorcas Wilson (XVII, April 13, 1799 -- 1883), married Augustus Modisette
in 1819; later they moved to Doddridge Co.

Archibald J. Wilson (XVII, Jan. 10, 1801 -- Sept. 24, 1866), see below

Blackburn Wilson (XVII, 1803 -- 1885), married Aprima Mount (first
wife), moved to Wood/Ritchie Co. area; later married Kizziah Thorn

John Wilson (Jr.), (XVII, 1808 -- 1880), went to Ritchie/Doddridge Co.
in 1828, married Charlotte Dotson

Temperance Wilson, (XVII, 1811 -- ?), married Moses Thompson

Mary Amy Wilson, (XVII, Nov. 11, 1816 -- 1900), married George W. Shinn
in Doddridge Co. in 1843

John Wilson died on his 71st birthday, April 12, 1827. He was evidently
living near Hacker's run at the time. The 1911 History of Ritchie County
con­tains many errors about John Wilson's life, including the statement
that he was buried at Beverly. Barr Wilson has investigated this matter
carefully. Since John Wilson died near Philippi, he was likely buried
there, probably in an un­marked grave in the Old Quaker Cemetery.

Shortly after John Wilson's death, Mary Warthen Wilson moved from the
Philippi area to Ritchie Co. with Archibald and other family members.
She evidently lived with Archibald's family, probably until her death.
In 1856-7 she applied for a pension as the widow of a Revolutionary War
soldier. Several interesting supporting letters for this application are
in the National Archives in Washington and are transcribed in Barr
Wilson's History. Mary Warthen's claim was denied because she did not
demonstrate that John Wilson had served for at least six months.

**Family of Mary Warthen**. According to Warthen family genealogist Mrs.
Walton R. Collins (as transcribed by Barr Wilson), "Tradition states
that the Wathen (Warthen, Warthin are alternate spellings) family
originated in Flanders, where they fought alongside of the Black Prince,
Edward of England, at the Battle of Crecy. For this they were knighted
by Edward III and subse­quently migrated to England."

"Wathens can be found early in Gloucestershire, especially around
Bristol. They also lived in Northumberland, where the name meant
"Councilman." The family is supposed to have been wool merchants and by
the 16th century, at least, ship owners."

The early Wathen genealogy is unreliable, but our first "proven"
ancestor is John Wathen, who is supposed to be the son of Mary Mullet
(XII?) and John Wathen (XII?), who came to Maryland ca. 1647 and died in
1698. The young **John Wathen** (XIII, 1651 -- June 30, 1704/5) was
probably born in 1651 in Bristol, England (but possibly in Maryland) and
came to America in the ship "Francis and Mary" about 1668 as an
indentured servant. Court records suggest that he worked as a carpenter
in Charles and St. Mary's Counties in Maryland. In 1674 he received 50
acres of land, probably as a condition of his indenture. About 1678 he
married Susanna Hudson (his third wife), daughter of William Hudson.
They had several children, including those mentioned in John Wathen's
will: John, Ignatius, James, Hudson, Judea, Jane, and Ann. In 1702 he
acquired 200 acres of land in Charles Co., which he called "Wathen's
Adventure."

**Ignatius Wathen** (XIV, 1679 -- \~1757), the oldest son of John and
Susanna Hudson Wathen, remained on the family plantation, which he
considerably en­larged. He had at least three wives and several children.
His second wife, Mary Ware, was the mother of his son Leonard. His third
wife, Susannah Hawkins (XIV), was the mother of Mary, John, and
Ignatius. John Wathen was appar­ently born when his father was 61 years
old. Several children are mentioned in his will of 1757, but Leonard,
John, and Ignatius were bequeathed most of the land.

**John Wathen** (XV, 1740 -- Dec. 2, 1810) had two brothers near his
age, and they generally did things together. Sometime after 1761, John
Wathen married **Henrietta Riney** (XV) in Charles Co. About 1775 the
three brothers moved to Montgomery Co., MD. John served in the
Revolutionary War as a sergeant in the Maryland Militia. His battalion
was stationed in Charles Co. and was to watch the British fleet and stop
them from coming ashore and plundering. Sometime after John's brother
Leonard died in 1782, John moved his family to Randolph Co., VA. John
and Henrietta had several children: Nicholas, Raphael, Nancy, Mary (our
ancestor, see above), Wilfred, Susannah, Sylvester, Ann, and Henrietta.
Raphael died in Randolph Co., Ann went to the Convent of Loretto, Mary
married our ancestor John Wilson, and most of the others, along with
their parents, went to Kentucky, where they joined a large Catholic
colony. (This branch of the Warthen family was Catholic.)

**Archibald J. Wilson** (XVII, Jan. 10, 1801 -- Sept. 24, 1866) and
**Elizabeth Hudkins** (XVII, Oct. 27, 1809 -- July 18, 1892). Archibald
was the first son of John Wilson and the second of his six children with
Mary Warthen. He was born in Beverly in Randolph Co., but his family
moved to the Hacker's Run area (near present-day Phillipi) when he was
about eight years old (ca. 1809). Barr Wilson speculates that his family
may have had an inn or tavern here, where local roads met the road
between Beverly and Fairmont. Apparently he helped his father, whose
injured right hand presumably prevented him from farming and other
labors. Archibald, like his brother Blackburn did not marry until his
mid-twenties, perhaps because they were needed at home to support the
family.

On July 27, 1826 Archibald married Elizabeth Hudkins, who was born in
Randolph Co. Her ancestors are described below. Archibald and Elizabeth
had 12 children, of whom John Marshall was the oldest.

The period 1826--1828 was a time of transition for the Wilson and
Hudkins families. Barton Hudkins had left Barbour Co. for Ritchie Co. in
1826. John Wilson died in April 1827, and the family evidently decided
to move on. In 1828 Mary Wilson gave up her dower rights to three lots
in Beverly and Archibald.; Wilson sold his land on Fox Grape Run. His
sister, Temperance Wilson Thompson, who gave up her dower right to the
land, signed the deed. Other family members (except Temperance) also
relocated to the Ritchie Co. region.

In 1828 Archibald and Elizabeth moved to the Oxford area of Ritchie Co.,
which was then a virtually unsettled wilderness. In 1838 the family
moved to the mouth of Lynncamp Run along the North Fork of the Hughes
River. At this time the main road between Toll Gate and Pennsboro
followed the Hughes River, and it is likely that Archibald Wilson's
house served as an inn and tavern. He also taught school and later
entered public office like his father. In 1843 the first Ritchie County
Court elected Archibald as County Surveyor, a position he seemed to have
held for about 15 years. In 1861 he participated in the first
Constitutional Convention of West Virginia and proposed that school
districts be established to support free schools from local taxes and
property confiscated

from the Rebels. Archibald probably picked up his skills in surveying
and politics from helping his father, John
Wilson.![](media/image2.emf){width="4.569444444444445in"
height="2.275in"}

Census records suggest that his mother, Mary Warthen, lived with the
family until she died sometime between 1850 and 1860. Archibald Wilson
died in 1866. Because he was instrumental in the founding of the U. B.
Church in Pennsboro, he was the first person buried in the U. B.
Cemetery there. Archibald Wilson's will and other information from Barr
Wilson's History are given in the Appendix. ;

**Family of Elizabeth Hudkins.** Elizabeth Hudkins was the daughter of
**Barton Hudkins** (XVI, 1783 -- \~1857) and **Naomi Ingram** (XVI, 1788
-- 1874). Barton Hudkins was the son of **Bennett Hudkins** (XV, 1754 --
≥1810) and **Nancy Anglin** (XV, 1760 -- \<1810). Barr Wilson writes:
"Bennett Hudkins was probably born in Sussex Co., MD in 1754. He married
in 1776 Nancy Anglin, who was born in Allegheny Co., MD. Both Bennett
and Nancy are probably descendants of English settlers who settled early
in the Maryland Colony. The Hudkins family and the Warthen family may
have been related. Both families came to Randolph Co. from Montgomery
Co., MD at about the same time (1793--1795). Barton Hudkins (in his
deposition for Mary Warthen Wilson when she applied for a pension)
stated, 'I knew Mary Warthen in Montgomery Co., Maryland." Nancy Anglin
apparently died before 1810 be­cause she is not listed in the 1810
Census, which shows Bennett Hudkins with two males 16 to 26, one male
over 45, and one Negro slave. Like John Wilson, Bennet Hudkins evidently
moved from the Beverly area to the present-day Philippi area (Brushy
Fork of Elk Creek, Hacker's Run, or Fox Grape Run) around 1810. Bennett
and Nancy had at least nine children. Their son Barton was born (1773)
and grew up on the frontier in Randolph Co. On May 2, 1804 at age \~31,
Barton married Naomi Ingram, who bore him two boys and five girls.
Barton apparently fought in the War of 1812 and followed his father to
present-day Barbour Co. About 1826 he moved to the White Oak area of
Ritchie Co. He built a house near L. S. Clayton but soon moved to Bond's
Creek near the junction of the Parkersburg and St. Mary's Turnpikes
(present-day Pike). Barton and Naomi are both buried at Highland (a
community along Bond's Creek north of Ellenboro).

Naomi Ingram was the twelfth of 17 children of Ingram, **Abraham
Ingram** (XV, \~1750 -- \~1817) and **Elizabeth Slaven** (XV, Feb. 10,
1755 -- ?). Elizabeth Slaven was the third of ten children of **John
Slaven Sr.** (XIV, 1725 -- 1803) and **Elizabeth Stuart** (XIV). John
Slaven Sr. was born in Tyrone, Ireland in the mid 1700s. He initially
went to Rockingham Co., VA and later moved to Highland Co., VA, where he
settled permanently at Meadow Dale. This area is in present-day
Virginia, about 50 miles (across rugged mountainous terrain) southeast
of Beverly. Most of their sons (Elizabeth's brothers) settled in
Kentucky, Tennessee, or Ohio. John Slaven Sr. served in the
Revolutionary War as a private in the eighth Virginia Regiment from
1776--1778. John Slaven Sr.'s will, which is given in Barr Wilson's
history, gives some of his sons land and the remaining children each
five shillings.

The Ingram family was in Virginia by 1650. Abraham Ingram was proba­bly
born in Augusta Co., VA. Many Ingrams are mentioned in Northumberland
and other counties, but identification of Abraham Ingram's an­cestors has
not been established. In 1788 he acquired 388 acres on the east branch
of the Greenbriar. He and Elizabeth moved to Randolph Co. about 1801;
later they moved to Hacker's Run, where in 1817 Abraham Ingram wrote a
will that was witnessed by John and Archibald.; Wilson. The will
indicates that he owned land on Hacker's Run adjoining land of Barton
Hopkins (perhaps Barton Hudkins).

**Family of Rebecca Jane Clayton.** An excerpt on the Clayton and Amos
families from Barr Wilson's History is reproduced in the Appendix. Also
found there is a reference to a short history of early Clayton
ancestors.

Rebecca Jane Clayton was the daughter of **Elijah Clayton** (XVII, Sept.
11, 1811 -- Aug. 3, 1873) and **Millie Amos** (XVII, Oct. 23, 1813 --
Aug. 10, 1891). Elijah Clayton was the son of **Elisha Clayton** (XVI,
Dec. 11, 1757 -- Aug. 3, 1845) and **Elizabeth Little** (XVI, 1775 --
Nov. 12, 1860). Elisha's father was **David Clayton** (XV), who was an
early but relatively unsuccessful real estate speculator in Marion Co.
The Claytons originally came from New Jersey, where Elisha was born.
Elisha served in the Revolutionary War from 1776 to 1780. Elisha's first
wife, Elizabeth King, who bore him four children, died in 1792. In 1793
Elisha (aged 35) married Elizabeth Little (aged \~18) of Hancock, MD.
Elizabeth and Elisha had ten additional children. Their son Elijah
married Millie Amos in 1829, and in 1841 they moved to White Oak, where
they were among the first settlers. The Claytons became upstanding
members of the community and pillars of the local church.

Details of the following discussion, which is based on meager census
infor­mation, are not highly reliable. **Henry Amos** (XV), who was born
in Delaware roughly in 1765 married **Dorcas Hall** (XV), who was also
born in Delaware, ca. 1770. The Amos family had emigrated from Germany
about 1750. Henry and Dorcas Amos moved to the frontier in Monongalia
Co. about 1780. According to the 1810 census, Henry and his wife were
still living in Monongalia Co., where two of their sons (Henry Amos, Jr.
and Stephen Amos) were living. Living at home were two sons and two
daughters 10-16 years old and a son under ten years old; by 1820, only
the youngest son was still at home. Their second son **Stephen Amos**
(XVI) was born ca. 1790 and married **Elizabeth Miller** (XVI) ca. 1809.
By 1820, they had three sons and three daughters, one of whom was Millie
Amos. Millie Amos married Elijah Clayton in 1829, and one of their
fourteen children was Rebecca Jane Clayton, wife of John Marshall
Wilson.

This concludes the portion of the Wilson history derived mainly from
Barr Wilson's book. Most of the remainder of this History consists of
material dictated by William Kester Wilson to his son Bill.

**John Marshall Wilson**; (XVIII) is my great-grandfather. He was born
in 1827 and died in 1916. I probably saw him sometime but don't remember
since I was less than three years old. He lived in or near Pennsboro
most of his life but apparently was born in Taylor County and later
lived in Harrison County. In later life he was known as Squire. In 1850
he married Rebecca Jane Clayton,

a daughter of Elijah and Millie Amos Clayton of White Oak (i.e. near the
White Oak church between Pullman and Oxford). Clayton was very religious
and would not allow his daughter Reb to marry John Marshall. So John
Marshall Wilson joined the church and became a very devoted member until
after the wedding. John Marshall was a trader in lands and a money
lender. In the latter part of his life when banks came to Ritchie
County, he was very upset. He did not trust banks, but the probable
reason was that his methods of business might not stand up to the
scrutiny of a good bank. He probably acquired a lot of property in the
following manner. If a borrower paid off his loan down to the final
payment and then did not quite meet his last payment on time, Mr. Wilson
would repossess the land. ![](media/image1.pct){width="13.0in"
height="6.0in"}

His son William Martin Wilson,, my grandfather, had a very bright son
named Otis Guy Wilson, who was my uncle. Uncle Guy started his career as
a school teacher. One of his first school-teaching jobs was in
Pennsboro. My grandfather told him emphatically not to play cards with
his grandfather be­cause he could not tolerate getting beat. Uncle Guy,
in keeping with the youth of today, knew his own mind and could not be
bothered with the trivial advice of his father. He played cards with his
grandfather John Marshall and beat him badly. My grandfather told me
that this so enraged John Marshall that it cost my grandfather, William
Martin, about \$10,000 in inheritance (Wilson History, p. 107). So
modern society has nothing on our ancestors when it comes to being
vindictive.

Some time ago I found a record of John Marshall's family in the census
records in National Archives. Strangely enough, he was listed as Marsh
J. Wilson. I recognized him only through the names of his children.

If one goes to Pennsboro and stands on old Route 50 between Route 74
to­wards Pullman and the Pontiac garage, he will see a little road going
towards Pullman very close to the Pontiac garage. This road entrance
also is across the road and a little towards Harrisville from Jackson's
Feed Store. John Marshall Wilson's house was at the end of this little
road. Although the house was a good house by the standards of 1900, it
has long since been torn down. John Marshall died a slow death from
cancer of the lip and tongue. (He evidently smoked a pipe.)

John Marshall and Rebecca Wilson are buried in grandiose cement vaults
in a corner of the cemetery cordoned off by a heavy metal fence. Their
son Hooker and his wife Salina are the only others buried within the
fence. It has been said,jokingly, that the fence was built around their
graves to keep the devil from getting to their souls.

**Rebecca Jane Clayton** (XVIII) his wife, came from a long line of
stub­born people. A well-known picture of the Wilson clan, taken about
1906, in­cluded John Marshall and most or all of his many children and
grandchildren. Rebecca was very irritated about something and refused to
be in the group pic­ture.

The John Marshall Wilson family members were stubborn and occasionally
somewhat vindictive. The descendants of John Marshall could well examine
their genetic background to perhaps determine whether any of their
character­istics are inherited.

"Everyone was welcome at John Marshall and Rebecca's home and were
always asked to eat. Many preachers made a point of stopping here and
trying to convert John Marshall. They always ate a good meal before
making their pitch." (Wilson History, p. 102)

There is a large picture of Elijah Clayton in the White Oak Church. Many
years ago Brenda, my brown-eyed daughter, and I stopped at the church,
took the picture out of its frame, took it outside, and photographed it.
The church mothers would have killed both of us had they known it.

Elijah Clayton is buried in the White Oak Cemetery. He died sometime in
his sixties. He was a very strong man physically, as were most of the
Clayton men. One of the Claytons, Bill by name, was not only very strong
and could whip almost any man in the country, but also had many
girl-friends. I think he exaggerated a little, but my dad told me that
he had fathered about 50 illegiti­mate children. As my dad told me the
story, Bill Clayton came back from a trip to the home of one of his
favorite girlfriends. While they were together, some fellow in the
darkness nearby challenged him. Bill Clayton responded, "You don't know
who you're talking to." Apparently he did know, because that was Bill
Clayton's last utterance. He died instantly from a shotgun blast. With
his background, it is surprising that he wasn't killed much earlier.

This probably is the best place to include something about Uncle Bud
Clayton. I think he was a very young brother of Rebecca Jane Clayton. He
lived in the first house towards Pullman from the White Oak Church. My
dad introduced him to me as my great-great-uncle. So he must have been
Rebecca Jane Clayton's brother. He was a very good man, and I was always
happy when he visited us. I remember one time he ate dinner (lunch) with
us after his wife had passed away. He pulled out of his pocket a
handkerchief that had probably been used for six months and stuffed a
corner of it into his shirt collar so that it covered his shirt front.
Very appetizing to look at!

After his wife died, when he was in his seventies and living alone, he
is purported to have said that he wanted to marry a young woman who
could bear him some children to care for him in his old age. (Apparently
he didn't have any children. See also Wilson History, p. 442.)

Another story goes that some years after the death of his wife, he
realized that his days were numbered. He had a cow that he milked
morning and evening. The day he died he had been visiting somewhere, and
his host knew that he should not go home. He insisted and was taken
home. He died while milking the cow. As with many of these anecdotes,
I'm not sure of the details and so have made up the story as I think I
remember having heard it. The point is that, at the terminal point in
his life, the cow was the most important living thing to him, and he had
to come home to the cow to die.

John Marshall Wilson had 12 children. All, of course, are written up in
Barr Wilson's History and I will make mention only of the ones I knew
per­sonally.

**Leman Wilson** (XIX, 1853 -- 1933). This is my Great-uncle Leman. He
was a farmer and lived most of his life on Beason, which is an area
between Pennsboro and Pullman. In his later years, he lived in a big
white house in Pullman at the intersection of route 74 at the east end
of town. Uncle Leman was very small in stature compared with his
brothers. Probably for that reason, as my Grandmother Wilson expressed
it, he strutted around like a very impor­tant person. As I was in Pullman
High School from 1926 to 1930, I occasion­ally met Uncle Leman on the
street, and when he was ill, I would go visit him. Because I was under
16, and he was in his seventies, we had little to discuss. His standard
question always was, "How was Bill (William Martin, my Granddad) and
Arden?"

Uncle Leman had a son named **Earl Wilson** (June 13, 1887 -- \~1980).
Earl married a woman named Becky Elder;. My Great-uncle Leman violently
disap­proved of his marriage, and would never visit them. The Elders were
very bright people, but were unfortunately in a category not acceptable
to Uncle Leman. Becky was a very fine woman and they had three very
bright children. Earl Wilson gave Uncle Bud Clayton a picture of his
son, Earl.; Wilson, Jr. when the son was about three years old. Uncle
Bud, during a visit with Uncle Leman, pulled out the picture, and said,
"I want to show you the picture of a very fine little boy." Uncle Leman
sensed the subject of the picture and refused to look. To the best of my
knowledge, Uncle Leman never laid eyes on his grandchildren, who lived
only about five miles away.

Earl's and Becky's children all moved away after they grew up. Earl, Jr.
went to Boston, MA, Mabel Jean Wilson Staggers to Keyser, WV, and
Virginia Annabelle Wilson Day to Missouri. Information about Earl and
Becky's chil­dren and grandchildren (born in the 1950s and early 1960s)
is given in Barr Wilson's history. Becky died some time in the 1950s.
Earl died about 1980 and is buried in the Masonic Cemetery in Ellenboro.
The Earl Wilson farm was sold to Bud and Inez Forrester sometime after
Earl's death. This is the farm at the mouth of Beason, next to the dirt
road leading to Wilson Cemetery.

**Alphus Omega (Alph) Wilson** (XIX, 1858 -- 1930) lived on Beason all
his life. He was a very large man, and always seemed to be in a good
humor. I saw him several times and was casually acquainted with one of
his grandsons. I remember he came to our house when my brother Kermit
passed away. He had a daughter named Pearl who was a very big
woman---maybe 250 pounds. Her first husband passed away, and she married
a fellow named Albert Ranger (see Pennsboro News excerpt in Wilson
History, p.136). He was a French-Canadian from Ontario. He had lost one
eye while working in the railroad shops and wore a patch over the socket
(Wilson History, p. 136). Pearl died in 1942, and Albert got all of her
property. He died later, some time before 1972.

**Lincoln Wilson** (XIX, 1860 -- 1932). Uncle Lincoln lived on Rockcamp
just below my dad's house on the Harrisville-Pullman road. His wife was
Hattie Cross, and she frequently was cross. For that reason the family
was not as friendly with Uncle Lincoln as they otherwise would have
been. I seldom saw him although he lived very close by. There weren't
any children my age. Besides being a farmer, Uncle Lincoln was also a
surveyor and carpenter. For several years he was the Ritchie County
surveyor; he also built many one-room schoolhouses. Uncle Lincoln's
funeral, which I remember attending, was held at the Mt. Pisgah Church
on the Harrisville-Pullman road about two miles from Pullman.

Of Uncle Lincoln's eight children, two died in infancy, and four sons
spent their adult lives on the west coast. Two of Uncle Lincoln's sons
bear discussion. The first is **Henry Morgan (Morgie) Wilson** (XX, 1886
-- ca.1980). Morgie spent most of his life in the state of Washington,
where he was married and di­vorced and had one kid, but in his last years
he came back to West Virginia. After he returned to West Virginia, he
was somewhat of a bum and loved to visit where the wives were good
cooks. My dad had on his farm a tool house that he later converted to a
workshop and primitive living shack. He called this the groundhog house.
Morgie "rented" this shack for some time. This was not very luxurious
living. During this time he would occasionally come to Harrisville to
visit Dad and Mary, expecting a meal, which he always got. Unfortunately
for Morgie, he said one time that the didn't see how Arden could stand
his wife's cooking. Of course, Morgie meant it as a compliment. But Mary
was looking for an excuse for not having him to dinner anyway. I'm sure
she knew how Morgie meant the remark, but she absolutely refused to let
Morgie eat at her table again. Lest the reader be confused by this, Mary
wasn't being stubborn or vindictive, simply manipulative. She thought
Morgie was a bum and a sponge and didn't enjoy his company. Morgie
passed away a few years later, unheralded and unsung.

The second son of Uncle Lincoln is **James Alpus (Jimmy) Wilson** (XX,
1897 -- 1993). I never really knew any of his children as they were much
younger than myself. Jimmy was married twice, and has nine living
children, all of whom are completely self-supporting and own their own
homes. I visited Jimmy in 1984, when he was 86 years old, and he had
just finished painting his roof, and again in 1991 with son Bill.

Jimmy and his wife are the salt of the earth, and are always doing good
things for people. His first wife died in 1930 after a long illness
(Wilson History, p.142). During her illness, Mr. and Mrs. Howard Hodge
helped greatly, and Jimmy never forgot this. Two years ago, in a
monument sales yard, I saw a monument with Jimmy Wilson's name on it. I
asked about it, and the director told me that Jimmy was getting a new
monument for himself and his two wives and was having the old monument
recut for Howard Hodge and his wife. (No one had seen fit to erect a
monument for the graves of the Hodges.)

In his younger days, Jimmy was almost unbelievably strong, although not
large. One time when a group of men were working on the road, Jimmy
asked another fellow to help him to briefly at a task that required two
men. The other fellow said, "Just a minute, I have a hold on this rock
and I want to move it first" (with a crowbar). Jimmy impatiently came
over and threw the rock out of the way.

Jimmy had been a painter for about 30 years. Once two painters were
needed for an extensive job at St. Joseph's Hospital in Parkersburg.
Jimmy was one of the two painters chosen because 1) he was a union man
and 2) he was re­spectable and well-mannered.

There were several massive maple trees around Jimmy's yard. Jimmy told a
man he was five years old when they were planted. The fellow said that
must make Jimmy 200 years old. Even the nearby maples that Jimmy says
are seedlings from the original trees look older than Jimmy's 92 years.

Son Bill and I visited Jimmy in 1990. At age 92, Jimmy was still active.
He had been painting on the Mt. Pisgah Church. He showed Bill the
32-foot and 40-foot ladders he used to paint his steep barn roof. He
used the 40-foot ladder to climb up to the edge of the roof. He then set
the 32-foot ladder onto the roof so that an attachment hooked over the
roof ridge. He could then use the shorter ladder to climb up the steep
roof. He would move this shorter ladder around to gain access to all
parts of the roof. He obviously had no fear of heights.

Once Jimmy's mowing machine got hung up with dirt. He reached in to
clear it out but got his fingers too close to the blade and one of his
fingers got cut in two. He picked up the severed finger and walked to
the house. He told his wife that he cut his finger but not to get
nervous. She fainted when she saw his finger had been cut off. James
Alpus (Jimmy)

**Hooker Wilson** (XIX, 1861 -- 1935). I saw Hooker Wilson only once. He
was a large man and very unhandsome. In his earlier years he somehow had
cheated my Granddad, William Martin, out of considerable money and
property. Naturally enough, My Granddad never forgave him for it. I took
Granddad to see Hooker when Hooker was on his deathbed. Hooker's wife
said, "You can go in for just a little while because he is very ill."
Granddad went in, and Hooker cried like a baby, and said, "Bill, I'm so
glad you came." Granddad said, "Put your trust in God," and left. As we
were driving home, Granddad was silent for a long time. Then he told me
how he and Hooker disagreed about their in­heritance. Had things turned
out differently, he would have had about \$10,000 more.

Hooker married Salina Wells. Hooker was unhandsome, and Salina was a
very beautiful woman. Salina and Hooker did not get along well at all,
although they became friendly enough at least six times to have six
daughters. No boys were born to this union. One time Salina stabbed
Hooker with a pitchfork. This must have been Salina's favorite weapon,
for she chased a hired man into the river with a pitchfork. This
information was provided by Ray Cottrill, who is active in the Ritchie
County Historical Society. Hooker and Salina were buried next to John
Marshall Wilson in the Wilson Cemetery on Beason.

I attended Salem College with one of Hooker's granddaughters, Mildred
Taylor. At that time we did not know that we were related. About two
years ago, Mildred somehow discovered me, and wrote to me, asking if I
had any family pictures that she could copy. She is now Mildred
McCullough. Edith and I visited her a few months later and picked up the
pictures. She has a house and large outbuilding completely full of
antiques. Hooker

**Ingabee** (XIX, 1863 -- 1928) and **Josephine** (XIX, 1867 -- 1891)
were John Marshall Wilson's only two daughters. When Rebecca Jane
Clayton Wilson died, the surviving children agreed to meet the next day
at the home place to divide the furniture. That night, Ingabee and her
family removed all the be­longings from the house and took them to her
home. So when the family met the next morning, there was nothing to
divide. When my dad, Arden, told me this story, he said, "I don't
believe in these things, but she never had a well day after that." (The
other children evidently never contested this swindle.) I saw Great Aunt
Ingabee only once, when she came to our house when Kermit passed away.
She herself died November 19 of that year, 1928, from cancer of the
stomach at age 64 (Wilson History, p.152).

**Creed Wilson** (XIX, 1865 -- 1943) lived in or near Tollgate all his
life (Wilson History p. 156). Creed Married Allie Barr, and they had
three sons, William E., Brooks, and Barr. Creed obtained a law degree
from West Virginia University and was admitted to the Bar (no pun
intended), but he de­voted his energies to teaching and agriculture.
Uncle Creed had quite a way with the women. One time about 1930, when
Dad and I were collecting wool at Tollgate, I was a little tired and
showed it. Uncle Creed remarked that I didn't have the energy the older
Wilsons had. Dad and I visited Uncle Creed a few months before he died.
Creed was buried in the U. B. Cemetery in Pennsboro.

One of Creed Wilson's sons was Barr Wilson (1905‑ ). Barr married
Kathleen Duckworth of Greenwood, WV. Barr served in the Navy during
World War II and later worked at highway bridge construction. Continuing
the family's scholarly tradition, he has collected vast amounts of
information about the Wilson family. He painstakingly compiled this
information into a volumi­nous history of our branch of the Wilson family
entitled *Descendants of John Wilson*, *(1756-1827)*. This work is both
descriptive and critical; numerous er­rors in original sources have been
pointed out. Barr typed the entire book on a manual typewriter. As word
processors were unheard of at the time, this book represents an enormous
effort and impressive organizational skills. This book, which is now out
of print, is referred to here as "Barr Wilson's History."

Kester and son Bill visited Barr in 1990. He was still alert and
enthusiastic about discussing unresolved questions about the Wilson
family history. Barr told son Bill how he had walked to high school in
Pennsboro on a newly paved road nine feet wide. An older brother had to
walk to Pennsboro along the rail­road tracks, which went through a
tunnel. If a train came when he was in the tunnel, he had to quickly
find a manhole and climb inside.

**Benjamin F. Wilson** (XIX, 1870 -- 1946). Ben lived in or near
Pennsboro and was a farmer and politician (Wilson History, p. 171).
Although the Wilsons were noted for their industry, thrift, and good
judgment, they were not noted for their brilliance. Uncle Ben once said,
"I couldn't never learn nothin' in school, and Bill \[William Martin\]
couldn't neither." Ben was the youngest in the family, and he was the
last to pass away. After he moved to Pennsboro, he was elected mayor and
was mayor of Pennsboro until his death. As mayor of Pennsboro, Ben was
in his glory. He would not have traded jobs with the President of the
United States. (Barr Wilson's History, p.171).

Ben had a son named **Clifton Wilson** (XX, 1894 -- 1985). Cliff was
red-headed, and so was his wife. I remember hitching a ride with them
when I was attending Salem College. Their only daughter (Orma Marie) sat
in the back seat with me. I remember she had the reddest hair of any
person I had seen. Cliff worked in the bank in Pennsboro. While I was in
Salem College, the Pennsboro bank failed, and I had some money there. I
learned about the bank failure on a Friday about noon and immediately
left school and stopped in Pennsboro. I re­member Cliff wanted me to sign
a paper indicating my confidence in the bank. As I remember, I declined
to sign the paper. Occasionally when I was back home, Dad and I would
stop in the bank to see Cliff. Dad had a safe deposit box there. After
Dad passed away, contrary to law, Cliff allowed us to remove the
contents of the box. When Cliff was in his seventies, the bank officers
decided that Cliff had been cashier long enough. They had decided to
oust him but changed their minds when they discovered that Cliff owned
more than 50% of the stock. When Cliff realized, about two years before
he died, that he had to get out of the bank, he sold his stock to
interests outside the community. Although perfectly legal and perhaps
even ethical, I think it was a crummy thing to do.

**William Martin Wilson** (XIX, 1856 -- 1937) married Mary Jane Nay
(1855 -- 1937). The Wilson History (p.125) observes that they lived in
an old log house at the head of Indian Creek and then moved to the large
house in which they lived for 55 years. I am sure that they lived near
Berea (on the hill above Berea on the road to Auburn) when they were
first married. There was a settlement of Seventh-Days (Baptists) in the
Berea community. I remember my Granddad telling me that it seemed to him
that the Seventh Days did their noisi­est work on Sunday. My grandmother
was very jealous of my grandfather. He said he couldn't even talk to a
woman in town for more than a minute without the veins in her neck
beginning to swell.

Granddad was one of those men who was great in a way far above his
background and culture. He was gentle and jovial and had a remarkable
sense of humor. He was known as Uncle Billy and was greatly respected in
the com­munity. His grandchildren loved to come for the summer and, in
addition to visiting, were taught the virtues of hard work (although not
really very hard). My brother and I were probably closer to them than
any of the other grandchil­dren because we lived only a mile away and,
while in grade school, always stopped to visit for a few minutes on the
way to and from school. As the mail­box was about a mile away on the way
to school, one of us always brought the mail home. Kermit (about four
years older) brought it until he went to high school; then I did.

Although very little was ever mentioned about it, Granddad apparently
had a habit of hitting the bottle earlier in his life. I don't know
whether he had had a bad experience, but he told me one time that he
couldn't drink. He said liquor went straight to his kidneys. What he
meant by that I don't know. drinking

Granddad and Grandma were not the most compatible couple in the world.
From the time I knew them, they had separate bedrooms. His bedroom was
at the foot of the stairs---a very small room, probably not more than 7'
x 9'. Her bedroom was on the second floor at the other end of the house.
Granddad and Grandma had separate out-buildings about 100' from the
house. Granddad\'s out-building was a shop although I never saw him do
any work there. All of his tools were hung up very neatly. He had a
split bottom chair, in which he loved to sit in the workshop and tell
stories. I have this chair in my den, and I'm not sure that Edith will
wait until after my funeral to dispose of it. It is well-worn, and not
very attractive. With my fond memories of my grandfather, that chair
will remain in my den as long as I have control of the situation.

Granddad also had a shed which could be called the proverbial woodshed.
Although they had gas in the house as far back as I can remember,
Granddad would not allow a gas stove in the dining room, which also
served as their living room. He thought a gas stove simply did not put
out the kind of heat that a wood stove put out.

Granddad was very good with his grandchildren. As an indication of the
appreciation that his grandchildren had for him, Vance, Guy's daughter
Elizabeth, and I (with some spouses and children) made a pilgrimage back
to the old home in 1985, 48 years after his death, to visit the house
and to take pic­tures. The house is now abandoned---and for good reason.
Although it had running water and electricity, it was essentially a
caulked barn and not very liv­able. In its day, it was a great place,
with gas, bathroom, and running water. A so-called milkhouse was located
about 12' away from the house, and water from a spring ran through the
lower level of the milkhouse. Crocks of milk were placed in this stream
and were kept quite cool. The water was fed into a pipe, which went into
another reservoir (ca. 2' x 3') on the other side of the house, and this
is where Granddad washed his false teeth every evening. He had a flat
stick with a leather handle for his fingers to go through, and with this
he scraped the crud off his false teeth. One year when I was about ten
years old, I caught a large fish. We installed the fish in the reservoir
where Grandpa cleaned his teeth. That was great until one day the water
got high, and the fish washed through the pipe to the creek.

For many years, a bank existed in Pullman. Around 1920, this bank was
robbed, and Granddad lost one or more bonds in this bank. It was
considered to be an inside job, and many people even knew who the
lookout was. The rob­bery was a very crude operation, and today even a
mediocre detective would solve it in a week. In those days, people
usually knew what was going on but did nothing.

Although Granddad was a great diplomat and peacemaker, he also had a
great capacity for putting his foot in his mouth. This was
well-understood by everyone, so no one thought unkindly about him for
this. Once he mistook a fellow for someone who was very ugly, and tried
to get out of it by saying that both were very good-looking men.

Once Aunt Stella had baked a devils-food cake. When Granddad got up next
morning, he looked around for something to eat. All he could find was
this devils-food cake. So he cut a piece and ate it. Aunt Stella was
very upset that he had cut into her cake, and Granddad said he agreed
that it was a devils-food cake for he was sure it would kill the devil
if he tried to eat it.

When I was eleven years old, I went with Granddad to Fairmont to visit
Uncle Guy, Aunt Helen, Bill Guy, and Vance. I have forgotten how we got
to Harrisville. From Harrisville we went to Pennsboro by taxi-bus (a
large taxi which had a regular schedule). There we got the B&O train for
Clarksburg. Before we got to West Union, a huge black porter came
through our car and announced "Westa Union." At Clarksburg, we walked
about two blocks to get an interurban electric train to Fairmont. In
Fairmont we took a streetcar out to the edge of town where Uncle Guy
lived. Uncle Guy jumped on the streetcar and said, "Hello Father." After
Granddad said hello to him, he said, "Kester is here." Uncle Guy was not
expecting me, so Granddad had to tell him a second time that I was
there. We had a very fine visit, and it was my first introduction to a
more sophisticated culture. I had never before seen food served by the
head of the house. When they started passing the plates around, Aunt
Helen said severely to the boys, "Don't start eating until everyone is
served." They were entertaining Vance's and Guy's teachers, so Aunt
Helen really was telling me not to start eating until everyone was
served. I'm sure her boys already knew it. At that time Uncle Guy was
Superintendent of Schools in Fairmont. In the evening we went to a
program at one of the schools, and Uncle Guy gave a short talk. Ever a
diplomat, he knew exactly what to say.

When I was about fourteen, I went home with Uncle Loe and Aunt Lizzy and
Granddad to Chillicothe. This was not quite the sophisticated visit as
at Fairmont, but we were well-entertained. There was a wall light by my
bed. It had a switch with a black handle, by which one turned it on or
off. I didn't know how to turn it on or off. I tried pushing and
pulling, but nothing worked. I was afraid to turn harder, but I knew I
had to turn out the light. Finally I twisted hard enough, and the light
went off with a snap. I remember Aunt Lizzy telling me that I should eat
more things such as (raw) onions.

Granddad was not much of a businessman. By the time he died, he had used
up all of his available cash except for enough to pay his doctor bills
and funeral expenses. The only inheritance was the house and land.

His wife had a habit of climbing up on flimsy chairs. One day, she had a
fall, which caused some severe internal damage (perhaps a burst spleen),
and she died a few days later. After his wife died in May 1937, he said
he felt like he was out of jail, but he died in December of the same
year. He apparently died of stomach or colon cancer which metastasized
to the liver. The symptom was a greatly enlarged stomach for his slender
(but husky) build. All the Wilsons were husky and large; Uncle Alph was
the fattest.

William Martin Wilson probably never achieved an education beyond the
fourth or fifth grade. At a spelling bee at Patton School (the school on
Indian Creek), around 1922, he was given the word "tired" to spell. Now
Grandpa was a little uncertain about how to spell the word, so he said
"t\...i\...r" and hesitated. The people in the audience sat on the edges
of their chairs. Again he said "t\...i\...r," and hesitated. After a few
seconds, it came to him in a flash, and he said "e\...d". The audience
breathed a sigh of relief.

Although Granddad would be classified today as a hillbilly, he really
was­n't. He was quite correct socially for his education, and he always
wore a tie. It seems, he even wore a tie when he was working out in the
fields.

When Kermit went to college at Fairmont, he worked for Granddad during
the summer to make money for his schooling. Granddad kept him busy all
summer, although at times it was almost busy work. Dad and I always cut
the filth (bushes) in the pasture fields for Granddad after we had
finished our hay harvest. In this way I made enough money during my high
school years to pay for books, clothing, and perhaps five dollars
spending money for the year. From my acquaintance with Granddad, he
never really did much hard work. Of course, he was past sixty when I
first became aware much of him and Grandma.

As far as I know, Granddad never traveled anywhere except Fairmont and
Chillicothe. He was a great Democrat, and he thought Woodrow Wilson was
the greatest man who ever lived.

Granddad had a pair of knee-length boots. I really liked to wear these
boots, and Granddad was perfectly willing for me to wear them. However,
as I was having some trouble with my knees, my mother, who must have
been closely related to Edith Wilson, thought I should not wear the
boots. So, she prevailed upon Granddad to hide the boots. This really
hurt my feelings be­cause I knew then (and now) that wearing the boots
caused me no harm or dis­comfort.

**Mary Jane Nay** (XXI, 1855 -- 1937), my grandmother, is discussed in
the section on the Nay family.

**Stella Rebecca Wilson** (XX, 1875 -- 1966). Aunt Stella was a
brilliant and somewhat emotionally disturbed woman. She was interested
in education, became a school-teacher, and she eventually earned a
Master's Degree in English from Columbia University. For her day she was
well-traveled. Some time in the 1920s, she traveled to Europe by ship,
the only mode of overseas travel in those days. She visited Paris and
brought me some French coins. She sent a cable-gram to her dad and
mother which only said "arrived safe." She taught in several elementary
schools in West Virginia. After 24 years of teach­ing, she married Dow
Lambert in Rawlings, Maryland (near Keyser). This marriage did not last.
She had a very short fuse. I visited her one weekend about 1950, and she
was yelling at me before I got inside the house, "Don't let the dog
out."

When I was twelve or thirteen and Vance was seven or eight, he was
visit­ing at Grandpa Wilson's. We had a swimming hole down the creek, but
Vance was instructed by Aunt Stella that he should not swim since he had
a slight cold. I was also so instructed. Grandpa didn't exactly know his
place in the pecking order, and he told us that it would be perfectly
okay to go swimming. So Vance and I went swimming about one half mile
from the house. Now Aunt Stella al­ways said that her eyes were not good,
but somehow she saw us in the swim­ming hole. I just happened to look up
and saw Aunt Stella headed down the creek, walking faster than I have
ever seen any woman walk. I said, "Vance, we'd better get out quick." We
were hardly dressed before Aunt Stella ap­peared on the scene. She yelled
at me, "I told you Vance couldn't go swim­ming." I said meekly, "Grandpa
said we could go." Forgetting all of her lofty education in English at
Columbia, she said, "Grandpa ain't a runnin' it." So Vance and I
gathered all of our things in my little wagon and started for home,
following Aunt Stella. Such is life in confused pecking orders.

Somewhere in the family antiquity, there was a relative named Uncle
Dump, who had wasted his life away with liquor. Aunt Stella would always
remind anyone who took a drink of anything, that he would go to pot like
Uncle Dump. My cousin Vance occasionally liked a mug of beer. Every time
Aunt Stella caught him with a mug of beer, she would remind him that he
was going to the dogs like Uncle Dump. (Uncle Dump was John Marshall's
brother.)

Once upon a time, Aunt Stella appeared at Pennsboro, and Edith was the
only one available to get her. So she took Dad's '34 Ford coupe and
headed for Pennsboro. She found the train station and Aunt Stella, but
then became con­fused about how to get out of Pennsboro. She stopped at a
service station and said, "I'm lost." The station attendant said, "Ho ho
ho, lost in Pennsboro." But he told Edith how to get out.

Aunt Stella never had a car and never drove. She spent many of her
sum­mers at Granddads, partly because she didn't have a regular house or
apartment. (She probably rented a room in a house---a light housekeeping
room.) She usually lived in small towns.

She married **L.** **Dow Lambert** (XX) on February 4, 1930 when she was
55 years old. Aunt Stella and Dow Lambert did not live together very
long. I visited them a few months after they got married, and Mr.
Lambert's daughter from a previous marriage was there with her baby. Her
husband supposedly was a traveling man, but no one there ever saw him.
She is supposed to have told Aunt Stella that she had come home to run
Aunt Stella off. Aunt Stella got about half of his estate when they
split up. This included some acreage and two or three building lots, and
she built a small house on one of the lots about 1937. She lived in this
house until she went to a rest home in Cumberland about 1964-5.

In the summer of 1930, Aunt Stella, Dow Lambert, and their hired man
drove down to Granddad\'s in the hired man's new Chevrolet. After the
visit, my grandmother, Mary Jane, told me that they were very cold to
each other and that there was no love between them. During my visit with
them, Aunt Stella; was going to go to town on the bus for groceries. Mr.
Lambert had not given her much money. She sent me out to the barn,
saying that she needed more money. Mr. Lambert said "uh." I helped him
in the barn for about five min­utes. Then I asked, "What shall I tell
Aunt Stella?" He said, "I'll go in." I heard them arguing bitterly about
the money but don't remember how it was re­solved. Two other incidents
occurred while I was there. The first time, he had apparently spit on
the porch, and she really took him to task for it. The other altercation
was about the quality of paint to be used for some paint job. Their
conversations were very acrimonious.

On this trip I went down to the Potomac River and dipped my hand in to
say that I'd been to the Potomac. When I left, the hired man drove me
down to the station in Rawlings. I flagged down the train, which stopped
to pick me up. As this was my first time away from home, I really made a
deal of it. I first was going to get off at Terra Alta, and perhaps take
a bus from there. However, it was raining very hard, so I went ahead to
Grafton. There I got a train for Fairmont and spent the night with Uncle
Guy. I found the way to the house completely on my own and was only
sixteen at the time. When Bill Guy saw me, he practically fell over in a
dead faint. He was only fifteen, but he im­mediately took charge and was
a perfect host. Of course, Uncle Guy and Aunt Helen were quite surprised
but were quite hospitable. I knew they were leaving on a trip next
morning, and they took me to the interurban station so that I could get
an electric car to Clarksburg. I don't remember how I got home, but it
was probably by bus, which ran along Route 50 and went through
Harrisville. I called home, and Dad came in to get me.

After Aunt Stella and Dow Lambert split up, she lived in the little
house that she built for about 25 years. She had about \$12,000 from
savings and money she had gotten from Mr. Lambert. She lived by being a
banker to many people in the neighborhood. It is surprising that she
didn't lose a lot of money this way, but apparently everyone paid her
back.

I borrowed about \$80 from Aunt Stella in 1937. She wrote that she was
building a house and needed to be repaid. I wrote that I would pay \$50
now and the balance when my next paychecks came in. But I was slow in
sending the money, and she wrote again to ask for the money more firmly.
I made a mis­take in bookkeeping, and the check bounced. Eventually I got
the matter cleared up, but it made me look irresponsible.

Aunt Stella was a fairly good writer, and she worked for years on a book
about Revolutionary War times. She finally paid to have it published
herself, i.e. she paid to have about 1000 copies printed. Vance visited
her publisher, and he said he saw many books like this from time to
time, and if they were lucky, they could sell 1000 copies. Publication
of the book did a lot for her self-es­teem. When we visited her after the
publication, she was more cheerful than we had seen her in many years. I
still have several copies of the book in my pos­session. I believe there
is a sequel to the book that never has been published. When Francey
(Bill Guy's daughter) and Randy Newland visited us last sum­mer, I gave
each of their three children a copy of the book. After reading her book,
I think she probably would have performed far better as an educational
staff writer than as a novelist.

Although Aunt Stella was exceptionally well-educated for the time and
was a bright woman, her education and brightness did not extend to
sanitation. My dad was very vociferous about her lack of cleanliness.
She is the type that would wipe the floor with the dish rag, and then
wipe the dishes with it. We visited her once about 1960, when Jenny was
five, Brenda ten, and Bill twelve. As a surprise, she had lunch ready
for us. It was an excellent lunch, but the thoughts of her lack of
cleanliness was too much for me. I wandered outside with my plate, as it
was standup buffet, and I threw some choice morsels under the house. I'm
not sure what Billy and Brenda did. Jenny, who was almost un­cannily
perceptive when she was a little girl, realized that I had thrown some
of my food away, although she didn't see me. She cried and wanted to
know why she couldn't do like Daddy.

There is no accounting for this, for Aunt Stella's mother, Mary Jane
Wilson, was very clean. We took Aunt Stella home with us one time when
she was about 80. She slept together with Brenda, who was about eight
years old. Aunt Stella was so pleased with the clean sheets that she
almost hated to get into bed. She and Brenda hit it off great, and had
several satisfying conversations. In 1959 I brought Dad and Mom to
McLean for medical treatment, and we vis­ited Aunt Stella when we took
them home. That was the last time my mother and Aunt Stella saw each
other, for Mom died next March. Aunt Stella was pa­thetically pleased
that Arden and Mittie had visited her.

Aunt Stella inherited from her mother 110 acres, called the "big field."
She sold it to Dad with me as intermediary about 1947. He paid her
\$1700 for it and sold it to West Virginia Pulp and Paper Co. several
years later for \$2400. In retrospect, that was a huge mistake.

Vance and Bill Guy eventually took the lead in getting Aunt Stella into
a nursing home. I don't remember how long she lived after that, but it
was not longer than a year. We visited her once while she was in the
nursing home. She died August 4, 1966 and is buried in the IOOF Cemetery
in Harrisville.

**Wirt Cain** (no relation) was a very bright man. His birth was
somewhat in question. But there obviously was great talent in his
background. He was a musician, an artist of sorts, a very poor farmer,
and couldn't hang on to money. I became acquainted with him about 1935
and had a brief correspondence with him. Aunt Stella was somewhat upset
that I was wasting my time with Wirt Cain. When son Bill was about 6
years old, he and I and Dad visited Wirt Cain, who lived a few miles
south of Cairo towards Petroleum, about one-half mile off the road. Bill
kept repeatedly asking his grandfather impossible questions. Dad would
say "uh-uh, uh-uh" in increasingly impatient tones. Naturally I was more
amused than Dad. Wirt Cain also taught school occasionally. He taught
the Rush Fork School about 1924. My cousin Amy taught the same school
next year. Wirt Cain chewed tobacco during school and spit behind a
bench near his desk. Amy spent some unhappy hours cleaning up this mess
next year. Wirt Cain was far more intelligent than average but just
couldn't get things together in his life. Once Dad and I took Wirt Cain
to Parkersburg. We went into a jewelry store and Wirt asked to see a
rather expensive ring. The clerk asked him if he wanted to buy it, and
Wirt said no. The way that the clerk reacted, it was obvious that Wirt
was not going to be a customer. Wirt Cain had six chil­dren. One was an
invalid, perhaps because she didn't have the courage to face life.
Another went to every funeral around including Grandma Nolan's funeral
in West Union.

**Loe Roy Wilson** (XX, April 12, 1879 -- 1951). Uncle Loe Wilson was
somewhat the black sheep of the family. He and my dad, Arden Wilson,
took fiddle lessons from Wirt Cain. A neighbor said that Guy and Stella
were going to school trying to make something of themselves and there
was Loe and Arden playing those old fiddles and going downhill all the
time.

Uncle Loe never really did much with the fiddle. For many years he
worked as a fireman on the railroad. In those days, the fireman shoveled
coal onto the fire to make the locomotive run. Apparently, Uncle Loe was
strong anyway, but because of this exercise, his hands, arms and
shoulders were huge and pure muscle. In later years he developed a
stomach to match. He married **Anna Prunty** (XX) in 1900. They had two
children, Mable (1902-1950) and Harry Marshall (1904-1963). Uncle Loe
and Anna were divorced and Uncle Loe found his way to Chillicothe, Ohio,
where he started a taxi business. Apparently, he prospered and was
fairly well off when he died in 1951. He is buried in Harrisville. In
1915 Uncle Loe married **Elizabeth Griffeth** (XX) for his second wife.
She was a very nice looking woman, and probably had morals to match
Uncle Loe's. Mom thought that at one time Uncle Loe was in­dulging in
some extra-marital activities, which distressed Aunt Lizzie to the point
of doing the same. Apparently, she picked up a social disease of some
kind. When they were visiting one time, they were away from the house
for several hours, and Aunt Lizzie said she just had to get back to use
her medicine. As this was sometime in the Twenties, the medicine might
have been salvarsan, also called "606." This compound is effective
against certain social diseases and was used prior to the introduction
of penicillin in about 1945.

Once upon a time, Uncle Loe and Aunt Lizzie were visiting Granddad and
Grandmother. At that time a revival meeting was in progress, and the
practice was to rotate having meetings at people's homes. When Uncle Loe
learned about the meeting, he thought of something that he had to get
home for.

As the black sheep of the family, Uncle Loe sometimes pulled some rather
brutal practical jokes. There was a muzzle-loading shotgun around the
place, and Uncle Loe charged it especially for a "friend" of his. It was
charged with rock powder (for blasting rock) and miscellaneous metal
objects. Uncle Guy was ready to go into town to deliver an address at an
educational meeting. He saw a hawk flying over, and this hawk had been
stealing chickens. He grabbed the gun and shot at the hawk. The
unexpected recoil of the gun severely skinned his nose and face, and he
was in no condition to deliver an address. However, his mother managed
to clean him up so that he was fairly presentable. This happened about
1905, when Uncle Guy was helping conduct a teacher's institute (summer
instruction) in Harrisville..i). Wilson, Loe;

**Mable Wilson** (XXI) was the daughter of Uncle Loe and Annie Prunty
Wilson. She came from a broken home, and spent several years with
Grandpa and Grandma Wilson. She had two sons, Harry Marshall Barnes and
John Parsons, by two different husbands. Both of these boys turned out
exceedingly well, especially considering their deprived background.

**Harry Marshall Barnes** (XXII, Feb.15, 1926 -- ) married Elizabeth
Rhodes on July 14, 1950. They had three children, Carolyn Elizabeth (May
17, 1951 -- ), Harry Marshall, Jr. (Aug. 29, 1958 -- ), and James Paul
(Jan. 28, 1965 -- ). Harry is retired from the Prince Georges County
school system and is a part-time minister.

**John Wilson (Johnny) Parsons** (XXII, Apr. 14, 1931 -- ) married Joan
Fout on October 11, 1958, and they had two children, Carla Kay (Apr. 13,
1959 -- ) and John Stephens (Apr. 4, 1960 -- ). Johnny has been an
electronics techni­cian and also is quite religious. Mable died at the
age of 48, and Aunt Stella did what she could with the boys. John liked
to work with radios, and he had a little one-room shack outside of Aunt
Stella's house. Aunt Stella was afraid he was going to blow the place
up. He wanted to run electricity out to the place, but she would have no
part of it. Knowing that she wouldn't know the difference, he ran a line
out anyway. One time when I was there, she asked me to look at it. I
should have kept my mouth shut, but I told her what the situation was
be­fore I caught myself. She had me cut the wire. I told Johnny about it
sometime later, but he wasn't worried. He was leaving home anyway, and
his interests lay elsewhere.

He worked as an electronics technician in New England for several years,
and then gave up a good job to move to Illinois to do religious work.
They vis­ited us sometime in the early 1980s. Their children, a boy and a
girl, were about 14 and 16. I could tell they were very bored, so I took
them down to the rec room and showed them some family heirlooms. They
were very interested; in the family tree, my Uncle Loe is their
great-grandfather. I later sent them a copy of their family tree, which
I thought would take an hour but spent about three evenings on. The kids
were very appreciative and wrote me a thank-you letter.

**Otis Guy Wilson** (XX, 1877 -- 1952). Uncle Guy was by far the most
polished member of the family. He attended West Virginia University and
re­ceived his A. B. degree in 1907 and his M.A. degree in 1908. He also
did post-graduate work at the University of Chicago, Columbia, and
Harvard. In 1931-32, he did graduate work at the University of
Pittsburgh. Although he did not quite finish his doctorate, he received
an honorary doctorate from Salem College in 1934, the year I graduated
from Salem. He taught elementary school in Ritchie County and Clay
County and later served as superintendent of schools in Elkins
(1908-1915) and Fairmont (1915-1930). He was head of the Department of
Education in Glenville from 1931 until about 1935, when he be­came Dean
of Education at Marshall College, where he remained until he was forced
to retire at age 65 in 1942. West Virginia instituted a teacher
retirement system at that time, and the state would have had to include
him in the retire­ment system if he had remained another year.

There is no doubt that Uncle Guy was an outstanding educator. After he
retired in 1942, he wrote his memoirs, entitled "Fifty Years a Teacher",
which were published in various county newspapers. When I visited him
when he was on his deathbed in 1952, he gave me a copy. He had very
laboriously cut out the newspaper clippings and pasted them into a book.
As this was before the days of the quick-copy, this was quite an
outstanding job.

Uncle Guy married **Helen Vance** (XX) in 1913, and they had two
chil­dren, William Guy (XXI, 1914 -- 1983) and Vance Nay (XXI, 1918 -- ).
Uncle Guy and Aunt Helen met sometime prior to 1914 at West Virginia
University. Uncle Guy became city superintendent of schools in Elkins
and hired Aunt Helen as an English teacher. Just before Uncle Guy was
going to visit Aunt Helen to be married, he sent her a telegram and
signed his friend Frank Marsh's name to it. The message was, "WILSON
GONE BACK. TAKE ME" I re­member Bill Guy remarking that he was born ten
months after his parents were married. So he said that gave them a month
on the edge.

Aunt Helen was a very talented woman. She did what was necessary at all
times during their marriage. During the depression, she did her own
house­work, but when they moved to Huntington, she wanted a full-time
maid. I'm not sure that this ever materialized. Uncle Guy and Aunt Helen
were a great social pair. At any social gathering, it was always "honey"
and "dear" but on the way there and back, they could quarrel quite well.
Grandma Wilson learned this from visiting them. Aunt Helen was a great
professional asset to Uncle Guy. She was quite active in the Women's
Club, and at one time was the state president. Uncle Guy was very good
always to visit Granddad and Grandma. Especially in their later years,
he tried to visit as often as possible. This was not as easy as today,
for the roads were very primitive by today's standards, and the cars
(Model T's and Model A's) were almost as primitive.

Uncle Guy always sent my brother Kermit and me a Christmas box. In these
boxes would be writing paper, erasers, a dozen pencils in a box, paper
clips, and other items. In retrospect, I'm sure he had his secretary
prepare these boxes for him.

Vance told me (December 1988) that as far back as he could remember, his
father was bald and his mother had white hair. Uncle Guy was about 35
and Aunt Helen about 30 when they were married.

When Vance was about ten years old, he and his father, Wilson, Otis Guy,
came to the farm for a visit. Dad and I were cutting filth in the bottom
below our house. Naturally, Uncle Guy and Vance stopped a while to talk.
They had their dog with them, and Vance was practicing with my scythe
dangerously close to the dog. Uncle Guy warned Vance several times about
the danger to the dog of his careless wielding of the scythe. Uncle Guy
finally said in despera­tion, "Vance, you're going to cut that dog right
in two." Vance looked up at his dad in all innocence and said, "He's got
a bone in him, ain't he?"

**William Guy Wilson** (XXI, 1914 -- 1983). He married Frances McGuire.
They had three daughters, **Elizabeth** (XXII, July 13, 1943 --),
**Frances** (XXII, Nov. 5, 1946 --), and **Sally** (XXII, Mar. 29, 1951
--). Elizabeth married Jay Fast. Frances married Randolph Newland. Sally
became Sally Wilson George.

**Vance Nay Wilson** (XXI, 1918 -- ) married Ann Gibson Hall from
Baltimore. They had two daughters, Paula and Robin. Paula married Tom
Baird, and they have two sons. Robin married Neal Morris. From earlier
marriages, Robin has two children, Rick and Chris, and Neal has a son.

**Arden Wilson** (XX, Mar. 31, 1882 -- July 7, 1971). Dad was an enigma.
In many ways he had more talent and understanding than any of his
brothers or sister but wasn't what one would call an outstanding
success. However, I doubt if anyone in Ritchie County was more respected
than Arden Wilson. Everyone knew that his word was good. In retrospect,
his biggest difficulty was spending his life as a farmer when he was
talented in so many other areas. I'm not sure what those areas might
have been.

Aunt Stella wasn't the easiest person to get along with. One year, while
Dad was still in elementary school, Aunt Stella was slated to teach the
Indian Creek School. About once a week, she would take a mad spell and
say she guessed that Arden would just break up her school that year.
After three or four weeks of this, Dad said, "Well, Arden just won't be
there this year to break up your school." So that was the end of Dad's
education. I think he would have done well in higher education. He
seemed to be especially talented in legal sit­uations and in situations
involving interpersonal relations. I think he would have been a very
good country lawyer, but he was too honest to have gone far in the legal
profession or in politics. In his earlier years, his outlook was
somewhat limited. This was quite natural since he was born before
automobiles were in existence and when dirt roads were the rule.
Consequently, he very seldom got to Pullman or Harrisville, let alone,
Clarksburg or Parkersburg. He also had an uncanny way of saying the
truth in an undiplomatic manner. For example, a man's wife may be a
prostitute, but it is not correct to say to that to the man.

Dad had a somewhat peculiar emotional make-up. For one thing, he was
very stubborn. Mom used to say that he was a typical Wilson. When he
gets his head set, the devil couldn't change it. He was very set in
certain opinions. For example, he would not allow playing cards in the
house. I remember he said that there might be nothing whatever wrong
with cards, but he figured that it was his own business if he didn't
want playing cards in his own house. In an attitude similar to the
termination of his education, he and Mom fell out about some new living
room furniture that she bought in the late Twenties for \$136. This
consisted of a sofa and two chairs. She accused Dad of having put his
foot on one of the chairs. He insisted that he hadn't. She insisted that
he had. He insisted that he hadn't. Much more vigorously, she insisted
that he had. So he said, "Okay, I'm through with your furniture." If I
remember properly, he didn't sit on either of the chairs or sofa for
several years.

In like manner, he got mad over control of our Atwater-Kent radio. After
that he refused to operate the radio. When Kermit was about 17, Geneva
Hall and Betty Adams were visiting us. The three had gone out somewhere,
and, when they came home during the wee hours, which probably was 10
p.m., they made a lot of noise. Now Dad went to bed about nine o'clock,
rain or shine, company or no, and anyone disturbing his sleep was lower
than a snake's belly. I don't remember whether he got mad at Kermit, but
Mom tried to calm him down. That didn't do any good, and he pouted for
several days. They started discussing the situation rather heatedly
several days after it happened. Dad said bitterly that Mom was taking up
for Kermit. Mom said that she was not taking up for him, that what he
had done was wrong, but she didn't feel that they needed to make such a
case out of it. Dad gradually got over his pouting spell, and things
returned to normal.

In the spring of 1924, Mom had a serious operation, and in September Dad
had the smallpox. Mom's operation came in May or June after school was
out, and she didn't get home for ten weeks. I think Dad stayed with Mom
in Parkersburg until she was recovering okay. While Mom was in the
hospital, we cooked and kept house ourselves until Dad got a message
that Mom was very seriously ill and that he should come to the hospital.
In those days, the tele­phone operators in Harrisville and Pullman were
on duty on Sundays from 7- 9 a.m. and 5- 7 p.m. I don't remember how the
message was delivered, but I do remember how worried Dad looked when he
left. As we did not have a car then, I do not remember how he got to
Harrisville. The nurse had allowed her to sit up for the first time
after the operation and had left her for three hours. She had a heart
attack and almost died. The doctor said she had an acute en­largement of
the heart. Ever since 1924, she took digitalis to control her high blood
pressure. She later had a heart attack about 1950.

Arza Tate stayed with us for a week. We got a letter from Dad while Arza
was there in which he said, "Get along the best you can after Arza
leaves." This was a very traumatic experience for me. Until the time Mom
went to the hospi­tal, I never had a worry. I jumped out of bed every
morning happy to be alive, and always had a good time. It didn't really
worry me when Mom went to the hospital. We were staying with Grandpa and
Grandma, and one evening Grandma called us in and said, "I have a
message for you boys. Your mother had an operation yesterday. She is
getting along very well and should be home in two or three weeks." That
message chilled me to the bone, and I never was quite the same after
that. Thus, one never knows what effect experiences will have on
children. When Mom got back from the hospital, Amy Gaston spent five
weeks with us. Amy and I got along very well, perhaps too well. I
de­lighted in putting June bugs down her neck. Mom thought it was awful
for me to treat Amy this way when she was so tired and had just sat down
to rest for a while. I remember asking Amy why she hadn't married. She
didn't really ap­preciate the question as she was 27 at the time.

After Amy left, a young woman named Dessie Nuzum came to stay with us.
She was very good, and Mom was very satisfied with her. Dessie also
stayed with us when Mom was ill in 1928. At that time she was courting
Roy Barker very heavily, and they later married. They had a spat once,
and he was sup­posed to come the next Sunday. Dessie didn't want to see
him, so she walked down over the hill, and visited with Mrs. Primm. When
Roy came to visit, he had some cleaning that Dessie had given him, and
he returned it. Mom told him that Dessie was not there and that she
didn't know where Dessie had gone. So Roy knew he had been stood up.
They liked to court in our parlor. I remem­ber sneaking out on the porch
and looking in the window at them. They were necking rather heavily, and
this was my first exposure to the expression of af­fection between the
sexes. I had a small very simple accordion on which I taught myself to
play simple tunes. Occasionally, I would go out and serenade them. They
took it very well, but I'm sure they didn't appreciate it. The week­end
before Dessie was to leave, Dad told her that there would be no dating
past 9 p.m. except bed dates. This made Dessie mad, and she and Dad had
quite a row. Dessie went upstairs in a huff and came back down crying,
and said, "I hate to leave this way as good as you and Mrs. Wilson have
been to me." Dad said, "I didn't say you had to leave." And Dessie said,
"But how will you treat me?" And Dad said, "The same as I always have,
the best I know how." So Dessie came out on the porch where I was, said
something cheerful to me through her tears, and left on her date. Dessie
was there when my brother Kermit died, May 16, 1928.

After Dessie left to teach school, Mable Weaver came to stay with us.
Mable Weaver, later Mable Wise, was from a poor family of about eight
chil­dren, and the girls frequently worked away from home. Girls who
worked for families were known as hired girls. Mable stayed with us most
of the winter. One evening we were talking about ancestry, and something
was said about Mable being descended from the Dutch. Some of the Dutch
were not the highest class of people and were known as slop-bucket
Dutch. And Dad said, "So you're descended from the slop-bucket Dutch."
Of course, Kermit and I jumped on the slop-bucket Dutch bandwagon. So
Mable went to be early. The next evening, Dad said, "Well Mable are you
going to bed early this evening?" She laughed, and that was the end of
it.

When Dad had the smallpox in September of 1924, I was out of school for
six weeks in quarantine. Kermit was in high school, and the doctor said
Kermit could take a good bath, go down the front stairs and out the
front door, and stay with Granddad until he could come home. As I was
only eleven years old, I stayed home. But I had a good time going
barefoot all the time, gathering chestnuts, and other things that boys
of the time did. (I always went barefoot in the summer, unlike most of
the other kids, so I was the only one who had tough enough feet to go
barefoot.) While Dad was sick, the neighbors came in and cut his corn. I
always fed the chickens and slopped the hogs and got water from the well
(as usual). Part of the time Kermit and I stayed with Granddad.

Dad and Mom were never physically affectionate with each other.
Basically, I think they had considerable affection for each other but
never made any outward manifestation of it. I do remember that Dad said
that when they had been married about 35 years that he would do the same
thing over again. Dad never hugged anybody. The first time that he ever
had been hugged by a woman was when Edith and I would visit and she
would give him a big hug. He always had an embarrassed laugh for that,
showing his gold crowns and missing teeth.

In his younger years, Dad was a great bicyclist. Bicycles in those days
were one speed, without even the benefit of a coaster brake. Going
downhill, you pedaled backwards, and if the bicycle got away from you,
you were in deep trouble. Dad rode to Weston one time on his bicycle,
and it took him most of the day. When he got there, he was so homesick
that he wanted to turn around and come back. However, he spent the night
in a hotel, and came back the next day. In later years, he deprecated
the bicycle and quoted the Indian who said, "Lazy white man sitting down
to walk."

Dad made his living by a little dirt farming with only horse drawn
equip­ment , oil and gas rental, buying wool on commission for a third
party in the summertime, and in later years, making baskets and putting
bottoms in chairs. For a few months, about 1940, he was part owner of
the Pritchard Telephone Company. Although he knew absolutely nothing
about a telephone, he did know that the lines had to be kept up and that
other maintenance work had to be done. The telephone operators were
overjoyed while he was there because he always fixed whatever was wrong.
The operators said that other managers, when something was reported,
forgot about it as soon as possible. If I have the pic­ture correct, he
was in business with the brother of Mom's first husband, Grant
Pritchard. Dad saw that he was getting skinned, so he got out as soon as
possi­ble.

Dad had the knack of being friendly with the great and the small with
equal facility. Mom was quite concerned that he was so friendly with the
"trash" on Rockcamp. At the same time he thought nothing about visiting
individuals in high places. For example, after we visited Uncle Guy,
about a month before he died in 1952, we stopped in Charleston at the
office of W. W. Trent, State Superintendent of Schools. Mr. Trent was
very gracious, offered us chairs, and said, "What can I do for you, Mr.
Wilson?" Dad said, "Nothing, I just stopped by to chat for a couple of
minutes." Mr. Trent said, "In that case, take two chairs." Dad reported
that his brother Otis was a very sick man. On this same trip we stopped
somewhere for lunch, and Dad kept his hat on throughout the meal. He
always wore an old felt hat.

When I was about twenty years old, Dad took me with him looking for an
old man named Ed Zickefoose. He was a few years older than Dad. Ed had
gone back to the farm where he grew up and was living in an old chicken
house. I remarked that this was not a very desirable way to live. Dad
said that was true, but as a man grew older, he had a hankering to go
back to the place where he was born. Sometime later we visited Ed on the
same farm, and this time he had married and was living in a fairly
respectable new two-room shack. He and his wife seemed to be very happy,
and Dad and Ed played their fiddles together.

My mother had two brothers, and they were very bald early in life. Dad
had two brothers, who became bald very early. Dad did not become bald so
early in life, and he attributed this to his habit of keeping his hair
cut very close. About 1941, I brought home some mange cure, which a
medical student had given me for falling hair. I showed it to Dad with
great pride, and told him that it was supposed to prevent baldness. Dad
provided as usual one of his very hearty laughs, and said, "There are
two bottles of the stuff out in the garage that Uncle Guy brought here
twenty years ago, and you know how much hair he has." That was the end
of my mange cure.

Jim Primm's pasture field, in which he pastured his cows, was on the
other side of the road from our house. The cows always came up to the
top of the hill across from our house every morning about four o'clock.
One of the cows had a very large, loud bell. After several weeks of
this, Dad, in desperation, stole the bell. I still have the bell.

In the years 1900-1925, life was somewhat more brutal, and communica­tion
was often not through words but through deeds that were sometimes
ques­tionable. A man named Harley Cox for many years owned a general
store at Five Forks. Harley Cox is reported to have consumed several
hundred gallons of liquor but was never drunk. drinking He also liked to
hunt foxes at night along with several of his cronies with their dogs.
When the dogs were chasing a fox, their yelping would awaken the
neighborhood. Dad worked very hard, and he didn't like to be awakened by
howling dogs. Also, the dogs sometimes got into his sheep and killed one
or two. This hurt Dad's feelings, and one night he took care of one of
Harley's dogs. I'm not sure whether he shot the dog or gave the dog a
piece of meat with strychnine. However, the dog met its demise, and Dad
buried the dog. The next day, Harley Cox stopped at the house and wanted
to know if Dad had seen his dog. Dad asked him a few questions, and then
said, "From what you tell me, I would say the dog is dead." So Harley
Cox knew that Dad had killed his dog, but Dad hadn't admitted it, so
Harley left in a huff. Harley's granddaughter and her husband and family
are now (1988) renting the house.

Another dog story is about a fellow named Ardie Starkey, the son of Bud
Starkey. For a while, they lived in a little house above where Ruby
Wilson now lives. For some reason Dad had it in for this dog. When they
were moving in, they moved some things to the house and put the dog in
the basement of the cel­lar house. Dad took a bait with strychnine,
opened the door, threw it in to the dog, and left. The dog ate the bait
and promptly died. Ardie Starkey was very mad about this, and he said
that anyone who did it must have fed the dog from a plate, for the dog
ate only from a plate. Dad, Howard Hodge, and Charley Tate laughed about
the incident and accused each other about doing the deed. Howard laughed
and laughed about Ardie saying that the dog would eat only from a plate
and said, "I bet Arden could tell him a damned sight different."

The next dog story is somewhat tragic because Dad killed Howard Hodge's
dog unintentionally. A dog had been coming to our house and making a
nui­sance of itself. Dad inquired of Howard if his dog ran around at
night. Howard assured him that it didn't, so Dad put out a bait for the
dog. The dog managed to get home and collapsed.

Dad visited Webster Springs with my Grandmother Wilson about 1901 when
he was 19. He loved the sulfur water, and he felt that it helped his
stom­ach trouble. He complained all his life that certain foods hurt his
stomach. Mom thought it was his imagination, but for the past several
years I have had the same problem. Dad and I visited Webster Springs
again in 1948 when we had the old Straight-8 1940 Pontiac. Dad was full
of himself, and told a couple of fellows standing there that he hadn't
been there for 49 years and that the place had certainly changed. A few
years later when son Bill was 14, we took Dad back again and got several
jugs of water. Another place where Dad got water occasionally was
Borland Springs. About 1928 we drove the Model T Ford to Borland
Springs, which is located 15 miles east of Parkersburg, two miles off
the hard road. The road was very muddy, but we got our ten bottles of
water and came home. However, it was all the Ford could do to pull
through the mud in low gear. I felt that something was wrong, and when
we took the car to the garage, we found that the differential gear was
stripped.

As Dad was alone much of the time, he naturally developed the habit of
humming or singing to make himself better company. One of his favorite
hymns went as follows:

In the Resurrection Morning, when the trump' of God shall sound

We shall rise, we shall rise.

I shall see my Blessed Savior, who so freely died for me,

We shall rise, we shall rise.

I'm not sure whether he held the belief of eternal life, for he said to
me about a year before he died, "As far as I am concerned, when you are
dead, you are dead." I didn't respond to this.

At the other end of the spectrum, he knew an Irish ditty that was clean,
but it held implications of somewhat more than mischievousness:

There were biters, there were fighters

And lots of dynamiters,

There was beer, wine, whiskey and cake,

There were men of high position,

There were Irish politicians,

And they all got drunk at Stephen Donell's wake.

Dad had certain expressions and practices with respect to dress that
were somewhat unique. When he was going to town to a special church
function or a social gathering, he said he was "goin' out among 'em." At
such times, he would wear a "fried shirt," which meant a white shirt. He
always asked mom what he should wear, and she would give him explicit
instructions about shirt, pants, tie, coat, and shoes. I asked him one
time if he didn't know enough to dress himself. He said sure, but no
matter what he put on, it was always the wrong thing. It was easier to
ask and follow instructions than to take the criti­cism for not putting
on the right thing.

In my own case, I dress myself. If there is any question about my
selec­tion, I request specific directions, which I will follow. But if
there is any criti­cism, there is some danger that I will go into orbit.

Dad had a rule that if he had been somewhere in the afternoon where he
had to "dress up," he would always change clothes before milking. One
time he violated that rule, and the last stream somehow missed the
milking cup and got onto his shoe. I'm not quite sure what that might
have hurt, for a cloth treat­ment would have made the shoe look better.

Mom kept all of the old rags from worn-out clothes in the cellar house
on an old set of shelves. She first cut off the buttons and put them in
a "button bucket," which was just a can about four inches in diameter. I
followed this same practice when I came to the big city, much to the
amusement of my roommates. But they were very glad to have a spare
button available if they were in need.

We had some floor wax in the cellar house on the rag shelves. I got a
new pair of work shoes one year, and I was very proud of these shoes.
Every morning before I went out to work, I would wax my shoes. After two
years, these shoes looked like they had just come out of the box in the
store. I was also very careful about the laces so that they always
stayed flat.

Dad was never very concerned about his eyes, because he could see well
enough for the purpose. Mom was very concerned about his eyes because
she felt she was his guardian. One time they went to Parkersburg for Mom
to do something or other and for Dad to get his eyes checked. At the
proper time, they met at the car and started home. A few miles out of
Parkersburg, Mom asked, "What did the doctor say about your eyes?" Dad
grinned sheepishly and said he wasn't able to get to see the doctor, but
he sure got a good fiddle.

Dad frequently bought a fiddle when he went to a sale. Mom would allow
only two fiddles in the house because they had so little room. So Dad
was forced to keep his fiddles in the garage. The first time we came
home after Mom passed away, Dad had thirteen fiddles laid out on the
dining room table.

Dad liked to go to sales but he never overbought. He very seldom paid
over \$5.00 for any article and usually it was 25 cents or a dollar. It
was just a game with him, and he never really tried to make any money,
although I guess he made a few dollars. I never would have expected it,
but in his later years he would buy dishes or something for the house
instead of a tool or an antique piece of furniture. Some of the stuff he
repaired and sold at a slight profit, and some of it he gave away.

In late 1962 after Mom had been dead for about three years, Dad married
**Mary Sommerville Zinn** (XX), the widow of Bill Zinn. They had nine
very good years together before Dad passed away in July 1971 at the age
of 89. He remarried at the age of 80. About a month before he got
married, we had a telephone conversation with him which was very
unsatisfactory. His hearing was very poor. Soon after he married, we had
a telephone conversation with him, and his hearing had never been
better. She was not his intellectual equal, but they got along
exceptionally well together. It was an excellent second mar­riage for
both of them. Mom had given Dad several tense moments and vice versa,
and I think Bill Zinn had probably not been the best of husbands for
Mary. I'm not sure how well Dad adjusted to the little house in
Harrisville, but at least he tolerated it. Mary was a good cook, and Dad
ate very well.

Mary Zinn's first husband was distantly connected through blood or
mar­riage relations to our family in two ways. Bill Zinn was a brother of
Earl Zinn, father of Edith Wilson's brother-in-law Nelson Zinn. Nelson's
mother Enid was Homer Wilson's daughter. Homer was a descendant of Col.
Benjamin Wilson, son of William Wilson and brother of our ancestor John
Wilson.

**Hervie Kermit Wilson** (XXI, Apr. 9, 1909 -- May 16, 1928). I don't
really remember when I first became aware of Kermit. My first
recollection is that after a hard rain, we were playing in the road
ditch. We dammed up the ditch and got all muddy in the process. Mom had
just cleaned us up and was very up­set. The washing machine in those days
was the scrub board. Dad gave Kermit a licking and told me that he had a
real notion to give me one too. I remained silent and escaped. Of
course, it was simply little boy practice, and we were really hardly to
blame. Another time when I must have been about five years old and
Kermit nine, I had an old caster in my hand. He kept good-naturedly
daring me to throw it at him. Being of a somewhat weak character, I
finally threw it at him. It hit him in the head, drew a lot of blood,
and he cried. Mom was very upset, cleaned up the wound, put Kermit on a
chair on the front porch, and told me to stay away from him. Another
time we were throwing a small iron bar at a tree by the cellar house. I
knocked off a patch of bark that was rather large, so we stopped
playing. About two hours later, Dad saw it, was a little upset, and
asked which one of us did it. In the meantime, somehow, I had completely
forgotten that I did it and denied it emphatically. Dad said, "One of
you is lying. If I ever find out which one it is, you'll get a licking."
When I went out in the yard and saw the tree, I had instant recall. I
didn't dare tell Dad that I had forgotten about it for he wouldn't have
believed me. I can hardly be­lieve myself, but I have noticed since then
that this was the typical way that my mind worked sometimes. At times,
it is very convenient, but other times it is very inconvenient. Another
time, in the winter, when we were playing on the floor, I was dripping
water from the wash pan into Kermit's face. We thought it was great fun,
but I accidentally hit a tooth with the wash pan and that was the end of
a hunk of his tooth.

Although it is difficult to admit, Kermit was far stronger, brighter,
and more aggressive than I was. He and Dad always worked together in the
fields, and he naturally learned to be independent and aggressive. We
probably got along as well as most brothers, and I will not dwell on the
times when we did not get along. As I mentioned in my discussion of Dad,
we got a Model T Ford Touring Car in 1924. Kermit started driving it
immediately, I think, without any lessons. He bought all the gas, and
kept the car in repair. Of course, there wasn't much to keeping a Model
T Ford in condition. One made sure the rear wheels were tight, as loose
wheels could shear the key in the hub and leave one without power or
brakes. It had four spark plugs, four spark coils, and a car­buretor with
a manual choke and a minor adjustment. The spark advance was a lever on
the left side of the steering wheel, and the throttle was a lever on the
right side of the steering wheel. Which reminds me, our mail carrier got
a new Model T Ford, and he said that before he took it out of the shop,
he installed a water pump and a Rucksteel axle. This made it a four
speed transmission (instead of two). There was no air cleaner or oil
filter.

When Kermit was going through high school, he wanted to finish in three
years. He took an extra course each year and one summer when Aunt Stella
was home, she tutored Kermit in a subject, the name of which I have
forgotten. A girl named Hazel Sharpe, who lived part-time with the Bob
Pattons down the creek, also took the course. Kermit passed the course
satisfactorily and was able to graduate in three years. Of course, high
school was much easier in those days. By today's standards, I doubt if
his complete high school course, except for English, would measure up to
more than a sophomore in high school today. This assumes, of course,
good students, because Kermit did work hard.

Kermit started to college when he was 18. He lived with Uncle Guy and
Aunt Helen Wilson in Fairmont and attended Fairmont College. He was an
ex­cellent student and was very popular. He was trying for all A's in his
second year when he died in May. When his professors learned of his
illness, one called and said that if he didn't get back to school, he
would still get a B in all of his courses. While he was in college, he
worked for Granddad Wilson in order to make money to attend college.
Granddad didn't really have all that much for him to do, but I think
Kermit was his favorite Grandson. Although Granddad never really said
anything, he was badly hurt when Kermit passed away. Kermit was planning
a career in law and specifically corporation law. I think he would have
made an excellent lawyer.

To show his aggressiveness, when he was in the first year of college, he
bought a car\--an old Maxwell. This was not the best buy in the world,
but it gave Kermit a lot of experience. I remember he drove it home one
time. I spent most of the afternoon sitting in the car. Occasionally I
would start the engine, pull it forward a few feet, and then pull it
back. Of course, I was en­tirely too young to drive it on the road. I was
only thirteen at the time. Kermit had a good friend from Pullman High
School named Duane O'Neal. They bought the car together. Kermit
eventually sold the car because the engine was in very poor shape.

I think Kermit had several girl friends. Strangely enough, his favorites
came from the Indian Creek Community. One was named Violet Smith. How
much he dated her, I don't remember, and, of course, we don't know how
he really felt about her. The other girl was Lenore Zickefoose. She was
very fond of Kermit, and I think she was his favorite. When Dad went to
church the first Sunday after Kermit died, Lenore, who was in the
church, started crying as soon as Dad came in. I don't think she stopped
crying the whole service. She later married someone whom she probably
didn't really like very much and died of leukemia at age 35. When Kermit
was in his second year at college, he contracted the measles, about
February. As he was getting well, Uncle Guy commanded him not to go to
school. With the Wilson stubbornness and the Adams trait of "No one is
going to tell me what to do", he went to school any­way. He almost didn't
make it, he was so weak. He was home once after that. He said, as far as
he could tell, it didn't hurt him a bit. My own bout with the measles,
when I was about 40, leads me to believe otherwise. Early in May in
1928, he got a bad cold. That developed into the flu and then pneumonia.
Uncle Guy called Dad, and he went up the day before Kermit died at three
o'­clock the next morning. Aunt Stella was with them at the time. They
hired a car, and Dad and Aunt Stella got home about 8 a.m. In the
meantime, Mom had asked Mrs. Tibbs, my grade school teacher to come up
and spend the night with her. We also had a girl staying with us at the
time because Mom had not been well. I'm not quite sure what happened. I
think they stopped in Harrisville and told Uncle Oliver and Aunt Orpha,
and Uncle Oliver came out with them. I was in the basement pumping water
with the old hand pump, and when I came up, Mom was crying, and all of
the others were trying to comfort her. Naturally, things were never the
same after that.

Dad was never in the best of financial circumstances. He owed
consider­able money to both Granddad and Grandma Wilson, Naturally, they
never asked him for it, and he paid them as best he could. Uncle Guy
came out from Fairmont about three weeks after Kermit passed away and
told my folks that various members of the family had paid his funeral
expenses. Uncle Homer sent \$160, but some of that was returned. Thus
ended a life that probably would have been the most outstanding in the
family. I don't think Mom ever really re­covered from the shock and I'm
not quite sure how Dad really felt. He and Kermit Wilson had not always
been on the best of terms, as Kermit was far brighter and more forward
than Dad.

**William Kester Wilson** (XXI)

EARLY YEARS. I was born on September 15, 1913 in a little three-room
house on the site of the present house, a large two-story frame house.
The little house was torn down when the big house was built in 1916. I
can remember Dad taking up the boards on the porch of the old house.
Apparently, the old house had a cellar and a cellar house, and this
structure remains today. An out­building 16' x 24' was first built for
the family to live in while the new house was built. This building had a
basement with a cistern as a partial water supply for the new house. I
remember that this outbuilding was heated with a potbel­lied stove. One
time one of the workmen gave me a bag of candy or sweet rolls and told
me to go to the little outbuilding but not to open them. I didn't really
know what he was talking about, so I opened them and spilled them on the
floor. Naturally, I was spoken to about this and didn't really
understand what I had done.

I remember very little between that time and the time I started to
school. I have been told that I frequently was given castor oil. I liked
it so well that I would crawl out of the crib and lick the spoon. I also
remember that I was afraid, what of I don't know, even though my crib
was in the same room as Dad and Mom. I would pull the cover over my
head, and Dad would have to come over and take the cover off my head. I
have always been afraid of the dark and am to this day. For that reason,
one of my first purchases, as soon as I had any money, was a flashlight.
I also very early acquired a knife and a watch. In those days, a watch
was always a pocket watch and usually was an Elgin, costing \$1.00. I
could carry a watch for one year, and it would gradually not run any
more. The hairspring usually became weak, and with one watch, I bent the
hairspring so that it gave a little more kick. This enabled the watch to
last an­other year. Many of the watches then had radium dials. I believe,
the face was black, and the hands were white with a radium salt on them.
Such watches have not been available for many years, as the
radioactivity was more potent than would now be considered safe. By
today's standards, my playthings were very meager and I was not allowed
to get into the kitchen drawers like my grandson Toji. Neither of my
folks ever sat down and read to me.

When I was six, I started to school. This was a one-room country school
called Patton School, which was two miles down the creek. My Granddad
and Grandmother Wilson, William Martin and Mary Jane Nay, lived about a
mile from our house down in the bottom. We always stopped there going to
school and coming from school. My brother and I always got the mail for
Granddad, as his mailbox was down at the church, which was a quarter
mile away from the school. Granddad paid us 30 cents a month for this
service. This was quite a long walk for me when I was only six, but many
of the other kids did the same thing. I stayed home only in very bad
weather. All of us went barefoot until the weather got too cold. In
1924, when I was eleven years old, Dad got the smallpox, and we were
quarantined for about a month. As I went barefoot all this time, I was
still barefoot when I went back to school some time in October. None of
the other kids were barefoot that late, and I was real proud of myself
for being so tough.

A TYPICAL SCHOOLDAY WHEN I WAS SEVEN YEARS OLD (1920). School ran from
about October 1 until the end of March. Compared with to­day, the school
year was very short, and we did not get near the training that the
children of today get. In addition, our exposure to life of a
sophisticated nature, commonplace today, was exceedingly minor.

I would be called to get up about 7 a.m. On a typical December day, I
would have slept in my heavy underwear and had removed my clothing in
the kitchen the night before. I probably kept my socks on to go upstairs
to bed. I didn't know what house slippers were until I was 20 years old.
The bedrooms were unheated, and therefore the floors were cold. There
were no electric blankets. In addition, we normally opened a window "for
health." The beds were ice-cold. It usually took about half an hour to
warm the bed to the place where one could go to sleep. If one needed to
make a trip to the bathroom during the night, he made it quick. As we
did not have gas in the house until 1924, it was necessary to keep fires
in the wood stoves in the kitchen and the bathroom to keep the water
from freezing when the temperature was below 32°. Our stoves were not
very elegant. They looked good, but they were made of comparatively thin
sheet metal except for the grates. Of course, Dad had to get up two or 3
times during the night to tend the fires. He didn't believe in alarm
clocks, but somehow he managed to keep the water from freezing.

After dressing, I ate breakfast, which usually consisted of corn flakes
with thick cream and plenty of sugar. We also had Post Toasties, which I
liked much better than corn flakes. In addition, we had bread, butter,
and applesauce. As we had neither gas nor electricity, making toast was
out of the question. Of course, it was possible to dry the bread in the
oven to achieve a form of toast, but this occurred only when we were
sick. At that time, we would have toast with hot milk poured over it,
the therapeutic value of which is somewhat ques­tionable. After
breakfast, about eight o'clock, my brother and I would start for school
about two miles away. We first descended a rather steep hill to the
bot­tom, which was the source of a creek that I loved to play in. About a
mile from our house lived my Grandmother and Grandfather Wilson. We
always stopped and went in to chat for a while. As they were born about
1855, having only horse and buggy for transportation and only letter and
word-of-mouth for communication and as they had never lived anywhere but
Ritchie County, the conversation I am sure was somewhat dull by today's
standards. However, there was genuine affection between grandparents and
grandchildren, and we greatly enjoyed stopping. The mailbox was on the
county road, a one-lane dirt road at the Methodist-Protestant Church,
which was two stone's throws from the schoolhouse. Until Kermit left for
high school, he got the mail, and Granddad paid him 30 cents a month for
this service.

School started promptly at 9:00 a.m. and lasted until noon with a 15
minute recess at 10:30. Lunch was from noon until one o'clock, and
recess from 2:30 to 2:45. Classes were convened with the proverbial
hand-bell. Grades ranged from one through eight. Mrs. Tibbs was the sole
teacher for about 15 students. Girls sat on the road side, and boys sat
on the creek side.

There were no school buses in those days. One walked to school, rain or
shine, snow or sleet. Most of the kids arrived early and played for a
while be­fore classes started. There was a playground on a flat piece of
land below the schoolhouse by the creek. The games were somewhat dull,
consisting of base, prisoner's base, or, when we had a light snow, fox
and geese. In a game of base, two or more base points would be
established, and a group of kids would assemble on the base. The trick
was to range from the base and try to tag someone from another base. The
first one of a pair of players to leave a base would be vulnerable, and
another person from another base could catch him, and the caught person
would be forced to go to a new base and give that base his loyalty. This
continued until all the persons were on one base or until the bell rang,
usually the latter.

In the game of prisoner's base, one did not change his loyalty from one
base to another if he were caught, but was retained as a prisoner until
someone could rescue him. It was miserable to be a prisoner. All one
could do was stand there until rescued. As the older kids did not care
much to rescue the younger ones, who were more vulnerable and less
useful, they frequently stood on the prisoner's base the whole time.
Another favorite game was hide and seek. In this game, someone would
hide his face and count to 100 and everyone else would hide. The seeker
then went looking. If he saw someone and beat that person to the base,
then that person lost out. The sought person really didn't lose anything
except a little playground status. A kid who would be de­fined by today's
terminology as well-adjusted wouldn't give a hoot. If the sought person
beat the seeker back to the base, he got in free. A favorite pas­time was
for the sought person to put on someone else's hat to confuse the
seeker. One time Juanita Snodgrass put on someone else's hat and peeked
around the schoolhouse. I saw nothing but her eyes, but I recognized her
in­stantly to her utter chagrin.

My day always concluded schoolwise with getting my Granddad's mail from
the mailbox by the church and delivering it to him. It always took me an
hour to walk home, except one time when I was about 12 years old and a
huge storm was brewing. This time I got home in 25 minutes. I once
killed a water copper snake on the way home. It wasn't anything great
because the snake was down in the creek and I was above the creek on a
bank about two feet high. I simply threw a large rock that landed on the
snake and killed it. A few days later, my Granddad wanted to know who
killed that big water copper.

I seldom had chores to do when I got home, but occasionally I would feed
the chickens or slop the hogs or both. I don't remember much in the way
of homework, although I'm sure that occasionally I did have homework.

Mostly we lived in the kitchen. As the wood cookstove served as a source
of heat as well as a source of cooking, this was the best room in which
to live. There was a wood stove in the bathroom, and it was activated
only when it was below freezing and there was a danger of freezing of
the pipes. When we had company in the evening, the fireplace in the
living room would be activated. We also had a stove in the dining room,
but it seldom was used.

In the summertime, a typical day was much different. Of course, a
typical day varied greatly as I grew older and could work in the fields.
When I became 12 or 13 years old, I always helped with the hay harvest,
and after hay harvest, helped cut filth, both on our farm and on
Granddad's farm. Filth is defined here as small bushes and objectionable
weeds such as thistles. Granddad always paid us by the hour, and I
earned enough money through the summer to pay for my clothes and books
for school in the winter. One year, I had five dollars left over, and I
still had part of the five dollars at the end of the school year. Such
was the economy in those days.

About the only entertainment I had was reading. We had a lot of books at
home, and it never occurred to me to question the source of these books.
Of course, we had Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, Twenty Years Before the Mast,
The Sea Wolf, Call of the Wild, etc.

MY GRADE SCHOOL TEACHERS. Howard Calhoun was my teacher the first year,
and by today's standards he was a very poor one. For the time, he
probably was not too bad. He recently passed away (1987) at the age of
about 94 in Houston, Texas at the home of his son. Starting at 7 years
of age, when I was in the second grade, **Mrs. Shirley (Alma) Tibbs**
was my teacher. Mrs. Tibbs never went beyond the eighth grade herself,
but she was an excellent teacher for her time. By today's standards, she
was a flop for two reasons. One, her teaching methods left much to be
desired, although she probably was one of the best in the county. She
once competed with her school children in a district competition with
several other one-room schools and some schools with only two or three
grades per room. She won the competition both scholastic and athletic
with no problem whatever.

The second reason she would have failed miserably by today's standards
was that she had prayer every morning. It always was the same prayer,
and I remember only one of the sentences: "Give us an earnest desire for
knowl­edge." The Methodist-Protestant Church and the school were within
two stone's throws of each other. Every winter at some time there was a
revival meeting. Church would be held almost every evening for one or
two weeks. Sometimes church would be held in the morning. At least once
during these revival meet­ings, school would be dismissed so the children
could attend the revival meeting. Although this would be unheard of
today, it fit very well into the culture of the times.

One time the teacher of the Rockcamp School brought her children to our
revival meeting. Mrs. Tibbs gave a passionate talk about how she tried
to set a good example for her children and how she always had prayer in
the morning at the start of school. The other teacher did not have
prayer in school and was embarrassed that she could not say that she had
prayer. Therefore, she waxed very eloquent about the example that she
set for the children.

There usually was some sort of program at the end of school or Christmas
or some such times. Sometimes we would have spelling bees. One year, I
spelled (or ciphered) down about everyone, and so the teacher asked me
if I was getting tired. I readily stopped so others could have a chance.
My grandfather was up to spell, and he was not a particularly learned
man. He probably never went beyond the fifth grade and didn't do very
well in that grade. One of his brothers, Uncle Ben Wilson, said of
himself, "I could never learn nothin' in school, and Bill couldn't
neither." (This "Bill" was my grandfather.)

The schoolhouse received very little in the way of upkeep. Occasionally,
it was painted, and a large gas stove was provided in the center of the
room for heat. A bookcase about 5' wide and 4' tall held our library.
The cost to the school district was negligible. Mrs. Tibbs tried very
hard to improve the school surroundings, and she kept a little building
outside of the schoolhouse white­washed. Also, she had the boys haul dirt
from somewhere and fill in front of the schoolhouse. Although Mrs. Tibbs
went through only the eighth grade, she was so well recognized that the
County Superintendent agreed that she could teach the home school as
long as she wanted to.

ADOLESCENT YEARS. 1924 was a very bad year for the Wilson family. Mom
had a very bad operation about June and was never the same from that
time until her death in 1960. Kermit and I were staying with Granddad
and Grandmother when Dad first took Mom to the hospital. About two days
after they left, Grandma called Kermit and me into the house and told us
that our mother had had an operation and was doing very well. Before
that I had been perfectly happy-go-lucky without a care in the world.
Somehow that bit of news chilled me to the bone, and considering the
later events of the summer, I was never the same.

By today's standards, it was a very simple operation, I think a
hysterec­tomy. The nurses allowed her to sit up for the first time, and
then forgot about her for three hours. She had a heart attack and almost
died. When she left the hospital, one of the nurses gave her a piece of
heavy paper with a bleeding heart printed on it. This had been
safety-pinned to the bed, and was something that they did when they
thought a patient would not recover. Today a hospital would be sued for
ten million dollars. Back in those days, doctors and hospitals carried
much more clout than they do today. Mom was in the hospital ten weeks,
and Dad took me down to see her once. I went into Harrisville and stayed
all night with Uncle Oliver and Aunt Orpha Flesher. Dad walked in the
next morning and got me, and we went down to catch the old Harrisville
Southern train to Cornwallis. This train traveled a high rate of speed
of ten miles per hour. At Cornwallis, we waited for the train which
traveled from Washington to St. Louis. We got to Parkersburg about 11
a.m., had lunch in a restaurant, a first for me, and then went to the
hospital. I was so taken with Parkersburg that I wanted to walk around.
Dad took me around a little, but said he wanted to spend as much time as
possible with Mom. At four o'clock we took the two trains back to
Harrisville, and Dad and I walked home. Uncle Oliver and Aunt Orpha
suggested that I spend the night, but I said I could sleep better at
home. Their daughter Ruth was six months old at the time, and it was my
first experience at seeing a baby first-hand. Ruth was born in December
1923.

In September, Dad got the smallpox. His case turned out to be very
seri­ous. He first had the fever, and then he sat around and waited for
the breaking out. These were horrible running sores, and his face was
forever marked after that. While he was ill, the neighbors came in and
cut the corn. While Mom was in the hospital, Dad had to stay with her
much of the time. It probably was what saved her life. This left Kermit
and me to either stay with Granddad and Grandmother or shift for
ourselves. I don't think we ever stayed alone. Arza Tate came up and
spent a week with us. Arza was a confirmed bachelor, who lived with his
father until he died, and then with his two old maid sisters.

When I was a kid, I was gradually introduced to work. Dad believed in
calling it work and didn't pretend that it was fun and taught me only by
exam­ple. This scared me in a way that I can't describe. I usually did
certain chores around the house like feeding the chickens, slopping the
hogs, and gathering the eggs. The Japanese beetle came along about the
mid 20s, and it was my job to pick the beetles off the beans every
morning. I probably stomped them into the ground.

In those days, power mowers had not been invented, at least we had never
heard of one. I mowed the yard about once a week. I always mowed a path
down to the well where we got our drinking water. Dad would never bother
when he was mowing the yard; he would just take a broom along and beat
the water off the tall grass when it was wet. He was never one for the
nicer things in life. We didn't have electricity in the house, so I
fixed up a battery light for him and installed it except for the
batteries. All he had to do was get the batter­ies. The next time I came
home, he had given it to Cooster Nay.

Once when I was about twelve years old, I was starting out from
Granddad's house to hunt with the muzzle-loading rifle. Aunt Stella was
there, and she and Grandma really questioned the wisdom and safety of my
hunting at so tender an age with a long rifle. They put on so much
pressure that I finally put the gun away.

This same year Kermit was keeping a fox that he had caught. The fox
needed food, so I went and got the muzzle loader. Kermit was supposed to
shoot the ground hog, but I had the gun, and possession was 9/10 of the
law. I shot at the ground hog from an incredibly long distance, I think
about 300 feet. They were very skeptical, Dad asked, "Did you get him?"
At that point I saw him roll over and kick his legs in the air, so I
said, "Sure, I got him." I was eleven years old that summer, and I
killed several ground hogs. I don't know how much luck contributed to
this record, but next summer I did not hit a single ground hog. Although
I suspect that something happened to the gun, we will never know.
Considering that the bullet had to be small enough to go down the barrel
inside a small greased rag, I'm not sure how I ever hit anything. I
still have the rifle, but it no longer can be shot. I also have the
bullet mold and what I think is the original powder horn and shot pouch.
The rifle came from Grandmother Wilson's house (the Nay home). It was
bought before the Civil War, the flint lock converted to cap lock, and
part of the barrel had been sawed off. These latter two bits of
information were supplied by Lieutenant Commander Don Taylor, a neighbor
who flew for the Strategic Air Command. I didn't know it, and Dad didn't
know it.

In order to get into high school at that time, one had to take an eighth
grade examination. At the end of the seventh grade I took the exam and
barely passed. This was quite a traumatic experience for me, because I
had to go to Pullman to take the exam. A schoolteacher by the name of
Emory Clayton gave the exam. He took an instant dislike for me and gave
me a very hard time. However, I got through the exam and passed. This
was a two-day exam, and when I went for the second day, Mr. Clayton
said, he hoped he hadn't hurt my feelings, that was just his way of
getting acquainted with people. In order to take the exam, one had to be
recommended by his teacher. Mr. Clayton said I hadn't been recom­mended.
Kermit called the county superintendent's office in Harrisville and
found that I had been recommended. He came in and told Mr. Clayton but
didn't tell me. Such is life in one-room country schools.

HIGH SCHOOL YEARS. I started to high school when I was thirteen years
old. This was entirely too young, and I should have stayed in grade
school an­other year. Although I could handle the work academically, it
was too much of an emotional shock, and I just barely survived. I made
it through high school with a good academic record and was valedictorian
of my class. I believe there were ten in my graduating class, and eight
of the ten went to college. They were all alive until about three years
ago (1986), but three have died in the past two years. The courses were
rigorous for the school and for the time. We had a very good course in
physiology. Ray Gray took a similar course in college, used the same
text, and was not given nearly as much work. My background in algebra
and geometry was very good in comparison with others when I got to
college. Although the chemistry lab was somewhat primitive, we did all
right. Our source of water in the lab was a bucket of water from the
pump outside. One time I got sulfuric acid on my hand, and the water had
all been thrown out. I had no way to get rid of the sulfuric acid except
by pouring ammonium hy­droxide on it. I'm not sure which was the worse,
the burning of the sulfuric acid or the heat generated from the
neutralization of the acid with the ammonia. After the ammonia
treatment, I dashed out to the pump, but the damage had been done, and
my hand was sore for several days.

I wasn't really very healthy when I was young. I narrowly missed being a
defective child. I had a dermatoid cyst above my right eye, apparently
from birth. I was born with one functioning kidney and had scarlet fever
when I was five. The cyst was recognized when I was eight months old,
and the one func­tioning kidney was recognized when I was about 50 during
a routine kidney exam. Due to a bad case of acne when I was 11 or 12, I
worked very little during the summer. This did not help my physique. The
one thing that helped a lot was that I walked two miles to grade school
and three miles to high school. My tonsils were removed when I was 14.
Uncle Oliver took Mom, daughter Ruth, and me to Parkersburg, and our
tonsils were removed by the late Dr. Hartman. Dr. Hartman also fitted me
with glasses when I was 14. I'm not sure why I was never very strong,
but I think it was partly related to a genetic ner­vousness and feeling
of anxiety at the slightest provocation.

I guess my favorite hobby was reading. From Uncle Oliver's drugstore, we
got the magazines free that he did not sell. All he had to do was take
off the front cover and send it back to the publisher. We got several
magazines, such as *Radio News*, *True Story*, *Dream World*, and
*Popular Mechanics*. My favorite magazine was *Radio News*. I didn't
understand a word of what I read, but I sure liked them anyway. I wanted
to get a radio kit and build a radio, but Dad said he didn't want to
sink any money. If I could have gotten into radio exper­imentation, I
probably would have taken up radio engineering as a career.

The opportunity to indulge in hobbies was rather limited. I would have
loved a woodworking shop or a simple machine shop, but there was no
money for this sort of thing. Dad's feeling for such things was minimal,
and he felt that spending money on such gadgets was a waste of
resources. Of course, other boys, I'm sure, surmounted these
difficulties if they had the ingenuity and the industry to earn a little
money. I probably should blame myself more than any­one else.

Summer consisted mostly of hay harvest and cutting filth. Hay harvest
be­gan about the end of May and continued until the grass was all in the
barn. All was done with either muscle or horsepower. The machinery
consisted of a horse-drawn mowing machine, a tedder for stirring the
hay, and a rake for collecting the hay in windrows. Then it was
collected into piles called shocks and loaded onto a wagon. After that
it was either stacked or put in a barn, but our hay was almost always
put in a barn. Dad didn't believe in haystacks.

Filth cutting was simply cutting the bushes and certain weeds in the
pasture fields. This was necessary to keep the land from going back to
forest. It was a rather tedious job over the steep hillsides.
Occasionally I would get caught in fence building. Dad had a reputation
for being the best fence cobbler in the country. He could build any kind
of fence, from worm fence (zigzag rail) to woven wire. The most popular
fence with Dad was a post and rail fence. We sawed down the trees, cut
the logs into proper lengths for rails, and split the logs into rails.
This was a backbreaking job, for rail-splitting is no easy chore. Only
certain timbers were good for posts. Locust posts were the best, but
other woods were sometimes used. The rails were then nailed to the
posts. The holes were dug with a posthole digger to a depth of about two
feet. Speaking of post­holes, one fellow I knew who had a bachelor's
degree and climbed very high in a company before retirement, had a
brother with a doctorate. One evening the brother was waxing eloquent in
his chosen field, and someone mentioned that his brother was really
giving a lecture in his chosen subject. His brother said with some
disdain, "Yes, he's just a posthole digger."

In the late Twenties, when I was in high school, Mom woke me up one
night and said that Dad had gone to the barn to see why the mare was
nickering, and he hadn't come back. I went to the barn and found that
both Dad and the horse were gone. We had a mare and a horse, but the
mare hadn't been broken into riding. It turned out that someone had
stolen the horse and ridden it to­wards Pullman. Just how far he went, we
don't know, but Dad went looking for the horse, and after a couple of
miles met the horse running home. The horse was quite happy to see Dad,
and Dad was quite happy to see the horse. Although we found out who
borrowed the horse, nothing official was ever done.

Dad had a source of income for many years which consisted of buying wool
on commission. This gave us both a feeling of importance, and we learned
to know many people this way. He usually bought for a merchant in
Baltimore. The merchant would supply the money, and Dad would buy the
wool and send it to Baltimore on the train. There was some financial
risk for us. In 1932, wool was fetching 40¢ per pound, and Dad got a
check for \$2000 to buy wool. Fortunately, he was able to buy the wool
and return the excess money promptly. The local bank where he had kept
the \$2000 folded shortly afterwards.

Dad would tour the countryside and tell prospective clients that he
would be collecting wool, say, at the Washburn store on Monday. (We also
bought wool at Goffs, Pullman, and Harrisville) The customer would
deliver the wool, we would weigh it, take the wool out of the gunny
sacks, and weigh the sacks. A large wool sack, about six feet long and
two feet in diameter would be hung from an iron ring on a stand. Someone
would throw me the wool fleeces, and I would get in the sack and tromp
down the wool. This was continued until the sack was full. We would then
let the sack down and sew it shut. An interesting aside on this is that
Mr. Washburn had two children, a girl about four and a boy about six.
Much to Dad's disgust, they got into the sack with me. As I liked kids,
I enjoyed this very much. I didn't see the little girl until about 55
years later in Romney, West Virginia. So in the presence of her husband,
I said "Gee, I haven't seen you since we were in the sack together." As
they knew what I was talking about, they thought it as hilariously
funny. Dad's commission was two cents per pound. He usually made one or
two hundred dollars each sum­mer. This was a very welcome addition to his
annual income.

We bought some wool once upon a time from a Mr. Stanley, down on the
Smithville Ridge. He was very mad about something that morning and
wasn't very courteous. Dad told him that he would be glad to weigh it
and make out the check it he would trust Dad with the weighing. He said,
"I'll be at the weighing. Unless you want to take my word for it, it was
961/2 pounds when it was sheared." Dad figured that if Mr. Stanley
wanted to be at the weighing, then he did too. It turned out that the
wool was hung from a chain from the loft of an outbuilding, where it
could get quite warm. The wool weighed about 85 pounds. Dad paid him
off, and Mr. Stanley said, "Are you related the so and so Wilsons around
Pennsboro?" This was a trashy set of Wilsons, and Dad said no, he
wasn't. So then Dad asked, "Are you related to the so and so Stanleys
around Cairo?" This was a trashy set of Stanleys. It turned out that he
was slightly re­lated to them and was embarrassed about it. So he said
with the first laugh of the morning, "We all have our bad relations,
don't we?"

Another fellow, Mr. Corey, also was buying wool in competition with us
one time at Washburn. A Mr. Houghton, who didn't trust us for some
reason, was selling his wool to Mr. Corey. We watched the procedure. Mr.
Corey put the wool in three new sacks and weighed them. New sacks
weighed 3 pounds, but an old greasy sack may way 4 or 5 pounds. Mr.
Corey then had his helper put on a dirty old sack on the scale to
measure the tare weight. It was four and a half pounds. Dad and I looked
at each other but kept our mouths shut as we watched Mr. Houghton being
cheated out of almost \$2.00.

Except in school, my friends were very limited. The only friend I really
had in the summer time was Chester Dixon, who lived with Howard and Ona
Hodge. Chester's father had died when he was very young, and his mother
could not care for both him and his younger sister. So Chester's mother
took care of his sister Margaret, and Chester lived with Howard and Ona
on Rockcamp about a mile below our house. It was a subsistence farm,
same as ours. Chester had to work very hard, but he learned many things.
For exam­ple, there was a barrel stave mill on Howard's farm one year.
Chester was only twelve, but he did the work of a man, and was paid at a
boy's rate. Chester would come up frequently. In the winter time we
would play dominoes, and in the summer we would play croquet. About once
each summer, Margaret would visit for about two weeks. She and Chester
would come up to play croquet or dominoes. Chester wasn't the best
student in the world and barely graduated from Pullman High School. He
went to Akron to live, got some sort of a job, married, and had two
children, a boy and a girl. Then the war caught up with him, and he
joined the Marine Corps at age 26. In the meantime, he had been
divorced, and he had visited me several times in the early 1940s in
Washington. He was the best man at my wedding on September 9, 1944, and
sometime later he came up with a girl named Vivian, whom he married. We
went down to the marine base at Quantico, where they were married. I was
best man, and Edith was matron of honor. We visited them about 1950,
when I attended an American Chemical Society meeting in Chicago. They
were living in Indianapolis at the time, and he was in chiropractor
school. They weren't get­ting along very well, and I suggested to Vivian
that what they needed was a family. She said that might be the case, but
they weren't very close right then. Later they moved to Jacksonville,
where he had a practice, and they got close enough to have two kids.
They were divorced sometime later, and Chester married a girl named
Diane. They have been happily married for over 20 years. He retired
about three years ago because he was becoming senile.

My special friend in high school was John Hamilton. He attended
Glenville State College and became a teacher. Later he did a little
building and painting on the side, and has been retired for many years.
He is what has been termed a posthole digger. Not to be sneezed at, for
we must have holes dug to install posts.

A girl I was always very friendly with but never dated was Ina Wamsley.
Although I started to high school quite young, Ina was about 13 months
younger than I was. She lived up a holler from Slab Creek below Pullman.
Her father was also a subsistence farmer. We were in Salem College
together for two years, and she completed what was called a "standard
normal." As she was not 18 by the required date sometime in September,
she did not get her teaching certificate and so could not teach the
first year. There was another girl in my graduating class named Margaret
Bruffy. Although I never really dated either Margaret or Ina, I arranged
for my cousin Bill Guy and me to go out one evening with Margaret and
Ina. When we pulled up to the Wamsley home, they were just getting in
the car with two other boys. Ina had some cock and bull story about the
whole thing being some misunderstanding and said, "You aren't mad, are
you?" I said "No, but I'm disgusted as hell." Guy and I drove around
licking our wounds and after a while, Guy said, "They should have their
mam­mary glands slapped with a fly-swatter."

COLLEGE YEARS. When I graduated from high school, it was uncertain
whether I would go to college or where. As I became 17 the day I started
to college, September 15, 1930, the thought of leaving home was very
traumatic, and I just barely made the grade. Because I was valedictorian
of my graduating class, I was awarded a one-year tuition-free
scholarship to Salem College. This was quite sizable because the tuition
was \$55 per semester. So, on my seven­teenth birthday, I put my one
suitcase in the model T Ford, and Dad and I started off to Harrisville.
I waved to Mom, and she waved back. Dad deposited me at Uncle Oliver
Flesher's drugstore, where I waited for the bus. I had diffi­culty
keeping my composure. Dad said "Good-bye son," and I said good-bye, and
he left. I got on the bus, which took old route 50 to Salem, and got off
in front of the college. I already had arranged for a room with Bob
Garrett at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Luther Knight, high on the hill
above the college. I im­mediately went to the Knight home and was
installed in my room. I then went down to the college to register. In
those days, you didn't need to apply before­hand, you just appeared the
first day, picked your courses with very little assis­tance from the
college staff, and started attending classes. Of course, you had to
register and pay your tuition and fees.

Salem College was a Seventh-Day Baptist college, established by the
Seventh-Day Baptist Church in 1888. Seventh-Day Baptists are not to be
con­fused with Seventh-Day Adventists. The Adventists do not eat meat.
The Baptists simply observed Saturday as their Sabbath. Otherwise, they
are per­fectly "normal." I would say in general that their moral
standards were consid­erably higher than those of other Christians. The
college students did not in­dulge in drinking or dancing on college
property. Of course, until 1933, we still had the Prohibition Amendment
in force, so drinking was a moot point. However, one could buy beer at
various establishments. I remember going with the boys one time to Wolf
Summit to a place that sold beer. It probably was home brew. One time,
when I was a senior, some of the students put on a dance at a place
about a mile removed from the college. Dean Van Horn put the man­agers of
the party and the band leader on probation. That was the end of danc­ing
at Salem College.

I went to President Bond one time to talk to him about dancing. He did
the talking, and it was all against dancing. He told me about his wide
experience in the world and how his men friends would take women dancing
and later go to bed with them. The bodily contact of dancing aroused
emotions that should be expressed only in the sanctity of marriage. I
listened politely and excused my­self when he finished and thanked him.
Dean Van Horn had a far more realistic attitude towards dancing. When he
put the promoters of the dance held away from the college on probation,
he told us bluntly in Chapel, that the people who supplied money to the
college would do so only if we did not allow dancing. Therefore,
regardless of our opinion, there would be no dancing at Salem College.

Salem College was not a very high quality college academic-wise. Some
departments, such as foreign language and English, were fairly good.
Secretarial education was also fairly good, as was chemistry. However,
Professor Arthur Gould, the only instructor in chemistry, was extremely
poor in mathematics, physics, and physical chemistry. Therefore, my
physical chemistry course was very poor. Physics and geology were
rock-bottom. I had 18 hours of physics. When I finished the 18 hours, I
would have flunked miser­ably any exam given in a first year physics
course at West Virginia University. I took a course in radio, and the
textbook was a military handbook dated 1921. As this was 1933, I'm sure
that there were later handbooks, but our professor would not have been
able to handle the content in them. I took a course in geol­ogy, but
could not attend classes because of a conflict. Another fellow did the
same. At the half semester and semester, the instructor gave us the
exam, and told us to go to our rooms with the book and complete the
exam. I think I got a B in the course.

Classes began at 7:30 a.m. and lasted until noon. We had Chapel from
9:30 to 10:00 every morning except Thursday, when we had time off for
YMCA and YWCA , which were like Chapel. We nearly always had a short
devotional as part of chapel. The devotionals consisted of prayer and a
scripture reading, and perhaps a five-minute talk. Sometimes, there were
special lectures. If President Bond prayed, the prayer was always very
long. When I was a freshman, the freshman class one morning gave a mock
faculty Chapel meeting. One morning each week, the faculty presided,
and, of course, President Bond prayed for a long time. When the freshman
class gave the mock faculty Chapel meeting, the mock president said,
"We'll leave out the prayer, that would take too long."

One morning the student body president presided. I don't remember who
presided on other days of the week, but there was some routine to it.
One morning we came to Chapel, and Dean Van Horn was presiding. He had
with him on stage the most unhandsome, nondescript character I have ever
seen. When Dean Van Horn introduced him, he said, "When I was in Adams
Center, New York, last summer, I attended the services of the local
Seventh-Day Baptist Church. The minister gave such an inspiring sermon
that I asked him to speak to our student body today." The guest minister
did not disappoint us. I would say that it was the best presentation
that I have ever heard. Our boarding house lady listened patiently to
our description of the lecture. Then she said, "That is very good, but
our local ministers have been telling us the same things for many
years." That is a bit of observation that we all should remember.

One incident that has influenced me all my life happened when I was a
se­nior. I went to Clarksburg one afternoon and stopped in to Anderson's
Restaurant for supper. I had never eaten shrimp, but I ordered some kind
of shrimp on toast. I came back to Salem, and went to a musical
entertainment in the auditorium. At 9:00 p.m., I felt great. At 9:05, I
started getting sick and had to leave the lecture. At 9:10, I was
deathly ill and rapidly lost the contents of my stomach. About 9:20, I
got to my room, and my roommate, Randall Strother, looked at me in
horror. He immediately went to get Dr. Bond, who lived about a quarter
of a mile away. Dr. Bond told him privately that if I hadn't gotten rid
of the stuff, I probably wouldn't have made it. The only time I have
eaten shrimp since that time was when it was buried in something and I
didn't know about it, with the exception of one evening at our next-door
neigh­bors. We had shrimp on rice, and I dutifully ate a portion. It
didn't make me sick, but I certainly was uncomfortable after the meal.

Some of the more brutal and forward fellows around the college, over the
years, took education into their own hands. One of their practices was
to take someone they did not like for a ride. This always was someone
who was uppity by their standards or perhaps had a much better cultural
background or was just much brighter. A former Senator from West
Virginia named Rush Holt at­tended Salem College. Whether he graduated or
not, I'm not sure. As he was a non-square oddball, the boys took him one
night and put him in a tank that had six inches of water on the bottom
on top of a hill. I don't remember how he got out, but the fellows who
played the prank were not very smart. An experience like this could have
killed him. President Bond told me the story. Rush Holt made it very
clear to President Bond that he would never contribute a penny to Salem
College. Another fellow who was taken for a ride was Al Ulbrick. He was
told to go to a graveyard on top of the hill, and about a dozen fellows
with sheets draped over them appeared before him. He was told in no
uncertain terms that he must mend his ways or things might happen to
him. Then the boys left but told him to sing the *Old Rugged Cross* as
loud as he could. In ret­rospect, I suspect that he was Jewish, and
singing the *Old Rugged Cross* was humiliating. One of Al's statements
that endeared him to may people was that he was from the metropolitan
area of New Jersey. I became well-acquainted with Al, and he seemed to
be a very nice fellow. His background was so much better than mine that
I marvel that he paid me much attention.

Another fellow taken for a ride was unusually smart-alecky. He was
rolled in a sheet, taken out into the country, and lectured. As I got
the story, he just bawled and cussed. He was lectured again, but still
bawled and cussed. At that point, the leader of the vigilantes, Mr. Doy
Nevelle, judge of the Student Court, took off his belt and belted him
several times. That shut him up.

These vigilante practices were very questionable and not widely known.
It actually was kidnapping and depriving one of his civil rights. The
vigilantes were lucky that nothing bad happened. If there had been a car
accident during the ride, the results could have been devastating or
fatal. In any case, if the college administration had learned about
these rides, the leaders certainly would have been expelled from school.
Although there are many aspects of my expe­rience at Salem of which I am
not proud, these will not be discussed.

I was assistant in the chemistry laboratory for three years. This was a
very valuable experience. This job took care of my tuition of \$55 per
semester, and it is questionable whether I could have attended college
without it.

For my senior year, I was elected president of the student body. This
was a great surprise to me, and the process of becoming president was
very traumatic. I had my heart set on being business manager of the
yearbook. I couldn't do both, and was prepared to renounce the
presidency of the student body. Randall Strother counseled me on this,
and told me I'd better accept graciously. He told me that Dean Van Horn
had suggested that my name be put in nomination along with two other
people. At that time, the faculty assisted in the nominations, and
probably had veto power. I did it and surprised myself with my
organizational and managerial talent. However, I early showed an
aptitude for planning and starting things but not really finishing them.
This characteristic has plagued me all my life. At least I early became
aware of the problem.

In my senior year, I did some practice teaching at Salem High School.
The education teacher at Salem, Alta Van Horn, told me to be firm with
those kids and to ride them hard. She told me later that she was very
apprehensive about sending me down but that they were in great need of
help. I started to call the roll in the first class, and three or four
people would answer every time I called a name. I got confused, and the
roll call was utter confusion. I somehow man­aged to get through the
hour, and the next class came in. When I started to call the roll, again
I got multiple responses to a name. I put down the roll book, looked at
them with fire in my eyes, and said, "Don't start that!" My only other
trouble was with a small noise and trouble maker named Happy Ford. At
one point he became too obnoxious, and I sent him down to see the
principal. He told me later, "I didn't think you would do it." At the
end of class on the second day, he asked "Will you be here tomorrow?" I
said, "Yes, but I know of some­one else who won't be here unless he
doesn't shape up." Everyone laughed, the bell rang at the right time,
and everyone left happy.

I graduated from Salem College with B.A. in education and a B.S. in
physi­cal science and mathematics (there was no degree in chemistry at
that time). I graduated *magna cum laude*. This category was saved for
about five graduates out of about 55. This sounds great, but I question
whether I would have been more than a C student at West Virginia
University. In schools like Harvard or MIT, I would have flunked out the
first semester, although of course, I never could have gotten in.

Living conditions for the student body were somewhat marginal. All of
the houses had bathrooms, but one bathroom per house was the norm. For
three years, I roomed with Randall Strother in a room probably 12' x
12'. The bed sagged. There was one light, a ceiling light with a bare
bulb. There was a table under the bulb about 2.5' x 4'. Fortunately,
Randall worked in an office at the college most of the time. There was a
table with a pitcher and a washstand. There also was a pot for waste
water and urine. Later, we got into the habit of going down to the
bathroom. I don't remember any discomfort from the house being cold. We
paid \$4.50 each per month for the room. We ate at the school cafeteria
part of the time and boarded with Mrs. Randolph on another hill part of
the time. We paid about 25 cents per meal either place, so it came to
about \$3.50 per week.

After I settled down to a routine, I attended classes and studied quite
a bit during the day and some in the evening. I was usually in bed by
ten o'clock and up in time to get a little breakfast somewhere and go to
class. Usually I ate breakfast, lunch, and supper in the school
cafeteria. Later I ate with Mrs. Randolph on another hill. The eating
was not very good much of the time the last year because she had only
two boarders, Randall Strother and myself.

On weekends, I sometimes went home, which was only about 30 miles away,
and other times I would study. I very seldom had a date and seldom went
anywhere because there were not any places to go. From 1930 to 1932, the
road past our house was a dirt road. Therefore, going home could be a
trau­matic experience if the roads were bad. The road got a rock base in
1932. The rock was taken from a quarry on the hill coming up out of
Pullman. This rock base served as the road until about 1937, when it
received an asphalt topping. So, after 1932, I could be more liberal in
my trips home.

Since I was quite busy during the week with my chemistry lab assistant
work and a full academic schedule, I would leave the writing up of
laboratory experiments and term papers to the weekends. This procedure
worked very well. As one of two chemistry lab assistants, I made up
solutions, got materials out for lab sections, and assisted during the
lab sections. I worked up a good rapport with the students, and I think
was fairly effective. I also would monitor chemistry examinations.

Three individuals stand out as being special friends during college. One
was Rex Gray from Oxford, West Virginia. Rex had been a teacher and was
married but living at Salem while he went to school full-time. We took
calculus and organic chemistry together. He was very bright and somehow
we really clicked. Rex later became principal of West Union Grade
School, and later went to Huntington. I think he was an instructor at
Marshall University.

Another special friend was Elmo Randolph, the son of the lady with whom
I took many of my meals. Elmo didn't really show any great ability in
earlier years, but he later exhibited great powers to sway an audience.
He also took a class in tumbling, and showed unusual ability in this
area. This came in very handy and probably saved his life one time. He
was sitting on a window sill washing the outside of the window. A fellow
he was working with came along and innocently raised the window. Of
course, Elmo immediately tumbled off the window sill. Through his
tumbling experience, he was able to land right-side-up on his feet and
survived the incident. The height was probably about twenty feet. His
heels sunk in about four inches. The fellow who raised the window, Reece
Burns, later became a Methodist minister. Of course, he was aghast at
what he had done, but as Elmo survived without injury, it was a funny
story. Elmo later became a Seventh-Day Baptist Minister.

The third person I was especially fond of was Fred Early. Fred's father
owned a marble factory, Master Marble Company, in Clarksburg. He was
fairly well-off, and Fred had more money than most kids. Fred was very
prac­tical and did not throw his money. I think his father was an
engineer, and Fred had had mechanical drawing and projective geometry.
There was a very nice, shy girl named Geraldine Martin, in whom Fred
became interested when he was a senior. They seemed to be made for each
other and were married about 1937. They came to Washington on their
honeymoon. They had dinner with me at my boarding house, and then I
found them a hotel. We have stayed in contact off and on ever since. He
worked for a gas company all his life and retired about seven years ago.
In redoing my old home in Ritchie County, I recently needed some
technical advice about gas. I called him, and we chatted for about an
hour. Fred and Geraldine have two children. When we stopped in
unan­nounced when his daughter was about 16, she came to the door, and I
asked if Mr. Early was in. I asked to be sure that this was the right
Early, it this was the one who was arrested for stealing horses several
years ago. With considerable irritation, she said "no." Substantial
paternal loyalty.

WEST VIRGINIA UNIVERSITY YEARS. During my senior year at Salem, I
visited the West Virginia University Chemistry Department and applied
for an assistantship. I also applied for a teaching position in the
Ritchie County Schools. There were no openings, so I didn't have a
chance. I would have taken the teaching position over the assistantship
at West Virginia University.

September 1934 came around, and I had nothing. One morning I received a
call from Dr. Friend E. Clark, head of the Chemistry Department at West
Virginia University. He said, "I have an assistantship for you." I said,
"How soon must I let you know." He said, "Right away, for school has
already started." I said, "I'll let you know in the morning." I got in
the car and went down to see Grandmother . I said, "I have an
assistantship at West Virginia University that pays \$22.50 a month. Can
you loan me the money to make up the difference?" She said yes. We went
to the shoe box where she kept her business and provided me with some
money to start. I sent Dr. Clark a tele­gram "Will be on hand in the
morning." At that time telephoning to Morgantown would have required
going through several operators and proba­bly would have taken 10-15
minutes. Normally a telegram could be called in to the local Western
Union office.

I quickly packed a suitcase, Dad took me to the bus in Harrisville, and
I took off for Morgantown. I arrived sometime in the afternoon, got a
room on Willey Street fairly close to the university, and was ready for
school. This re­ally was a quick change. At nine o'clock that morning I
was a farm boy, and at nine o'clock that night I was a graduate student
at West Virginia University. I stayed at Willey Street for about seven
weeks and then moved to Mattson's Dining Room off of High Street. On
Willey Street, I roomed with a fellow named Sam Detweiler. Sam was a
smallish fellow with horrible acne scars and a horrible inferiority
complex. The latter probably was justified because he flunked everything
except military and phys ed. Although of very small stature, he was very
strong physically. I saw him one time pick up a fellow with one arm and
swing him around. It seems that his father was a blacksmith and came
from a long line of blacksmiths, probably from Switzerland. His folks
wanted him to break the pattern by becoming a doctor. I question whether
he ever made it.

At Mattson's Dining Room, I roomed with Woody (Woodrow Wilson) Corder,
who must have been born about 1915. His father, Dr. Corder, of
Clarksburg, obviously was a Democrat. Woody was a graduate of Salem and
a poor student, but somehow he managed to become a dentist. Woody's
father was on the county school board and was instrumental in making job
placements less political. A disgruntled teacher who was denied a job
came in to his office and shot him dead. Across the hall from us lived
Nelson Tully and Jim Williams, both products of Salem. It was a very
pleasant boarding house ar­rangement. On the third floor was a coal miner
named Bob Black. Bob always came home from work very dirty, but
immediately took a bath and dressed up in a suit and white shirt. One
never would have taken him for a coal miner.

We had our share of extremists at the table, not all of whom lived at
the boarding house. One fellow insisted that the Negro was just as good
as the white man. Bob Black said, "Do you mean to say that a nigger is
just as good as I am?" The other fellow said yes. They didn't quite come
to blows, but I ex­pected it almost any day.

We had another fellow by the name of Homer Walkup, who was
ultracon­servative, always wore a suit, and drove his car three blocks to
class. Another fellow named Milhouse was a rabble-rouser and greatly
enjoyed irritating Homer. One day Homer pulled a monkey wrench out of
his pocket and made for Milhouse. To be short and fat, he still moved
like lightning because he was in a cold fury. Two of the fellows grabbed
Walkup and his wrench and pre­vented a murder. One of Walkup's ambitions
was to be shot while committing adultery at the age of 85.

I lived at 128 Willy St. just below the (old) university. One fellow at
the rooming house was discussing with another about whether his
wind-breaking would burn. He finally saved up enough to test the idea,
let it go, and lit a match. Somewhat to his surprise, the experiment
succeeded, and his rear end got pretty badly burned.

My first year at West Virginia University was fairly uneventful. The
sec­ond year I still had my assistantship and was awarded a room with
another fel­low on the fifth floor of the Chemistry Building in return
for keeping the li­brary open at night part-time. Four of us lived on the
fifth floor and rotated keeping the library open from 7 until 10 p.m.
weekdays. I had to supply my own furniture, which consisted of a twin
bed (\$5), a library table (\$3.50), and probably a lamp (but no
bookcase). My roommate, Paul Vaughn, was a pre-med student. He and I
always made our beds and kept the room clean. We tried to keep the
bathroom clean, but the other two fellows were slobs.

TEACHING HIGH SCHOOL IN FAIRMONT. Near the end of my first semester in
1935, an opening for a chemistry teacher at Fairmont Senior High School
came up. I applied for the job and got it. This meant moving to Fairmont
and completely changing my life style. I taught two classes of
chem­istry, one of physics, and two of bonehead arithmetic. The latter
classes were not very satisfying because the students had very little
ability and less interest. They were the ones who couldn't make it in
algebra and really couldn't make it in bonehead arithmetic. While
tutoring two girls for about half an hour one day, I explained the if
you took the diameter of a circle and rolled out the cir­cumference, the
ratio of the diameter to the circumference would be 3.1416. They just
smiled sweetly and never really understood. The classes in chemistry and
physics were very rewarding. I had a few bright students, and it would
be nice to know what ever happened to them.

Fairmont Senior High School also known as Loup High School, was built
while Uncle Guy was superintendent of schools at Fairmont. For its time,
it was an exceptionally well-designed school, and the design would be
very adequate today. I got my job because of Uncle Guy's influence
(although he knew noth­ing of my application) and because Sam Clark, a
colleague at West Virginia University and son of the head of the
Chemistry Department, wrote a letter on my behalf. Without those two
factors, I'm sure I would never have gotten the job.

While in Fairmont, I lived with Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Lynch at 517 Walnut
St. He was a plumber and very mad about the New Deal. He was sup­posed to
work no more than eight hours a day, and that included the time he spent
on his books. He worked his eight hours per day as a plumber and did his
books in the evening. Someone reported him, and he had to stop it. Mrs.
Lynch's daughter had occupied the room, and the furniture was girl-type
furni­ture. Mrs. Lynch was afraid I would not like this, but I told her I
couldn't care less. I paid \$10 per month for the room. Part of the time
I ate at a downtown restaurant for 35 cents per meal and no tip. At that
time I was not aware of tipping. The rest of the time I ate at the home
of Mr. Lynch's brother, about three doors away. This Mrs. Lynch knew
everything, and it was impossible to communicate with her. At that time
I thought the world was logical and I tried many times to convince her
of this or that. As convincing her of anything was impossible, I simply
accepted her for what she did best, cooking. She was with­out a doubt one
of the world's best cooks. On weekends, I frequently went to Morgantown
and stayed with friends.

The widow of an old crony of Granddad's, Mrs. John Pierpont, lived a few
doors away, and I visited her once. While John Pierpont was still alive,
he vis­ited Granddad about 1930. I once drove him and Granddad up the
hill from Granddad's place and then to Harrisville. This road was a
two-lane dirt road that had been built with several variations over a
one-lane dirt country road about three or four years earlier. They were
riding in the back seat. Mr. Pierpont said to Granddad with great
feeling, "Twenty-five years ago we wouldn't have believed this."

I didn't have a car in those days, so I walked to school. Some of the
brighter and more dedicated kids stayed with me after school for a
while. Two of the usual hanger-ons were David Patterson and David Curry.
We always did something of interest to the boys.

During chemistry laboratory period one day I noticed that one of the
boys was in trouble with a fire on the wooden table. It turned out that
he had got a piece of phosphorous out of the jar onto the table, and as
soon as the oil evapo­rated, it caught fire and started burning the
table. I asked him in polite words what he was doing. He said, "Just
getting a piece of phosphorous." We cleaned it up as best we could, but
the fire kept popping up here and there. I made him stay during part of
his lunch period to watch the situation, and I stayed the rest of the
time. He was very worried about what I would do to him about it. By the
next day I had cooled off, and I told him that I wouldn't do anything
about it, but at least he had learned the dangers of handling
phosphorous.

WORKING AT THE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION. Sometime while I was at
West Virginia University, I took a Civil Service exam­ination for
assistant statistical clerk. I did fairly well on part of it, but on
an­other part of it I only made a 74, with 70 as passing. During the
summer of 1936, I learned that I was being considered by the FBI as a
fingerprint classi­fier. I received an appointment just before school
started, so I gave up my lu­crative teaching position at \$990 per year
for nine months to accept a very lu­crative position with the FBI as an
assistant fingerprint classifier at \$1440 per year. Had I known what
lay ahead of me, I would have stayed in my teaching position. The
position of fingerprint classifier was barely above that of messen­ger.
The work was quite simple but very hard on the eyes. I entered on duty
the day after Labor Day in 1936.

Learning the system of fingerprint classification and searching was very
simple. Working the files was something else. To greatly simplify the
system, fingerprints were classified as to whether they had a whorl or
circular pattern, or a loop configuration that went up and back and was
open at the end. Depending on the number of whorls on a print of all ten
fingers, one could ob­tain 1024 categories from no whorls (1/1) to all
whorls (32/32). The final clas­sification was by the ridge count in the
right little finger, either loop or whorl. One was supposed to take out
of the file the number of cards that included two counts under and two
counts over the ridge count of the print against which one was
searching. The ±2 was to allow for inaccuracies in ridge counting.

If one during his search found an identical print in file, he clipped it
to­gether with the incoming print and sent it through to the next
department. Sometimes one would find a print in a file that someone else
had missed. This was especially bad if the missed print was a wanted
man. Such a print always had a red tag on the top. I very soon adopted
the practice of looking at the red tags first and thereby found several
wanted men while I was at the FBI. Although missing a wanted man was
serious, making what was called a "bum ident" was cause for severe
disciplinary action. A fellow I worked with for many months on a file
went to a party on a Friday night and had a lot of cham­pagne. The next
morning he drank a lot of water and made a bum ident. He got five days
off without pay, including Saturday afternoon and Sunday. In those days
the government worked seven hours per day Monday through Friday and four
hours on Saturday.

I was not very good at classifying and searching fingerprints, and after
I had been there for three months, I was told that I would be invited to
leave if I didn't get my speed up. As going home in disgrace was the
last thing I wanted to have happen, I worked like mad and got my speed
up. It was uphill all the way because I had no aptitude for clerical
work. I learned this about twenty-five years later when I took a series
of aptitude tests at George Washington University. I came out in the
third percentile in aptitude for clerical work.

While at the FBI, I enrolled in a course in glassblowing that was given
in the basement of the "Castle", the old red brick Smithsonian building
on the Mall. This was given by Dr. Leland B. Clark, who was employed by
the Smithsonian. In this course I learned simple glassblowing techniques
and be­came proficient enough to make a condenser out of soda-lime glass.
I still have the condenser (1988). I actually used the condenser one
time in a course in qualitative organic chemistry at the University of
Maryland.

While we were in the learning stage at the FBI, we worked on the women's
files. In many ways this was harder because the ridges were finer and
closer together. It was interesting to see what fingerprints could do.
One woman was arrested in Florida and her prints were sent to the FBI.
Three weeks later she was arrested in Texas under a completely different
name. Through fingerprints it was easy to establish that it was the same
woman. After a few weeks, we were sent to the male files, where I
labored unenthusiastically until November 1937. In June of that year
when I came back from vacation, I went out to the National Bureau of
Standards and had several interviews. I was accepted in the Paper
Section and went to work there in November 1937.

The FBI was a very dismal place to work. It was militaristic and
authori­tarian, starting with J. Edgar, who celebrated twenty years with
the organization while I was there. There was no room for humor, only
for bureaucracy unlim­ited. Fortunately, fingerprint classifiers were
under civil service and had some protection. Also, this enabled me to
transfer to the National Bureau of Standards. After six months at the
FBI, my salary was increased to \$1620 per year. I transferred at the
same salary to a sub-professional 4 ("SP4"), so I worked as a
sub-professional until about 1939, when I was appointed to the po­sition
of Junior Chemist at \$2000 per year.

WORKING AT THE National Bureau of Standards. I worked at the "Bureau"
for 38 years. In my early days at the Bureau, I took courses in the
Department of Agriculture School and at Berlitz. Later I took about 25
hours at the University of Maryland. I stopped working towards a
doctorate, even though I passed the German and French language exams,
because three courses in physics were required that I knew I couldn't
pass. I would have needed at least two more courses in mathematics and
my weak courses in physics at Salem College really caught up with me.

I started working in the Paper Section and retired in 1975 after having
been chief of the section for about 15 years. I started as an SP4 at
\$1620 per year and retired as a GS15-6 at about \$35,500 per year. The
maximum gov­ernment salary at that time was \$36,000. I progressed
through every profes­sional level and had my ups and downs. I deserved
most but not all of the downs and probably got more ups than I deserved.
In ordinary times, I doubt that I would have gone beyond GS11 or GS12.
As the government paid very poorly in the Fifties and Sixties, it was
very hard to recruit top-notch personnel. For that reason, many people
got promotions that they never would have ob­tained if competition had
been keener.

Almost by accident I got into the work of the International Standards
Organization in pulp and paper. This enabled me to attend many meetings
in Europe, England, Canada, and, most recently, in Australia in 1984. I
was able to visit many laboratories all over Europe as well as the
National Archives at Canberra, Australia and a famous library in
Wellington, New Zealand.

National Archives and Records Administration. In 1976, after I retired
from the National Bureau of Standards, Mr. James Gear of the National
Archives invited me down to his laboratory as a guest worker. I have
been there about twelve years, and it has been a very satisfying
experience. Somehow I have survived through Mr. Gear's retirement and
through three changes in Archives management. I have produced about ten
publications of one kind or another.

The National Archives, which occupies a building between 7th and 9th
Streets and Constitution and Pennsylvania Avenues, is right across 9th
Street from the Justice Building, where I started in 1936. A good ball
player could throw a ball from the door of the Justice Building to the
door of the Archives Building. In front of the Archives Building is a
marble stone, which looks like a box, dedicated to the memory of
Franklin D. Roosevelt. I pass this almost ev­ery day when I go to
National Archives, and I gladly ignore it.

> MARRIAGE AND FAMILY I first met Edith about September 1943. I had a
> lazy roommate who had a term paper that needed typing. He called a
> little Jewish girl down who lived on the third floor and asked her to
> type it. She agreed, but backed out when she saw that it was work. So
> she called her roommate Edith, who came down and typed the paper.
> After she finished, I made polite conversation about this and that and
> asked her where she was from. With a Rush Fork West Virginia smile,
> she said, "Oh, I'm from West Virginia." I said, "What part?" She said,
> "Clarksburg." Do you live over in the Stealey area?" She said, "I
> don't live right in Clarksburg. I live in a little town called West
> Union." I said, "Do you live over near Bob Hickman?" She said, "No, I
> don't live right in West Union. I live in a little town called Grove."
> That stopped me, for that's where my mother was from. When I saw her
> two days later, I asked her how far outside of Grove do you live?" She
> said, "If you must know, I live on a farm down on Rush Fork."

I married Edith Virginia Gallien on September 9, 1944. We have three
children, William Kendall, Brenda Jane, and Mary Virginia.

**William Kendall Wilson** (XXII, July 19, 1948 -- ) is divorced and has
no children.

**Brenda Jane Wilson Gillespie** (XXII, July 27, 1950 -- ) married
**John Gillespie**. They have a son, **William Edward Gillespie**
(XXIII, Mar. 18, 1989 -- ).

**Mary Virginia (Jenny) Wilson Sakamoto** (XXII, June 14, 1955 -- )
married **Kazuhiro Sakamoto**;. They have a son, **Toji Alan Sakamoto**;
(XXIII, Aug. 22, 1989 -- ), and a daughter, **Anna Christine Sakamoto**
(XXII, Nov. 17, 1990 --).

AUTOMOBILES IN OUR FAMILY. In 1924, Dad bought his first auto­mobile, a
1922 Model T Ford. He bought it in front of the courthouse, as it was
sold at public auction because it had been used as a liquor-running car.
Five minutes before he bought it, Dad had no thoughts of buying a car.
Someone bid \$45, and he bid \$46 and got it. I've forgotten how he got
the car home, but he put it in the 16' x 24' shed and got a mechanic
named Waitman Snodgrass from Pullman to put the car in good shape. The
car served us well for about four years. It had a magneto and no
battery. It used the famous Ford spark coils for ignition, one coil for
each spark plug. These coils were in boxes about 2" x 3" x 4". The
breaker points were on top of the box, and occasionally they would
stick. At this point, one reached under the dash to the coil box, the
top of which was always left open, and jiggled the coils until the stuck
coil came unstuck. The Model T later acquired a starter, but the 1922
model was stem-wind (cranked). This was a very dangerous proposition
unless one was very careful to retard the spark. If one did not retard
the spark, the spark plug might fire before top dead center, and the
engine would go backwards, tearing the crank out of your hands and
hitting your arm with the crank handle. This nearly al­ways resulted in a
broken arm, hurt feelings, or both. The Model T had two speeds forward,
which were handled by what was called planetary gears. It had three
pedals. The left was the clutch, which had three functions. All the way
to the floor was low gear, part way back was neutral, and all the way
back was high gear. To remain in low gear, one had to press hard on the
clutch. Climbing a hill was a bit tiresome, as one nearly always had to
resort to low gear. To activate reverse, one pushed the clutch halfway
in to neutral and pressed the reverse pedal, which was the center pedal.
The right hand pedal was the brake. This was a transmission brake, so
one really had very poor brakes. One wheel could easily skid, and this
meant that one wheel would go backwards and the other forwards. It was
common practice to alternate with the reverse pedal and break pedal in
going downhill. Some people bought what was called a Rucksteel axle,
which simply was a two-speed rear axle. This gave a high gear much lower
than regular high and an extra low gear much lower than regular low. The
Rucksteel axle was very convenient in that one no longer needed to stand
on low gear in going up hills. It also provided an extra low gear for
tight places.

All in all, the Model T Ford was barely transportation and very unsafe
at best. Its redeeming feature was that it could hardly exceed 35 miles
per hour. John Steinbeck gave a very fervent and learned dissertation on
the Model T in his book Cannery Row. This was published about 1940. Mr.
Steinbeck said that a large number of the current generation had been
conceived in the Model T, and a few of them were born in the Model T.
With all of John Steinbeck's ro­manticizing, I'm glad the Model T is gone
except in memories.

Our next car was a 1927 Model T, which we acquired about 1928. This was
a much better car. It had a starter and looked more like a car. It was
even fairly comfortable. However, it was still a Model T. We kept this
car until about 1934, when we bought Uncle Oliver's 1930 Oakland V-8 for
\$150. It cost \$800 new. This was an excellent car, and I even went 70
miles per hour in it one time. I drove it to Morgantown a couple of
times to school. Dad's next car was a 1934 Ford Coupe. This car had no
back seat. At the time, it had the highest horsepower-to-weight ratio of
any car on the road. It served very well, for it had a huge trunk, in
which Dad could haul tools, feed, etc. They never spent the night
anywhere, so the trunk was never used for luggage. After World War II, I
put relays on Dad's headlights to brighten them a bit, and I also used
an abrasive material on the reflectors. This was before the days of
sealed beams. Dad's next car was a Plymouth Coupe (about 1950,
fourth-hand), which also had a huge trunk. The gearshift was on the
steering column, but he adapted very well. He drove this car until after
1962, when he moved into town, at which time he bought a Valiant Sedan
with an automatic transmission. This car served him very well and never
gave him any major trouble. Mom had insisted strongly on having a coupe
because she didn't want to be obligated to pick up the trash who were
walking.

While we had the 1927 Ford, it developed a slight exhaust knock and had
poor power. I told Dad that I would like to grind the valves. He said,
"If it will do either you or the car any good, go ahead." So, I took the
head off, loosened the valves, and started grinding. I got all of them
to seat very well except one, which was an exhaust valve with a hole in
it. There were several valves hanging on the wall, and I found one that
almost fit. It took a lot of grinding to get it seated, but I finally
got it to work okay. I put the engine back together, and it ran like a
top. I could climb all the hills at half throttle without having to get
a running start. As poppet valves tend to deteriorate rather quickly, my
fine-tuned engine did not last more than a couple of weeks. It
deteriorated, but not nearly to the shape it was in before I ground the
valves. When the Oakland came along, I realized that cars were beyond
me, and I did not try to work on them. It was only years later when I
took an auto course at Washington and Lee High School that I learned
about such things as points and condensers.

My first car was a 1928 Chevrolet, which I bought in 1939. It actually
had a vacuum chamber instead of a fuel pump, and it also had two-wheel
brakes. I learned a lot from this car, most of which I could have done
without. I bought it for \$35 and sold it for \$25. The gearshift was on
the floor, and it was not synchromesh. The frame was wood, and the door
was beginning to sag badly by the time I got rid of it because of rotten
wood. My next car was a 1940 Pontiac, which I bought in 1948. This was a
Straight Eight, a very powerful car, but not suited to my needs. The
torque was low, which meant that I could not lug it in high gear. The
Pontiac Six of the same year had a low-speed, high-torque engine that
was excellent around town and in hill country. Our next car was a 1951
Ford, which we bought new. Billy was three years old at the time, and he
went with me to get the car, which we bought at Takoma Ford in Takoma
Park. This car had an overdrive. It served us very well, but we got
itchy feet and bought a 1953 Ford in December of 1952. We kept this car
six years and sold it to C. I. Pope, the fellow whose job I took over
when I went to the Paper Section at the Bureau of Standards. This car
served us well and really was an ideal car. The car was the right size
for a small family, was fairly easy on gas, and being an automatic, was
easy to drive. Our next car was a 1958 Ford Fairlane with automatic
transmission, power steering, power brakes, and a 256 horsepower V-8
engine. It was a great car except that it got only 12-13 miles per
gallon. We drove it to California in 1962. It performed exceedingly well
except for gas mileage. Our next car was a traumatic experience, a 40
horsepower 1962 VW bus. As soon as possible we traded it for a 50
horse­power 1964 VW bus, which gave me a lot of pleasure and enabled the
kids to spread out over two back seats. We never took any long trips in
this car, but it was a pleasure to drive back home to West Virginia. One
time we brought Pa and Ma Gallien back with us. This was no problem, for
the bus easily held seven people. Of course, one had to roar up the
mountains in third gear and sometimes second. I especially enjoyed the
southern route to West Virginia, via Route 55, Moorefield, Mouth of
Seneca, Elkins, etc. We sold the '64 bus in 1966 to Dr. Joseph Flynn, a
fellow I had hired fresh from Catholic University in 1951. He eventually
had nine children, so the bus suited him perfectly. About this time we
also purchased a 1960 Hillman because Edith was going to American
University and needed a second car for commuting. This was an ex­cellent
town car, but on the road at 45 mph and above, it had a horrible wind
noise. We kept it about four years. In 1966, we bought a second hand
1961 Mercedes for \$800. It was a constant source of repair, money, and
trouble. We sold it in 1970 and bought a new Mercedes 220
four-on-the-floor. It was Edith's pride and joy for fourteen years. In
1968 we bought a four-door Volvo Sedan 144. This was an excellent car,
and I understand it is still running. Somewhere along the line, we
bought a used 1960 Falcon, which we kept about three months and a huge
Rambler station wagon, which we kept about three months. These were
experiences. I sold the Falcon to Mrs. Clifford and the Rambler station
wagon to a one-armed fellow in Gaithersburg. Somewhere along the line I
bought a 1960 VW bug for \$800 and sold it four years later for \$200. I
really enjoyed driving this car more than most any car I've ever had. We
also had a 1978 Oldsmobile Omega four-door sedan for several years. We
bought this car from Margaret Johnson and sold it to Paul Huber. As much
as I basically dislike General Motors cars, this was the most
trouble-free car we have ever owned. If it had had a reasonably sized
trunk, we would still have it. We now have a 1983 Toyota Tercel SR-5
four-wheel wagon (mine) and a 1985 BMW 318 (Edith's). We both are
superbly happy in our choices.

Traveling. When I visited Rush Fork the first time in 1944, the war was
still on, and so was gas rationing. Pappy Gallien fixed me up with
enough ration stamps for 15 gallons of gas. This was enough for me to
get back to D.C. At that time, I was driving an old '36 DeSoto with an
overdrive. I'm not sure whether it was the car or my driving, but I
never did get stuck in the snow. The overdrive was great until I had the
transmission overhauled and another overdrive unit put in. The
transmission blew up about two months after that, and that was the end
of my love affair with the '36 DeSoto. We drove it across the country
with Norita and John in 1947. I was concerned about the transmis­sion,
but my mechanic assured me that it would be OK. When he tore into the
transmission, it was just about ready to fall apart. A spline that was
supposed to hold over a space of about one inch was holding for a space
of about 1/4 inch.

The road up Rush was not an all-weather road until about 1950. Until
that time, we frequently had to leave our car on Route 18 and walk
across the hill. This was simple for Edith because she had to walk
across the hill to get the school bus when she was attending high
school. As we had to carry our suit­cases or whatever we took, we made
sure that it was very light. When John Tyson was courting Norita, he
always had a heavy suitcase, and Uncle Junior.; usually had to help him
carry it. Years later, under some casual needling, Junior retorted that
John's suitcase was one of the heaviest that he had ever car­ried. John
said, "lordy, lordy", and walked off. Occasionally when the roads were
bad, we had to put on the chains to get up Rush.

About 1950 there was a severe snowstorm at Thanksgiving time. We didn't
go to the farm that time, but John and Norita came up from Bluefield
with Susie, who was about four months old. The snow was two or three
feet deep, and they didn't have any formula for Susie. Grandpa somehow
had to get to the barns to feed the cattle. John went along, and he said
it was the first time he had ever walked up on the hill with his tail
end dragging the ground. Hazel and Bill were also there, and they all
had quite a time getting out. At my folk's home, they got along very
well, but the next door neighbors, Burns Harlan and his mother Kate came
to stay with Dad and Mom for about a week. Their gas was off, and they
almost did not make it to our house.

In 1946, Edith said, "Let's go to California." I didn't want to go to
California, so I said, "Let's go to Canada and go to California next
year." Like our kids in later years, she never forgot anything. So, we
took Uncle John and Aunt Norita and went to Canada. The traffic up
through New England to me was horrendous. The only parkway of any kind
that we were on or existed was the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut.
Somehow I managed although it was rough. There were no motels in those
days, and the most one could expect were small units called "cabins."
Frequently, they were just 2" x 4" frame shells with boarding on the
outside. We stayed in one such place in Jackman, Maine. In retrospect,
it was horribly primitive, but we were young and didn't mind. The rate
for the four of us was seldom more than \$5.00. On the way home, our
last night out in Pennsylvania, we stayed in a little summer kitchen
type of facility, where they had some rooms in the house and also a
summer kitchen. The fel­low who ran it was very practical. There was no
neon light to show whether there was a vacancy. He just threw a gunny
sack over the "cabins" sign when everything was full. While in Canada,
we visited Quebec and Toronto. We made a detour to a small place called
Kingston and rented a cabin for three days. Uncle John loved fishing and
he and Norita went out early one morning and caught a lot of fish. This
also was a rather primitive place although they did have running water.
For drinking water, however, we had to take a row­boat, go across one
finger of the lake about 300 feet, and get water from a spring. In
Canada, there was a very interesting monument installed in 1884 in
memory of the brave soldiers who died at the battle of Chrysler's farm
from either the Revolutionary War or the War of 1812.

I had a fine pair of driving lights on the '36 DeSoto and also a strong
back-up light. These lights were very handy, and I have always had
driving lights and back-up lights on my cars ever since. A back-up light
is not necessary to­day, as all cars have automatic back-up lights.
However, they are not nearly as good as the back-up light I had on the
'36 Desoto. In those days, driving lights could easily be installed on
the bumper supports. Today, the bumper supports are hidden, and it is
almost impossible to install driving lights.

In 1947, we took off for California. We had a month in which to make the
trip, so we had to travel fast as there were no Interstates at that
time. In 1936 car trunks were very small. I built a rack for the top of
the car to carry all our luggage and built a food box to fit into the
trunk. It was quite a chore to unpack the luggage every night and repack
it in the morning. In addition to tying down the luggage, we had a
tarpaulin over the luggage which had to be tied down. However, we made
the trip okay, especially after we built a fence for the rack in
Oklahoma. The places to stay were hardly called motels yet, but were
more like cabins. At this time, the parking space by the cabin
frequently was covered. In later years the garages were converted to
cabins, and the cars were parked in front. cars The going rate was \$3-5
per night. Sometimes the rate was more but very seldom. We got to Los
Angeles very late one night and stopped at a motel for rooms. They had
two separate rooms at \$5 each. I said "Thanks, but I think I'll move
on." He said, "I'm tired of getting up. Take the rooms for \$3." The
next morning we found that we had stayed in a very plush place that
cer­tainly was worth every bit of \$5. I was somewhat apologetic to the
fellow for getting his price down but he just laughed about it. There
was an orange grove across the road, and the girls were anxious to go
over and pick an orange. I told them that they could serve their jail
sentence if they insisted on getting an orange. As luck would have it,
we would not have got another motel room, for that was the last one we
saw for miles. We called brother Bill Gallien, and he somehow got us to
the house. At that time, there were four boys at home: Jimmy, Billy (5),
John (3), and Bobby (20 months). Johnny was retarded and obviously gave
a lot of trouble. We got along well with Jimmy and .Billy Gallien, but
Bobby would have no part of any of us. I followed Bobby around and tried
to play with him as best I could for about half an hour. Frances, his
mother, warned me that he would not be friendly with me. After about a
half hour, he reached his little arms out to me, and we were friends
from then on. Frances could hardly believe it. About a month later,
Bill, Frances, and the boys came to Rush Fork. Frances was carrying
Bobby down the stairs when I came up on the porch. Bobby saw me, and
even though it was a month later and 3,000 miles away, he could hardly
wait to get to me. Bobby and I have been good friends ever since.

At that time, Brother Bill owned a toy and furniture manufacturing
outfit called "Pla-Park." He was quite busy and had go to back to the
shop that evening. John and I went with him, and we each did time on a
machine making parts for toys. It was obvious that Brother Bill was a
genius at creating useful things.

As we were approaching Reno, we would see a sign about every ten miles
saying, "In Reno, it's Harold's Club." When we got to Reno, Harold's
Club was not anything to write home about. The night we were in Reno, we
stayed in a little motel just outside the city. Each one of us took \$2
to spend on the slot ma­chines. John soon spent his money, and that was
the end of it. Aunt Norita lost all of hers, and I was doing great. I
hit a nickel jackpot, and Aunt Norita said, "That's no fair", and she
grabbed a handful of my nickels. I had no more luck after that, and soon
both Norita and I were broke. Edith was down to 50 cents, and said she
would play it down and go home. I talked her into putting the 50 cents
into a 50 cent machine where the jackpot was \$75, and fifteen half
dollars popped out. She said, "I'm beginning to like this game. I'm
going to play some more." I said, "No you're not., We're going home." We
did, so the evening just cost us 50 cents.

One year at West Virginia University (1934-1935), I made about \$10 off
of slot machines. To play a slot machine, you don't stand there and pump
it. You put a coin in occasionally, especially after someone has been
working it a long time and gotten nothing.

We also visited Hoover Dam and Lake Meade on this trip, and these were
memorable experiences.

NOTE ADDED BY BILL ON TAKOMA PARK In 1945, Mom and Dad moved from their
apartment on Florida Ave. to a house they bought near sub­urban Takoma
Park. This was a small two-bedroom house at the northwest corner of
Orchard Ave. (now Fourth St.) and Cockerille Ave. This was located in a
poor neighborhood of dirt streets in Prince Georges County. This
neigh­borhood was known as Hell's Bottom. The mailing address was Takoma
Park, a much more prosperous and genteel town of large houses and paved
streets in Montgomery County. Now that all the streets have been paved,
the demarcation between Hell's Bottom and Takoma Park is more subtle.
The eastern part of Takoma Park is now a historical district of large
old houses of most unusual design. The architecture in this town
represents the antithesis of the homogene­ity and blandness of a
Levittown. The houses, which are in various states of re­pair and
disrepair, are being renovated by "youngsters" in my generation.

**ADAMS FAMILY**

Mittie Adams father and mother were Joshua Adams and Sarah Elizabeth
Woofter Adams. The ancestors of Joshua Adams are discussed here, and the
Woofter line is described below where Sarah Elizabeth is discussed. Note
that Harrison County (county seat, Clarksburg) was formed from Barbour
County (county seat, Philippi).

**Early Adams family.** These Adams are rumored to be descended from
John Quincy Adams, who is supposed to have had a black sheep son, who
preferred adventure on the Virginia frontier to the staid, genteel life
of an attorney in Massachusetts. However, the following line of
ancestors, deduced mainly from information in Minnie Kendall Lowther's
History of Ritchie County, does not support this romantic rumor. Joshua
Adams's paternal grandfather, **Jonathan Adams** (XVII, 1764 -- \~1843),
was born near Trenton, NJ. Johnathan Adams served in Washington's army
and received 300 acres in Harrison (then Barbour) County. In 1791 he
married Margaret ?, and they moved to Barbour County, where **William
Adams** (XVIII, Sept. 18, 1805 -- ?) was born. About 1829, William Adams
married **Lucinda Wright** (XVIII, 1809 -- ?), daughter of **Joshua**
(or Harrison?) **Wright** (XVII, 1770 -- ?), another Revolutionary War
soldier, who was born in Virginia in 1770. Lucinda's paternal
grandmother was a **Porter** (XVII) of Scotch-Irish descent.

William and Lucinda Adams had nine children (Mary Ann in 1830, Sarah Ann
in 1832, Jackson in 1834, Joshua in \~1836, Elizabeth in 1838, William
in 1840, Martha in 1845, Mary Jane in 1847, and Harriet in \~1849).
Apparently Lucinda died, and William took a second wife, Louisa Summers,
who bore him five more children, Elijah, Alexander (1854-1921), Susanna,
Margaret, and Flora. It is said that William Adams once owned a large
part of Harrison County, but he gambled it away.

**Joshua Adams** (XIX, \~1835 -- July 26, 1911) was the second son of
William Adams and Lucinda Wright. I never saw Grandpa Adams as he died
two years be­fore I was born. In his youth, he was a very strong man,
worked all day and far into the night, and thought people were lying
when they said they got tired. He was a carpenter by trade and he also
kept a store at Summers for many years. The story goes that he bought
ginseng root during season, and one fellow brought in a root that seemed
to weigh far too much. Granddad paid and did not argue with him, but
later found that a nail had been driven into the root. Granddad did not
confront this man with his crime. He simply shorted him on future
weighings until he got his money back. Granddad was married twice. He
married Nancy Leeson for his first wife, and they had six boys
(Marshall, Joseph, Marion, Alonzo, Samuel, and William E.).

His second wife, my grand­mother, was Woofter, Sarah Elizabeth Woofter of
Auburn (see below). My grandmother was only 20 when she married. Women
married early in those days and usually had a large number of children.
This is some­thing that few people talk about, and the ones who could
talk about it are mostly all gone, but I think the attitude was that
contraceptives were evil.

Grandpa was thrown by a mule sometime during his middle years, and never
was the same after. This probably was the reason that he started keeping
store. They lived in a house in Summers, which is marked on a map. The
house was not large enough for the eleven children in the second family.
Because of the cramped quarters and Grandpa's moralistic and dictatorial
nature, the girls couldn't wait to leave home. Therefore, the girls
tended to marry quite young. In this family, there were nine girls and
two boys. Two of the girls died of TB. Aunt Rosie, the eldest, married
when she was 15. Aunt Hattie married Morris Gaston when she was 18 and
he was 32. Mom married for the first time when she was either 17 or 19.
In later years, Grandpa and Grandma moved to Harrisville, in the West
End. From incomplete evidence, it appears that both he and Grandma died
of colon cancer. They were buried in the South Fork Cemetery near
Oxford. Fitting his ego, Joshua Adam's tombstone is much larger and
ornate than that of his wife, Sarah Elizabeth.

My cousin Amy Gaston Smith accompanied Edith and me to visit the old
home­stead and also the area where my mother was born. The latter is on
the west side of the Bear Fork road about half a mile from the
Grove-Summers road and a mile from the house in Summers where the family
grew up. The house is no longer standing. The place is marked on a map.

Amy told the story about the time she was visiting there when she was a
little girl. Her uncle Burt was cleaning a shot­gun in the next room.
Somehow the shotgun discharged, putting a hole the wall about one foot
above her head. The shot marks are still in the mantle.

My grandfather had a philosophy of doing business, which was to treat
every man as though he were a crook. Grandpa was the fiery member of the
family. His fuse was very short, and I think Grandma was the quiet one.
The family inherited a nervousness and a personality, which at times
could be very morbid. Although I know that the fiery temper came from
Grandpa, I suspect, without knowing, that the tendency towards a morbid
personality came from Grandma.

My cousin Amy Gaston Smith has written some interesting words about
Joshua Adams in The History of Doddridge County (Taylor Pub. Co. \~1980,
p. 67): "He built many houses and everyone knew him and his mule, 'Old
Jack.' The children had to help farm. One year, nine-year old Homer shot
60 squirrels in the corn field.

"In 1884 he bought the farm at Summers, now owned by the Grimms. The
huge stone chimney and porticos facing each main road are gone. Also the
family of eleven that grew up there. Passing that house recalls many
memories.

"Joshua ran a general store that kept his team and driver on the road
six days a week hauling supplies from Toll Gate. Also on the seventh
taking the family in the three-seater spring wagon to the South Fork
Baptist church. Once a month a dentist came to the store to extract
teeth, without anesthesia -- I know!

"I spent many happy days there as they were my grandparents. One aunt
was six years older than I and we fished and played dolls together. It
was a lively place with six girls at home. Like their mother, all became
expert cooks, seamstresses and meticulous housekeepers.

"Two of the younger girls and their cousins, the Newt Husk family, had a
string band and were much in demand for school programs. I loved to hear
them practice and their lively banter.

"I can still see the long, laden table my grand mother set. For family,
company and hired hands there was plenty. Any store loafer knew 'Josh'
would ask him to dinner. The bread Grandmother baked would fill the
house more than once. She always found time to nurse sick neighbors, sew
or car for the needy.

"Grandfather was friendly and jolly. But his, 'As certain as God, sir'
equaled his bond.

"When two of the younger girls died they moved to Harrisville with the
youngest. He died there in 1911, Grandmother in 1921. Both are buried in
south Fork Cemetery.

"Among their descendants are lawyers, doctors, teachers, pharmacists, a
Federal executive in Washington, an orthodontist, nurses, merchants, and
farmers."

**Sarah Elizabeth Woofter Adams** (XIX, Aug. 10, 1850 -- Oct. 4, 1921).
Grandma's father, **Andrew Woofter** (XVIII, Sept. 17, 1823 -- Feb.
1902), came to Ritchie County in 1851. Based on census records, Sarah
Elizabeth appears to be the third of eight children. Having two older
brothers, she was the oldest girl in the family. Judging from Minnie
Kendall Lowther's *History of Ritchie County*, Andrew Woofter's parents
were **Johnathan Woofter** (XVII) and **Jeannette Winans Woofter**
(XVII). Johnathan Woofter's parents were **John Woofter** (XVI) (who
came from New Jersey and ultimately Germany) and a **Petit** (XVI) woman
from Scotland. John Woofter and his wife are reportedly buried in the
Broad Run churchyard. Andrew Woofter's wife was **Jane Simpson** (XVIII,
\~1823 -- June 1902), who was born in Ohio, died on Bone Creek, and is
buried in Auburn, WV. Jane Simpson was the daughter of **John Simpson**
(XVII).

Grandma (Sarah Elizabeth) came from an excellent intellectual family.
I'm not sure of the re­lationship, but there was at least one minister in
the family. If this is the minister I'm thinking of, he once was pastor
of the old Baptist Church in Harrisville. On the site of the present
Baptist Church stood the house belonging to General Harris. Now Rev.
Woofter, being a good Baptist, believed in total immersion. One Sunday
morning he preached a sermon on total immersion, and said that one could
not be saved unless totally immersed. Now General Harris, even though an
ex-army man, knew that the pen was mightier than the sword. In the pages
of the Ritchie Gazette, he took Rev. Woofter to task for his attitude.
Long after both General Harris and Rev. Woofter had gone to whatever
reward was coming to them after death, the Harrisville Baptist Church
Congregation bought General Harris's proper­ty, razed the house, and
built a wonderful new church. I asked my Aunt Agnes, Mrs. Burt Adams, if
there was a bit of vindictiveness in this move. Aunt Agnes thought there
might be. General Harris and Rev. Woofter are buried within fifty feet
of each oth­er in the IOOF Cemetery in Harrisville. It makes a good story
to say that when this was accomplished, Rev. Woofter tunneled over to
General Harris' grave, lifted the coffin lid, and said, "Gotcha!"

When Grandma was about 70 or past, she broke a hip and was incapacitated
for some time. However, she did get up and was able to walk again. This
was quite an accomplish­ment in those days. Grandma was very
tender-hearted and didn't like to see any of the grandchildren punished.
One time when Aunt Orpha had to give her daughter Ruth a spank­ing, she
cried and went to her room. This emotional instabil­ity is apparent in
the children and grandchildren. It is amazing how little one can say
about grandparents who raised 11 children, saw two of them die (**Bessie
Adams** and **Nettie Adams**), and all of the rest marry and all have
children except one. I know little about many of the children, my aunts
and un­cles, but we'll take them one by one.

**Homer Adams** (XX, June 14,1873 -- Dec. 2, 1938) was a really good and
very bright man. He went to law school, perhaps directly from high
school. He had a breakdown after he completed his law degree. For about
six weeks, he laid around the house with the twitches and shakes. He
married Malana Cooper, and they had no children. They adopted Emma Hall,
the daughter of Emma Adams and Mr. Hall. Emma\'s mother died of
tuberculosis four days after Emma was born. She was not particularly
stacked in the upper story, a deficiency that can probably be attributed
to the illness of her mother during pregnancy. Emma was about 17 when
Uncle Homer died at age 65. He stipulated in his will that Emma would
not receive the bulk of his estate until she was 35 years old. It is
unfortunate that Uncle Homer never had children of his own. Dad said
Aunt Malana was too touchy to have any children of her own.

Uncle Homer lived in Pittsburgh most of his professional life and worked
for a large gas company. He worked mostly in a staff capacity. He must
have been very valuable to the company, for they were quite well-off
financially. In his later years, they lived in Parkersburg. We visited
them occasionally, and I visited Uncle Homer twice by myself, once at
his law office and once at home. He always received me very courteously
and obviously with considerable affection. I think my mother was one of
his favorite sisters. I remember that he had a 1926 Buick coupe, which
to me was a huge automobile. One time when Mom and I were visiting Uncle
Homer in Parkersburg, I met Minnie Kendall Lowther. Minnie was the
author of the History of Ritchie County, which was published sometime
after the turn of the century.

From the few conversations I had with Uncle Homer, he impressed me as an
intellectual gentleman. He expressed himself well, and he obviously had
plenty of mental capacity. He was 100% honest and sincere and should
have had three sons to carry on his name. The presumption was that he
did not wear the pants in the family.

Aunt Malana was always very correct socially. One time she and I were
sitting in their 1926 Buick on Courthouse Street in Harrisville. A woman
by the name of Liz Blaire came along and greeted Aunt Malana. This was
my first experience observing the deep-freeze brush-off. Aunt Malana
barely greeted Miss Blaire, and answered all of her questions in a low
voice only after deliberating for several seconds. Liz Blaire was
supposedly a prostitute of sorts and was noted for loose living. She was
very homely, and had a large birthmark. She made up for this by being
brilliant and articulate, qualities that were perhaps not highly valued
in a small town like Harrisville. My mother tells about the time when
she was saying the proper things to someone who recently was bereaved.
She knew exactly what to say.

Aunt Malana died in 1966. She outlived Uncle Homer by nearly thirty
years.

**Bert Adams** (XX, Jan. 28, 1885 -- Sept. 3, 1946) did law work for a
time in Harrisville. He did not have a formal law degree, but he got a
lot of on-the-job training. I think he worked with Uncle Homer for
several years. In 1930 (?) while living in Harrisville, he married
**Agnes Ayres** (XX, ? -- 1978), who was a very bright woman. They had
four children, Elizabeth Adams Hawkins, Jean Adams Wallace, Robert C.
Adams (deceased, leaving three children), Margaret Krider (deceased,
leaving two daughters). Later they moved to Charleston, where Uncle Bert
worked for Columbia Gas. Uncle Bert was an excellent breadwinner, and
during the depression years, he was making over \$400 per month.

I visited them in Charleston in 1934 after I graduated from Salem
College. Uncle Bert assigned one of his men to take me around looking
for a job. As this was during the Depression, finding a job was very
difficult. The guide took me to Union Carbide, Du Pont, and another
place. I was allowed to fill out an application at Du Pont, but I\'m
sure it was filed in the wastebasket before I got out the door. The
fellow who interviewed me said they had a very few openings, and those
were being filled with some of the best men from the best universities
in the country. The implication was that a graduate from Salem College
didn\'t have a chance.

The fellow who took me around was a Mr. Anderson, who drove a huge 1925
Cadillac coupe. He remarked that it was made at a time when they made
good automobiles. In later years, I learned that having Mr. Anderson
take me around was not a great sacrifice. Mr. Anderson\'s usefulness to
the company was somewhat questionable, and they were probably glad to be
rid of him for a day.

In 1945, Uncle Bert retired early from Columbia Gas because of heart
trouble. This really is not surprising, for he got little exercise. Aunt
Agnes took him to work, went to get him for lunch, and picked him up in
the evening. He did not drive. He probably ate a high cholesterol high
fat diet. This plus no exercise and his poor arteries didn\'t have a
chance.

After retirement, he and Aunt Agnes went to live with one of their
daughters, Ella Elizabeth (Betty) Adams Hawkins in Madison, Virginia.
Before retirement, he had canceled all his life insurance and didn\'t
arrange for Aunt Agnes to continue with part of his annuity if he passed
away first. One can speculate whether he did this out of vindictiveness
or because he was disoriented by his illness. He lived for nine months
and died September 3, 1946.

Aunt Agnes lived for another 32 years. In later years, she lived in the
Whitehall Hotel in Harrisville and worked part-time in the library.
After the hotel was torn down, she lived in a small apartment in
downtown Harrisville.

**Rosa Adams Pierce** (XX, Apr. 9, 1875 -- 1974). She had three sons
(Marshall Buel, Homer, and Sterling) and a daughter (Jessie Pierce
Grable). I saw Aunt Rosa only once, when I was about 11 years old, and
she must have been about 50. She visited us for a short time, and I
remember playing ball (probably a home-made ball made out of string)
with one of her sons, my first cousin. She lived to be almost 100 and
was the last one to pass away. They lived in Medina, Ohio.

**Hattie Adams Gaston** (XX, July 25, 1877 -- 1964). She married Morris
Gaston, when she was 18 and he was 32. The other Adams children would
tease them by chanting "18 and 32." This always made Aunt Hattie mad. I
think Aunt Hattie lived not too far from the home place most of her
life. They never had children, but they adopted a girl named Lenore
Squires (later Lenore Scott). This was not a very happy situation, and
I'm not sure whether heredity or environment or both was to blame. Uncle
Morris was an excellent farmer. He was able to make a very good living
from the hill country hill land that he farmed. Uncle Morris was of the
salt-of-the-earth variety. Although they did very well financially for
their time, it is questionable whether there was any affection in the
house.

**Stella Adams (Mrs. Enoch) White** (XX, June 13, 1879 -- 1963). I knew
her only slightly and principally af­ter she became a widow. Her husband,
Enoch White, ran a feed store in Jane Lew, West Virginia. He did very
well fi­nancially, and they lived in a large brick house. Edith and I
visited them when Uncle Enoch was on his death bed. This must have been
about 1947. They had three children, Carson, Enoch Jr., and Maxine.
Carson died quite young, when he was about 40. He had taken over the
feed store from his father. Junior lived to about age 60. He was a
physician, but the bottle got the better of him. (He wife is Dee Ann,
and they had three children, Jennifer Lynn, Richard Carson, and Gary
Keith.)

Maxine's first husband was Denver Watring, a high school principal who
lived in Elkins, West Virginia. I knew him only slightly, having visited
them only once or twice when we were going home to McLean. Aunt Orpha
Flesher Hardway had a luncheon for the family before my mother's
funeral. I looked around the group and wondered who would be next. He
died early the next summer after my mother died March 14. We were home
in West Virginia at the time but did not attend the funeral. About six
weeks later we were home again in West Virginia and we took her and Aunt
Stella (White) to lunch. Aunt Stella lived with Maxine after Uncle Enoch
died. Maxine cried when she said hello to me but soon regained her
compo­sure. After lunch, she ad­mitted that this was the first real meal
she had eaten since Denver had passed away. She later married Elmer
Lundin and moved to Cincinnati.

**Emma Adams Hall** (XX, Apr. 7, 1881 -- May 14, 1918). I don't re­member
ever seeing Aunt Emma. She married Edgar M. Hall, and they lived in or
near Weston. She died fairly young of tu­berculosis. There were four
children in the family, two boys (Oscar F. and Edgar Loman) and two
girls (Geneva and Emma). I never saw the boys.

The daughter **Emma** (XXI) was born a few days before her mother died.
She was taken by her Uncle Homer and Aunt Malana Adams. They arrived
with a nurse to help care for the baby, and the baby was taken to
Pittsburgh. They later moved to Parkersburg. Emma was not very strong in
the upper story, but that was certainly not sur­prising as her mother
probably had very poor prenatal care and was very ill with TB. I saw
Emma several times both at Parkersburg and at other places. She later
mar­ried a widower named Grove, **Alden Grove** (XXI). I think they live
at Sistersville. It is inter­esting that she and her sister Geneva were
never friendly. In later years, Geneva expressed absolutely zero
interest in be­coming acquainted with her sister. I never could
under­stand her attitude. Whether Emma was interested in a relationship,
I don't know, but she certainly got no encouragement from Geneva.

**Geneva** (XXI, June 18, 1910 --) never really had a home. She lived
for about a year with Uncle Morris, but they could not cope with her.
She lived with her father until she was ready for high school, and then
went to live with Uncle Oliver and Aunt Orpha Flesher. After high
school, she went into nurse's training at the long-gone Emergency
Hospital in Washington, D. C. She then went to New York. There she was a
nurse for many years and in 1933 married **Arthur Tujague** (XXI), who
was four years her junior. She was about 23 at the time. They lived at
Mountainside, New Jersey for many years and later moved to Bethesda,
Maryland when Geneva was about 60. They have one daughter Vicki and a
grandson Gordon. Vicki now lives in Pittsburgh. Art di­vorced Geneva
after about 42 years of marriage and married another woman. In 1987,
Geneva is still living in the apartment in Bethesda, and Vicki is still
living in Pittsburgh. When I was still a little boy about eight years
old, Geneva spent a few days with us. At that time she was about 11. As
Geneva was afraid to sleep alone, Mom put me in with Geneva for two or
three nights. About 60 years later, Geneva and Edith and I were
attending a party in Bethesda. At one point I went over to Geneva and
whispered into her ear, "There's been a lot of water over the dam since
we used to sleep together back on the farm."

**Luella (Ella) Adams Gaston** (XX, Feb. 1, 1872 -- Apr. 15, 1949). Aunt
Ella was the oldest of the second crop of children. She was very quiet.
She mar­ried **Marion Gaston** (XX) and they had five children: Amy,
Alpha, Velma, Carson, and Gail. They lived on Camp Run above Uncle
Morris and Aunt Hattie. Uncle Marion worked very hard and was a
progressive and intelli­gent farmer. But working a poor hillside farm and
trying to feed five kids was a losing proposi­tion. Aunt Ella is one of
those really good women like her mother who raised five children, was an
ex­cellent wife and mother, but about whom there is little to write. She
be­came senile in her later years and eventually was institutionalized in
Weston.

Her daughter Velma (see below) married Ferrell Gray and remained at
home. Ferrell was probably the nicest man who ever lived, but not very
strong and so could not do much work. As all of the Adams girls were
great work­ers, they despised anyone who could not or would not work.
During harvest season, the fellows killed a copperhead snake in the
hayfield. This was duly reported to Aunt Ella. She promptly said that
she wished that copperhead snake would take Ferrell by the pecker and
drag him down to the creek. Another time she threw Ferrell's best
clothes under the house and then threw the contents of her chamberpot on
the clothes. She also would argue vociferously about politics. It is
really tragic that such a good woman came to such an unfortunate end.
Her husband Marion lived for many years and eventually died at about age
90 after a long illness.

**Alpha Gaston** (XXI, Feb. 3, 1900 -- Mar. 31, 1974) married Clarence
Spurgeon (XXI) and they had two boys. Hayward (XXII, Oct. 1, 1925 -- May
1, 1985), the older boy, was a model citizen and a good man. He drove a
bus for Greyhound until his retirement at about age 60. They lived near
Jane Lew. Edith and Geneva and I stopped to see them one time on the way
home from West Virginia about 1983. They were very courteous to us and
very glad to see us. He was retiring in a few days, and he showed me a
saw sharpening machine he had bought in the past year. He was all set
for retirement but lived only about a year. Almost fifty years earlier,
I had brought Grandpa Adams' watch to Washington, had it thoroughly
overhauled and got a new stainless steel case for it. Mom gave the watch
to Hayward. As we approached their house, we wondered if Hayward still
had the watch. Edith said he would have discarded the watch. I said he
still had it. Just before we left, he said, I want to show you
something. He took me down to the basement, opened a safe, and showed me
the watch and the old case in which the watch had been encased. This
renewed my faith in the nostalgic nature of humanity. I will be forever
thankful that we stopped to see them.

Hayward's younger brother was born when Hayward was about 15. He was a
so-called blue baby and lived until just prior to his sixth birth­day. He
was a very bright child but caused his parents much anxiety. He needed
constant care, and their lives revolved around the care of a child who
they knew could not live more than a few years. Twenty years after his
death, his Aunt Amy wrote a book about the little boy. It was through
reading this book that I learned how extensively this little boy's life
had touched them all.

**Amy Gaston** (XXI, May 21, 1898 -- ) is an outstanding woman and could
have gone education­ally anywhere she decided to go. She attended one or
two years at Broaddus College and then taught school for a few years
before marrying Harry Smith at age 29. My mother had a very bad
opera­tion in 1924 and was practi­cally an invalid for many months. Amy
stayed with us for five weeks, and it was many years before I realized
what a sacrifice this was. My favorite pastime was to try to put June
bugs down her back. I was eleven years old at the time.

After their marriage, Harry and Amy lived at the head of Rush Fork for
several years. I drove Dad and Mother over to visit them one Sunday, and
at that time the roads were very poor. I remarked that Amy must have
loved that man a hell of a lot to marry him and go way over there in the
brush to live with him. About ten years later, when I went home with
Edith for the first time, they had a serenade for us. Two men carried a
six-foot circular saw on a pipe, and a third man banged the saw with
an­other metal pipe. One of the men car­rying the saw was Harry Smith. He
had the most evil grin on his face I have ever seen on a man. A sere­nade
was a typical custom at the time. Pappy Gallien started it off with a
shotgun, and then the other peo­ple (about 40) assembled and began making
noise with pots and pans, washtubs, whistles, and anything handy. As
soon as possible we invited the people in to get rid of the noise.

While Dad and Mom and I were visiting Harry and Amy, their daughter
Patricia played around in the living room. Patricia had a box of candy
that someone had given her, and she had it open. Harry said to Dad, go
ahead and have some candy Mr. Wilson. Dad said sure, thanks. Patricia
put the lid on the candy in a microsecond, and that was the end of the
candy for Mr. Wilson. Harry and Amy later moved to Conings about one
mile below the mouth of Rush. Harry worked for an oil company and died
about five years after he retired. He was very tall, about 6'6" and not
very handsome, but a better man never lived.

Amy wrote a very interest­ing his­tory of her family. She wrote it around
certain subjects such as what we ate, what we did for recreation, going
to school, etc. It is required read­ing for anyone interested in family
history or even for an outsider looking to see how life was 80 years
ago. I have a recording of Amy describing in detail her wedding and
honeymoon; a transcription of this recording is found in the Appendix.

**Velma Gaston** (XXI, Jan. 19, 1904 -- Feb. 27, 1994) was an extremely
at­tractive young lady. She married **Ferrell Gray** (XXI, see above).
She lived, mar­ried, and stayed at the place where she was born until
forced to leave be­cause of her and her husband's ill health about 1985,
when they moved to Harrisville. He went into a nursing home, and she
went to a trailer. Except that Velma was one of my fa­vorite cousins, I
don't know much to say about her.

At Velma's sale in September 1986, I bought a desk that was made by
Grandpa Adams. Nelson Zinn took the desk home and refinished it and
returned it to McLean. As Uncle Marion last had the desk, five of the
pigeonholes are inscribed with the names of his children: Amy, Alpha,
Velma, Carson, and Gail.

**Orly Carson Gaston** (XXI, Mar. 18, 1902 -- Apr. 7, 1973). Carson was
a carpenter and a jack-of-all-trades, and did very well at all of them.
He married, lived for some years in a house which he built on Lower Run
near Summers, and later moved to Akron, where he retired from Goodyear.

**Gail Gaston** (XXI, Oct. 30, 1905 -- 1951) was the youngest mem­ber of
the family. He attended high school in Harrisville and was a clerk in
Uncle Oliver's drugstore. He later studied pharmacy at West Virginia
University and worked in a drugstore for many years. He then bought a
drugstore in Belington. He died of leukemia at the early age of 45. They
had three chil­dren. The oldest is a dentist in St. Louis, David lives in
Morgantown, West Virginia, and Susi also lives in Morgantown. Susi lived
for a time in Washington, D. C., and we ex­changed visits occasionally.
All three are very bright children. I only know Susi fairly well, and we
get along great together. I last saw her at Velma's sale.

One time when Gail was working in Uncle Oliver's drugstore, a minor
convention was being held in Harrisville. A man attending the convention
came in and asked for something like the *New Yorker* or *Atlantic
Monthly*. Of course, they didn't have it. He next asked for another
sophisticated magazine of the time, which Gail didn't have. Then with a
perfectly straight face, Gail said, 'We got *True Stories*.'

**Orpha Adams Flesher Hardway** (XX, Jan. 15, 1892 -- 1975). Aunt Orpha
was the youngest of Grandpa Adams' sev­enteen children. She also was the
most attractive. She always kept her­self well-groomed and would never
appear at the door in her housecoat. Her hair was always dark, but her
daughter Ruth (my first cousin) told me that she had dyed her hair most
of her life. She did an excellent job of raising her two daughters Ruth
and Lois Ann. They lived in a big two-story stucco house behind the
drugstore. After Uncle Oliver died, she ran the drugstore by herself
with the help of Olin Wilson, who worked for Aunt Orpha and Uncle Oliver
all his life. Olin was not a pharmacist and no re­lation to me. After a
respectable length of time, Orpha married John Hardway. After several
years, he had a stroke and was in a nursing home until his death. He was
not nearly the intellectual equivalent of Uncle Oliver but was very
helpful to Aunt Orpha in the drugstore. Mom and Aunt Orpha got into a
racket about 1952 and didn't speak to each other for almost a year. The
source of the polemic is lost to history, but one evening John and Aunt
Orpha came out to the house. John and Dad stayed out in the yard and
talked for a bit while Aunt Orpha greeted Mom. I think they just took up
their relationship as though nothing had happened. It is sur­prising that
more friction did not develop between the two women. Being the wife of a
druggist, Aunt Orpha was well-to-do. Being the wife of a dirt farmer,
Mom really had to pinch pennies. One time about 1960, Aunt Orpha gave me
a Continental Congress bill to take to Washington to have ap­praised. I
left it on the mantle at Dad's place and Aunt Orpha spot­ted it when she
came out to visit. I got a very fine chewing out *in absentia*, and that
was the end of it. Aunt Orpha re­trieved the bill and took it home with
her. The next time I came home, Aunt Orpha was ill in bed, and Uncle
John took me upstairs to see her. The nature of her illness was not
apparent to me. However, she ram­bled on about a nervous condition that
came down through the family and hoped I didn't have it.

Apparently, she became very anxious occasionally and had to go to bed
for a few days. While I was still at the farm, Uncle Oliver and Aunt
Orpha came to see us at least once a week. Ruth was born in 1923 and
Lois Ann in about 1930. So I remember them as they grew up. Ruth was
always a great eater, like her father, and they greatly enjoyed my
mother's navy beans, green beans, mashed pota­toes, and ham. There was
too much of an age difference between us for us to be very close. I
remember when we brought Billy home for the first time, Lois Ann was
about 18 or 19. She drove out to see us, and she and Billy played for
several minutes. Billy was four months old at the time.

Ruth married Ralph Rymer, and they had four boys. He was in the army
dental organization, as he had obtained a degree in dentistry. He was
stationed in the Washington area for some time, and we frequently
ex­changed visits. Ruth was an ex­cellent cook, and I ate so much during
one visit, that I was off-feed for about three weeks. During that time,
Ralph decided that he wanted to get a divorce. Ruth said that's fine,
but you will take the children. After all, if I have to start over
again, I don't want to be encumbered with two boys. Ralph hastily
reconsidered, and eventually they had two more boys. One became an M.D.,
and one be­came a dentist and joined his father's practice. Another
graduated from business school, and I'm not sure about the fourth one.
After leaving Washington, the Rymers went to Parkersburg and still live
in the area of Parkersburg and Harrisville. While the Rymers were
sta­tioned in Washington, Edith kept the two boys for a few days while
Ruth took a trip. At that time, Billy was about four, and the boys were
about five and seven. They were very active and not very well
controlled. Edith handled them very well, but my Dad and Mom were very
worried that they would hurt Billy. Billy resolved the situa­tion very
satisfactorily by holding his teddy bear closely, going to the couch,
and sucking his thumb.

Lois Ann was a very talented and very popular young lady. She gradu­ated
from West Virginia University with a degree in mu­sic, married Phil
Murray, and produced one boy and two girls. They now live in
Massachusetts.

**Mittie Adams Pritchard Wilson** (XX, Apr. 4, 1883 -- Mar. 17, 1960).
Like Dad, Mom was an enigma. She was very sensitive to authority and
would go to al­most any lengths to keep from being told what to do. At
the same time, she was very sensitive to hurts. On the other hand, she
was very jolly, and everyone remarked about her great disposition. Also,
on the positive side, she was very bright. If something went wrong after
one had performed contrary to her suggestions, she never let you forget
it. Her fa­vorite expression was "What'd I tell you." Dad did not always
have the best of judgment, and Mom's judgment frequently was better than
his. Dad also was very sensitive but could be downright mean. If the two
of them could have agreed on how to discuss things, I think Dad would
have been a much better farmer, and they would have got along much
better.

Mom first married when she was 19 to Grant Pritchard on Dec. 17, 1902.
He died of TB about a year later, on Feb. 20, 1904. Apparently, he was a
very nice fellow. He is buried in the South Fork Cemetery. Mom lived
with Aunt Hattie for about three years. I didn't know about this until
after Mom died, and Aunt Orpha asked if Aunt Hattie could have Mom's
clothes. I said, of course. Aunt Orpha then said that Mom stayed with
Aunt Hattie for some time after she became a widow be­cause she had no
place to go.

How Mom and Dad met is not known to anyone now living. But they were
married on Jan. 17, 1907 when Dad was 24 and Mom was 23. I think there
was some question about whether Mom had TB. Since Dad and Mom lived on a
farm and saw each other morning, noon, and night, to­getherness could
become a prob­lem. This was especially true for two people who had
in­herited emotional difficulties from their ancestors. As a very minor
example, Dad had a pen­cil that he liked very much. Somehow the pencil
disap­peared, and he was very angry. As Uncle Guy always sent me a box of
twelve pencils at Christmas time, I handed Dad one of my new pencils,
freshly sharpened. Dad said, "What's this." I said, "It's a new pencil."
Dad angrily said, "I don't want this, I want my pencil." I thought to
myself that I would never pull any­thing like that with my children. I
re­member that I did even worse one time. So this is an example of how we
can judge specific incidents harshly or logically but they re­ally are
manifestations of emo­tional difficul­ties. I remember that Mom always
wanted to talk everything to death. For this reason, I frequently said,
"Let's not discuss that any more." I have found that I have done the
same thing with my kids.

Mom was an excellent cook. Her resources were rather lim­ited, as we
could not afford to buy much food. However, we al­ways had plenty of
everything from the garden, we butchered one or two hogs every year and
always kept one or more cows and a flock of chickens. My mother took
care of all of these resources very well. We ground our own sausage.
This was great, for I saw what went into it. I never eat sausage away
from home. One advantage to living on the farm was that we always knew
where our food came from. As Mom always set a good table, it was a treat
to be asked to dinner. We had a separate dining room with a big sliding
door between the dining room and living room. Mom derived great pleasure
from getting all the food on the table, opening the sliding door, and
saying, "It's ready."

I was able to get the house wired in 1947. I came back home for a week
and helped an electrician do the job. At that time, Mom was about 64.
She was fairly flexible during the job. After that she became quite
in­flexible, and I was able to get nothing done that I want­ed done. For
exam­ple, I brought home a small gas stove with a thermostat for their
bedroom. She would have absolutely no part of it because it had a stove
pipe, so I had to return it. Later, she wanted to install a floor
furnace. I told her that floor furnaces were no longer techni­cally
acceptable and that a space heater should be installed in the front
hall. She would not listen to my tech­nical informa­tion, I think,
principally because she could not tolerate a stove pipe. This goes back
to her childhood, when a stove pipe was a necessary evil. All of the gas
space heaters in our house were unvented. This could be tolerated only
because the house was so open that it was well-ventilated even with all
doors and windows closed. In addi­tion, her brother Homer had a floor
furnace in his house in Parkersburg, and so floor fur­naces were the
latest and best. As I had a disposition similar to hers, which is
logical, I was not capa­ble of being diplomatic in dealing with her. In
retrospect, being a housewife with very little authority must have been
totally frustrating considering her many talents. She was very artis­tic,
and tried to keep the house looking good. Although Dad appre­ciated a
nice house, he would have been happy with any way that Mom fixed the
house. However, he didn't want to spend a lot of money.

**NAY FAMILY**

**Daniel Nay** (XVIII, May 28, 1826 -- Mar. 20, 1894) was descended from
**Jacob Nay**, who came to America in 1786 and settled in Virginia.
Daniel Nay married **Elizabeth Hayhurst** (XVIII, Sept. 12, 1829 -- Nov.
3, 1861). Minnie Kendall Lowther's *History of Ritchie County* suggests
that Elizabeth Hayhurst is descended from the Hayhursts of Marion County
and may be the daughter of **David Hayhurst** (XVII, Sept. 23, 1794 --
July 1, 1865) and **Phebe Devault** (XVII, Mar. 11, 1797-July 20, 1877).

I know very little about Daniel and Elizabeth Nay except that they
reportedly came from Marion Co., WV. Although my grandmother Wilson,
Mary Jane Nay Wilson, spoke of her father, he had been dead for many
years, and I really remember nothing about what she told me. To Daniel
and his first wife were born four children: William Walker (1851-1851),
Joseph Oliver (1853-1928), Mary Jane (1855-1937), and Marshall Rodolphus
(1864-1867). Daniel Nay and both his wives are buried in the Nay
Cemetery on the hill above the Nay house.

**Abagail Bee Nay** (XVIII, Sept. 1, 1829 -- Feb. 15, 1903) was Daniel
Nay's second wife. They had no children. My grandmother, Mary Jane Nay
Wilson, was very fond of her stepmother. She was a very wise and
understanding woman. She lived about ten years after Daniel Nay passed
away and is also buried in the Nay Cemetery. The four pieces of
furniture which we have in our living room came from the Nay family and
were purchased new about 1895 in Parkersburg. After my great-grandmother
Nay died, my grandmother got the furniture. When Granddad Wilson died in
1937, my Mom and Dad inherited the furniture. In 1962, when Dad
discontinued the house on the hill, the furniture came to McLean. At the
moment it is over ninety years old.

Abagail Bee was the daughter of the Reverend Asa Bee (Aug. 7, 1798-1861)
and Hannah Maxon (1799-1878). According to the 1850 census, Abagail was
the second of seven children: Zebulon (b. \~1824), Abagail (b. 1829),
Asa (b. \~1831), Loami (b. \~1834), Almira (b. \~1837, Priscilla (b.
\~1839), and Ingabee (b. \~1841). The 1860 census shows all daughters
still living at home, in sharp contrast to the prevailing practice (e.g.
in the Adams family) of girls marrying in their mid to late teens. The
Bees were Seventh Day Baptists (evidently a convenient adaptation from
their Jewish roots) and placed a strong emphasis on education of both
their sons and daughters. A brief genealogy of the Bee family is given
in Barr Wilson's history; confusion easily arises because there are Asa
Bees in three successive generations, and Abagail Bees in two successive
generations.

**William Walker** **Nay** (XIX, Jan. 2, 1851 -- Feb. 3, 1851) died in
infancy and **Marshall Roldolphus** **Nay** (XIX, Oct. 3, 1857 -- Aug.
22, 1867) died at age ten. I believe these two children are buried in
the Nay Cemetery.

**Mary Jane Nay Wilson** (XIX, Oct. 3, 1855 -- May 17, 1937) was a good
substantial woman of the time. I'm not quite sure how she and Granddad
got together, but they married when he was 18 and she was 19. Although
they did not get along the best in the world, she was always very
jealous of him. They started housekeeping on the hill above Berea. There
is no house there at the moment. Before the roads were improved, Edith
and I traveled from my home via Pullman, Berea, Auburn, and Cox's Mills
to Grandpa Gallien's, so we passed this site many times. We have a
rocker and two straight-back split bottom chairs that they used when
they started housekeeping. I hope these chairs will go to my son Bill
who is named after his great-grandfather. I probably really became aware
of Grandma about 1920 when I was seven years old. I stopped on the way
to school every morning and every evening while I attended the Indian
Creek School. Grandma was always very kind and never spoke sharply to
me. She was a very bright woman, far brighter than Granddad. This, I
think was a source of a lot of their friction. Her son Loe had two
children, Mable and Harry. When Loe and his first wife divorced, Mable
came to live with her Grandmother and Grandfather Wilson. At one time, a
man who was a neighbor of Mable's mother came to get Mable against
Mable's wishes. Grandma was sharp enough to poke the law to him, and he
went away empty-handed. He did, however, compliment Grandma on her
sharpness. Another time, a representative of a gas company was
attempting to lease her land. He pointed out that the first payment was
quite substantial. Grandma said, "Yes, first it's a big bite and then a
little one."

One time Grandpa and another equally competent individual were fiddling
with the gas well controls and blew the oil seal. Grandma very excitedly
told me about it and said, "They knew oil when they saw it." They later
learned their error and had to pay about \$10 to get the oil seal
replaced. That was the end of the Wilson oil well.

Grandma seemed to be fairly close with all her children. She and Dad
were always very polite with each other, and, of course, since Uncle Guy
was well-educated and had a big position, she had great respect for him.
She disapproved rather severely of some of Uncle Loe's antics with
women, but she was always very good to him. Although Aunt Stella was
very difficult at times, and with only the four walls present, the
situation might have been stormy, it was never unpleasant in the
presence of others. Grandma always had something nice to say when I
stopped each school morning and evening. Occasionally, cookies were
available, and occasionally I ate supper there. Grandma essentially put
me through college. I made non-interest bearing notes to her for all the
money I borrowed. Without her help, I never could have gone to school. I
had about \$100 saved up when I started to Salem, and I used that until
it was gone. I will never forget the feeling of panic and responsibility
beyond my years when Dad told me rather bluntly, "Make out a note to
Grandma for the money you borrowed." When I started to graduate school,
it was on the spur of the moment. I went down to see Grandma, and she
said she would loan me whatever money I needed. So she put me through
four years of college and a year and a half of graduate school. This
amounted to about \$1500 altogether. In her later years, she wanted to
give me my notes, but it didn\'t work out. Eventually, it came out of
Dad\'s share of the estate.

Although Grandma was very generous in lending me money for schooling,
she had a reputation with others for being somewhat stingy. One time,
she made a large pot of coffee for the hired men who were helping
Granddad, but they didn\'t drink near all of it. In order to save money,
utilize available resources, or just plain not throw anything away, she
drank the coffee. She became ill and had to receive medical attention,
and the doctor charged her \$5.00 for the visit.

One time when I was in my third year at Salem, she pleaded very poor to
Uncle Guy. Uncle Guy wrote me a letter and told me that Grandma was in
no position to finance me. Later, he was visiting Grandma and was
looking in her money box. He said, "Mother, there's all sorts of money
here." She said, "Yes, but I didn't intend for you to know it." So I
continued getting my way paid to college. In her last years, Grandma was
very hard of hearing and almost blind. I had to tell her everything that
was in her money box. She trusted me implicitly, and I never violated
that trust. One time there was a government bond check to be cashed. I
tried to guide her hand through the signing, but she gave up in
impatient disgust, and said she couldn't do it. With her full knowledge
and consent, I forged her signature. I'll never forget her great feeling
of helplessness and resentment that her sight and hearing were almost
gone. She lost one eye from a buggy whip when she was about nine years
old. Apparently, there was a cataract in the other eye, and in the
1930s, one could do little for cataracts.

Grandma Wilson had a tendency in her later years, when her mind wasn't
too good, to take things to the milkhouse loft for storage. It was
common knowledge that Grandma had many valuables stored there. After she
died, all of the kids thought that a gold mine must be stored in the
milkhouse loft. Of course, nothing of value was stored there.

In early May 1937, she climbed up on something and fell off. Granddad
had repeatedly told her not to climb up on anything--a box or a
chair--but naturally she ignored him. She probably ruptured her spleen,
because she lived only a few days after the fall. She knew she was going
to die, for she said to Dad and Mom, "Come down every evening because I
won't be here much longer."

During her later years, Uncle Guy brought a dog out to stay with Grandma
and Grandpa. As she neared the end, perhaps a year or two before, she
became paranoid about the dog. It wasn't the best dog in the world, and
after she passed away, Uncle Guy had the dog put away.

Grandma had very dark hair. She lived to be 80 years old, and at the
time of her death didn't have a single gray hair in her head. I don't
think Uncle Joe Nay had any gray hair either.

Her jealousy was indicated by her reaction, about three years before she
died, to a woman named Kate who came to visit for a week. One evening
Kate and Grandpa were sitting downstairs together, and Grandma had gone
to bed. Grandma came down after a while and said, "I don't want you down
here with Billy. It makes him ornery." Kate thought Grandma was going to
hit her, but somehow she didn't. Next morning, Kate and Grandpa came to
our house on the hill, and I have never seen Granddad so upset. He said
to me, "Your Grandma has gone crazy again."

When I was about ten years old, Kate then went down to Mr. Jim Primm's
house on the other side of the hill. I went with her and carried her
suitcase. Her joints were in rather bad shape, and she couldn't quite
get her leg over the fence. Being an innocent young boy, I simply picked
up her foot and put her leg over. I thought nothing whatever about the
incident, but it made quite an impression on Kate. The story got back to
Mom, and everyone thought it was funny. Kate said she never could have
gotten her leg over the fence without my help.

So the profile of Grandma is rather simple. She was a very bright,
jealous, and caring woman. For her time and considering that she grew up
in great isolation in hill country, she did remarkably well.

**Joseph Oliver Nay** (XIX, Oct. 18, 1853 -- Jan. 7, 1928) was a farmer
and lived all of his life in the house built by his father or
grandfather. The house must have been built many years before the turn
of the century. The Nay house is located about one mile from the
Harrisville-Pullman road and about one mile from Pullman. The house is
at least 1/4 mile from the Pullman-Five Forks road and up over a sizable
hogback. We are uncertain about whether Daniel or his father built the
house. Whichever one it was, was illiterate. Whoever built the house
kept all the lumber list in his head. This was quite a feat for an
illiterate person, and he must have been quite bright.

As he died about 1927, I did not know Uncle Joe very well, although I
did see him several times. He had quite a fiery temper, and this came
into the open occasionally. One time he and his youngest son "Babe" were
building fence along the Harrisville-Pullman road. Babe got a load of
posts and was distributing them at the place where the fence was
finished. Uncle Joe chewed him out, pointing out that he should have
started at the other end, and said, "You are a pretty boy." Some men
were working on the road at the time, and one of them said, "I think the
boy is right." Of course, Babe was right, but I think Uncle Joe wanted
to show his authority in front of the men. I remember nothing more about
Uncle Joe except that Babe's son died at birth. Uncle Joe told me he was
sure they couldn't raise the boy.

Uncle Joe had seven children: Stella, Clairmont, Joseph Otis, Osra,
Everett, Rosswell Proctor, and Forrest Glen (Babe). He is buried at the
Pullman Cemetery.

**Irene Loudin Nay** (XIX), Uncle Joe's wife and the daughter of
Wellington and Caroline Jackson Loudin, was from a family of three boys
and three girls. Although I don't remember too much about Aunt Rene, as
she was called, she was a brilliant woman and very personable. She lived
almost twenty years after Uncle Joe died. I think my Grandmother Wilson
was a little jealous of her. About a year after Uncle Joe died, Grandma
said that Aunt Rene's comb was getting red. This was a way of intimating
that she was sexually receptive.

Most of my memories of Aunt Rene are after Uncle Joe died. She bought a
little house at the lower end of Pullman and lived there about fifteen
years. I always stopped to see her when I was home. One might call the
house the widow's walk, for about thirty years later the widow of her
son Babe died in the same house. Aunt Rene liked jewelry and always had
on at least one string of beads. After she died and while the casket was
open for viewing, the family put on her glasses and about two strings of
beads plus some rings. As she had died quite suddenly, she looked like
she had simply gone to sleep.

She liked to visit her children or anyone else, and would travel at the
drop of a hat. In 1941 when I took Dad and Mom for a trip, we stopped
near Weston where she was visiting her son Babe. She had got there only
a few hours before but was ready to come home with us. Naturally she
didn't, but she was ready.

**Stella Nay Eddy** (XX) married Dr. Joseph O'Neal Eddy of Friendly,
(near Sistersville). They had two children, Blake and Hilda, both of
whom are deceased.

**Clairmont Nay** (XX), who married Eva Moore, had no children. He was
an excellent automobile mechanic.

**Joseph Otis (Cooster) Nay** (XX), married Mary Eleanor Brown and had
three children. Cooster was a genius, a school teacher, a farmer, and an
oil field worker. In his younger days, it is rumored that he sowed a few
wild oats. In the Twenties, he went to Texas or Oklahoma and worked in
the oil fields. While there, he was in an automobile accident and had a
few scars to prove it. He came home when his father died. I remember
being at the funeral in 1927 at the Methodist Church in Pullman, and
Cooster was somewhat overcome at the funeral. I attended Cooster's
funeral in the same church about fifty years later. Cooster taught
school, mostly at the one-room country school at Five Forks about one
mile from his house. He was an outstanding teacher, and I would rank him
with the best of the modern teachers. His two sons went to school during
this period, and they got an excellent grade-school education. Both were
able to achieve substantially. I don't think Cooster really made much
money on the farm, but I think it served as a place to live and to use
up part of his energies. In his later years, Cooster got into the gas
and oil drilling business, and I think did very well.

With respect to being a genius, he had a greater understanding of the
political situation and the social situation than 99% of the bureaucrats
in Washington. He stopped at our house one time, and his off-the-cuff
remarks would have done honor as a presidential address. The next time I
came home, I brought my tape recorder home and installed it at the end
of the sofa. Cooster was invited to come up, and I recorded the
conversation. It was dull. However, years later after Cooster had a
stroke, I played back the conversation for him. He was very interested,
but the exercise did not help the stroke situation.

In his young days, Cooster was very strong physically. One year we were
cutting Granddad Wilson's hay, and Cooster was helping. I was on the
wagon, and Cooster was throwing hay up to me. The forkfuls of hay that
he threw up were really large. I told him in jest to throw up larger
forkfuls of hay because what he was throwing up was hardly big enough to
load with. Next time, he threw up about half a wagon load with one fork
full.

While Cooster was away one time, he had Dad feed his cattle. Cooster did
not tell Dad that there was a bull in the group. When Cooster got back,
Dad asked him why he did not tell him about the bull. Cooster's response
was that he knew the bull was harmless but that Dad wouldn't do the
feeding if he knew a bull was present. Dad and Cooster were very close.
Cooster stopped frequently when he was on the way to or from somewhere.
Their conversations seldom were intellectual except when Cooster felt
the need to expound. When Dad was on his deathbed, he asked to see
Cooster. Cooster immediately made the trip to the Parkersburg hospital
to see him. Cooster had a stroke about four years before he died. He
could understand everything you told him, but he could not speak well.
He also could not write, and therefore could not take messages.

Cooster had three children (not counting one child who died in infancy):
**Joe Neal** (XXI), **Calvin Floyd** (XXI), and **Eleanor Irene** (XXI).
All three children are astronomically bright. Eleanor is now about
forty, married, and lives in Colorado. Floyd graduated from the Air
Force Academy and spent a long time in Vietnam. He had a nervous
breakdown and lived alone for several years at the old Nay house.
Recently, he suffered a disabling stroke. There is some uncertainty
about the nature of his nervous breakdown. His horrible experiences
might be the cause. On the other hand, he was in intelligence work of
the kind where many of your own people would like to see you dead. It
has been suggested that he might have been given a mind-altering drug.
Joe Neal has a Master's Degree in electrical engineering. He worked in
that capacity for some years, and then came to Washington. Much of his
work was in evaluation and recommendations for a price. As this activity
has diminished substantially, he fell on hard times. I have seen some of
his reports, and they are excellent. He was greatly influenced by his
grandmother Irene Loudin Nay.

**Osra** **Nay Clayton** (XX) married Earl Clayton, and they had two
boys, Charles Dudley and Donald. Earl and Osra kept a garage and a small
store in Pullman for many years. Earl died in the sixties, and Osra
recently passed away. I stopped to see her in 1986, and she was as alert
mentally as a twenty year old. It was obvious that she had Aunt Rene's
genius and personality.

**Everett** **Nay** (XX) had two sons, Rex and Carson, with his first
wife. Carson intended to be an engineer, but took up accounting, married
well, and died childless. His brother Rex was married twice and had one
daughter named Judy. Everett and his second wife had one son, Carl Nay.
Carl has been married twice, has two or three children by his first wife
and none by his second.

**Rosswell Proctor Nay** (XX) had one son Harry Nay, who is still living
in or near Pennsboro.

**Forrest Glen (Babe) Nay** (XX) was the youngest of the family and was
somewhat wild in his younger years. He probably was born about 1900. He
had an old Model T Ford touring car, and he used to come around the turn
near our house on two wheels. Babe later married Fay Fisher. Their first
son died in infancy. They had three more children: David, Jeannie Watson
(who lives in Manassas, Virginia), and Joann, who died at about age
forty.

Babe took up the ministry when he was about forty, and I think did a
very good job. He accepted charges, as they were called, mostly in the
hills. Like all the Nays, he was very talented. One time when Dad bought
a used 1927 Model T Ford, he sold his 1922 Ford to Babe for \$6. The '22
Ford was for some reason in the basement of Moat's garage in
Harrisville. Babe and I went in to get the car. Babe brought some
license plates that he had taken off another car and put them on the old
Ford. Two tires were flat, but with only a screwdriver for a tire tool,
Babe fixed both tires in about ten minutes. We got the old car started,
and I drove it. It was running very poorly, but I stopped and jiggled
the spark coils with my fingers. One of the coils was stuck, and after I
freed it, the car ran perfectly. Even starting on the first hill, when I
got it into high gear, I pulled it in high. This was a great
accomplishment in those days. The test of a car's mettle was whether it
could pull a steep hill between Harrisville and Cairo in high gear. This
was known as the Killingsworth Hill.

Babe died at age 55 of a heart attack. Cooster told me that Babe's death
shook him up more than anything that had ever happened to him.

**GAMSJAGER FAMILY**

**Matthias Gamsjager** (XVIII, Oct. 31, 1822 -- Feb. 14, 1910) and
**Mary Theresia Krenn** (XVIII, Jan. 15, 1832 -- Mar. 19, 1885) were
born in Austria in Bad Goisern, a village about 60 kilometers east the
German border and Salzburg, the nearest city. Bad Goisern has apparently
long been a spa or resort, where Germans and Austrians go for relaxation
and healing. Italy and Slovenia are about 100 kilometers to the south
and Vienna \~200 km to the east as the crow flies, but numerous
intervening mountains make the distances seem much greater. Bad Goisern
is located in the southeast corner of Oberösterreich in a deep Alpine
valley near the source of the Traun River. The Traun flows northward and
joins the Danube in Linz. Just to the south (upstream) is Hallstätter
See, a finger lake several kilometers long. A few kilometers away, at
the southeast extremity of this lake is Obertraun, the village from
which the Bender and Rastle families originated. Bad Goisern and
Obertraun are only about 500 meters above sea level, but the surrounding
mountains range from 1500 to nearly 3000 meters in height. By
comparison, West Virginia must have seemed like a relatively flat arable
plain to our Austrian ancestors.

Mattias Gamsjager was the son of **Johann Gamsjager** (XVII) and **Maria
Winterauer** (XVII, Aug. 28, 1782 -- 1821). Mary (Maria) Theresia Krenn
was the daughter of **Johann Krenn** (XVII, Dec. 2, 1807 - Jan. 9, 1885)
and **Anna Maria Deubler**. Both sets of parents apparently spent their
entire lives in or near Bad Goisern, Austria. They were either dead or
elderly when their children (by then married with families) left for
America.

Edith and Kester's trip to Bad Goisern uncovered some additional
information about Matthias's family in Austria. His father was Johann
Gamsjager, who is buried in the Lutheran Cemetery in Bad Goisern. His
mother was Maria Winterauer. Her father was a woodcutter and apparently
married Salome Tramesberger.

Matthias and Mary Gamsjager apparently left Austria so that their sons
would not have to serve in the Emperor's or Kaiser's army. The 1860s
were times of major expansion of the neighboring Prussian empire headed
by Bismarck. In 1866, Austria lost the Seven Weeks War with Prussia, and
in 1867 Austria was forced into union with Hungary. At this time, many
Austrians were emigrating America to avoid conscription or to escape
punishment for desertion. Other factors in the Gamsjager's leaving Bad
Goisern may have been poverty and overpopulation. If the eldest son
inherited the family farm, then others would have to go elsewhere to
make a living, perhaps to a city or to America.

The Gamsjagers came to this country about 1865. The exact date and port
of entry are unknown, but they may have come in through Baltimore. They
came with several children, including Edith's grandfather John
Gamsjager, who was only about two years old. Matthias, along with
several other people from Bad Goisern, Austria, settled in the St. Clara
area of Doddridge County, West Virginia. They were attracted to this
country by Diss de Bar. Diss de Bar also created the West Virginia State
Seal. The 1870 census records show a John Crane (Krenn) living close to
the Gamsjagers; although he is the correct age to be Mary Theresa's
father, another source indicates he is buried in Austria.

Matthias Gamsjager, who was in his early forties when he came to
America, bought a tract of land at St. Clara known as the "Ruckles
farm". The family lived in an old house located between the present
house (now occupied by Hazel and Bill Wysong) and their red quarry-stone
based barn. The new house was built about 1906. Matthias was a
wheelwright, and among the few possessions the family brought to America
were some farming and wheelmaking tools.

Matthias and Mary had several children. Their daughter Mary married
Christopher Albers. Another daughter, Theresia, married George Smith (or
Schmidt). A third daughter, Katherina (Kate) (XIX, Feb. 8, 1852 -- Oct.
23, 1910), married Matthias Hinterer (XIX, Jan. 6, 1843 -- Sept. 24,
1915). Matthias Hinterer is the brother of Leopold Hinter. (The name
evidently was shortened to Hinter.) Leopold's son, Joe Hinter joined our
family pilgrimage to Bad Goisern in 1980. A final daughter Sophia Gum
died after about a year of marriage. Sophia was the only one of their
children born in America. The only other son besides John Gamsjager was
Leopold Gamsjager (XIX, June 9, 1860 -- Aug. 15, 1890), who went to
Montana and died there at age 30. His remains were brought back to
Doddridge County for burial. He was never married.

Matthias became a naturalized citizen of the United States on March 2,
1880 (another source gives Nov. 19, 1879). He never learned to speak
much English himself, but he insisted that his children not speak
German. After Matthias's wife died when she was only 57, so Matthias was
a widower for the last 25 years of his life. He died at age 87.
Matthias's room was what is now the parlor of the Wysong house, the room
nearest the Lutheran Church.

**John Gamsjager, "Sr."** (XIX, June 11, 1863 -- May 20, 1935) was the
fifth child and second son of Matthias Gamsjager. Although he was the
fifth of six children, the death of his older brother Leopold in 1890
put John in the position of principal heir. In 1888 at age 24, he
married **Eda Frances Rastle** (XIX, Jan. 2, 1871 -- June 26, 1961), who
was then only 16 years old. To John and Eda Gamsjager were born six
children: Frank, Alma, Henry, John, Charles, and Ida. (Their original
names were Frank Wilhelm, Alma May, Heinrich Clay, Johannes Matthias,
Charles, and Ida Rebecca.)

John Gamsjager (Sr.) was a prosperous farmer and an astute businessman.
He bought his father's farm of 348 acres in 1903 and later bought the
present Gallien farm of 202 acres on Rush Fork. He also had an interest
in the general store, the planing mill, and the grist mill at St. Clara.
Sometime prior to 1920, John (Sr.) sold his coal rights and got about
\$20 an acre, much more than his neighbors got. He used this money to
buy a quarter section (160 acres) near Newkirk, Oklahoma, a small town
about 100 miles north of Oklahoma City. John, Sr. started a dairy
business in Oklahoma and did very well. His sons John and Charles
assisted him with the farm. John, Sr. already owned two large farms in
Doddridge County, one about 350 acres at St. Clara and another of about
200 acres on Rush Fork. He essentially abandoned these two farms when he
went to Oklahoma. Alma and her husband Okey Gallien settled on the farm
at Rush Fork about 1917.

He has been described as a "rugged individual" who "lived by an austere
code. He was honest and hard-working and expected no less of his fellow
men." His severity, which undoubtedly contributed to his material
prosperity, made him a somewhat frightening and unpopular figure with
his grandchildren. However, Ida Gamsjager remembered her childhood as a
mixture of festivity and hard work: "We were frugal. there were few
frills to life. We all walked to church on Sunday although there were
horses and a buggy in the barn. The family was never too tired to say
grace at mealtime. In winter, nightly Bible reading was followed by
games. Cinch was a favorite card game. There was always a basket of
farm-grown apples for evening eating. Square dancing was popular with
the whole family." (The Gamsjager home was often open for neighborhood
dances.)

Eda Rastle Gamsjager was the daughter of **Mary Bender** (XVIII, May 3,
1841 -- Apr. 2, 1902) and **John Rastle** (XVIII, June 24, 1838 -- Feb.
13, 1911). Her paternal grandparents were **Franz Paul Rastle** (XVII,
Nov. 25, 1808 -- Apr. 10, 1898) and his wife **Mary** (XVII, 18?9 --
1904?). Eda Rastle Gamsjager had two brothers (John Rastle, Jr. and
Frank Rastle) and one sister (Katherine or Kate Ruppert). Both John and
Franz Paul were born in Austria, and some of their descendants still
live in Doddridge County. Many of the Rastles and Gamsjagers are buried
in the Lutheran Church Cemetery at St. Clara.

One of John Gamsjager's sons, **Henry Clay Gamsjager** (XX, Dec. 1893 --
\~1980) married Tracy Smith. They occupied the St. Clara farm (now the
Wysong home) from about 1920 to roughly 1940, when they moved to
Detroit. Uncle Henry and Aunt Tracy had six children: Virginia Lee,
Glenda Fay, Henry, Eula Maudine, Ralph, and Theresa.

Lucille Gallien Zinn remembers how Aunt Tracy Smith Gamsjager "had a
large fireplace. They always put a large log in the back and small logs
in front for a good fire." Edith Gallien Wilson remembers the abundance
of flies (due in part to the absence of screen windows) at Sunday
dinners at Aunt Tracy's. Lucille also recalls how "Grandma Gallien at
St. Clara had a warming closet on top of her stove. She would have a
stack of buckwheat cakes about one foot high when the family got up to
eat."

When Edith and I took Ma Gallien to visit Uncle John and Frank, we
learned that Uncle Henry, Ray, and Ralph were visiting Glenda Fay and
her husband, Estes Dalton, in St. Louis.

We got lost and called Glenda Fay for directions. She said she would
meet us and asked what kind of car we were driving. Edith said a
Mercedes. When we arrived, Ray and Ralph immediately jumped me for
having a foreign car. Ralph said bitterly that he had always owned an
American car and found American cars very satisfactory. I don't remember
Ray's contribution, but it was substantial. Their next subject of
discussion was a questioning of the usefulness of advanced education.
They had found that people with bachelor's degrees and higher were of an
inferior species. Estes said his boss brought him a fellow one time who
had a bachelor's degree and told Estes to train him. Estes said, "So I
trained him." The implication was that the fellow probably wished that
he had never been born.

Supper was buffet, and Ralph took his plate and ate elsewhere. After
supper Ralph waxed eloquent about the way Edith and Hazel were trying to
skin Uncle Henry and his children. About 1975 Edith and Hazel had bought
the Gamsjager at St. Clara from five of the six heirs for \$2000 per
share. Uncle Henry would not accept \$2000 or any parcel of land that
was offered to him. Their final offer of \$5900 was refused. We left,
and I vowed never to send this Gamsjager part of the family another
Christmas card.

Suit was eventually brought for division of the 350 acres, and Ray,
Ralph, and Glenda Fay asked for 100 acres down the middle of the farm.
The court gave them sixty acres at the side of the farm toward the
Lutheran Church. This was one of the offers that the girls had made and
was refused. The heirs, except for Uncle Henry's children, had been
looking at the value of land as it had been for over fifty years.
Henry's children realized that the price of land was escalating and held
out. Naturally, there were some hard feelings, and the attorneys
profited from the exercise. (It must be pointed out, however, that the
fees of Mr. Holt, the family attorney, have been most reasonable.)

Another polemic in the Gamsjager-Rastle families occurred because of the
interpretation of the provisions of a will. As I understand the matter,
John Rastle's will originally read that the mineral rights of his
property would go to his last remaining child. Eda ("Edie") Rastle
Gamsjager was the last remaining child, and assumed that all the royalty
would go to her immediate family. Her brother's family, the Frank
Rastles, felt this was not what the will stated. They each secured a
lawyer, and the battle between the two families went on for many years
through courts, with the once friendly families not speaking to each
other. The money from the oil and gas production was held up for about
four years, much to the benefit of the attorneys involved. In the late
1950s, the court finally settled the matter in favor of Grandma
Gamsjager.

In 1947, Edith and I along with John and Norita Tyson visited the
Gamsjager farm in Newkirk, Oklahoma. John, Sr. had died in 1935. Eda was
still living and was about 76 at the time. She was a large, very sturdy
woman of Austrian peasant stock, and judging from one of her earlier
pictures, she had been very attractive in her youth. Her son Charles
Gamsjager and his family of several children lived in the big house, and
she lived in a small cottage about 100 feet away. At breakfast I
remarked that we should go out to Grandpa Gamsjager's grave. This
pleased her very much, and she readily agreed. I think it was the first
time that Edith had ever been to his grave. This is the only time that I
ever saw Grandma Gamsjager.

At that time Charles and John .); were running the farm, and John was
not yet married. The dairy business was quite substantial. During the
visit, we played cards with John, Charles and Charles's wife Louise.
John and Charles were freely exchanging notes on the cards they held in
their hands and were cheating a little. While we were there, I built a
fence around the rack on top of our car. John and Charles were ribbing
me about my advanced education, and while helping with the rack, John
was asking directions. He said, "I'm not educated enough to know what to
do about this." So I assigned him a chore and said, "You don't need no
education for this." Another time, they questioned my knowledge of the
mathematical expression for the period of a pendulum. Fortunately, I
knew the formula. I thought nothing of all this, but John Tyson really
was amused at the way they were setting me up.

At that time Charles was a comparatively young man, only about 50. Not
long after that, he developed a growth adjacent to his heart and died
during surgery.

**Charles Gamsjager** (XX, Jan. 1900 -- June 5, 1951) married Louise
Barr. They had six children: Margaret, Sue, Mary Louise, Nancy, John,
and Charles, Jr. Margaret and Sue married cattle ranchers, and Nancy
married a department store buyer.

John .);Gamsjager, "Jr." sent Alma Gallien the following (unedited)
letter describing the illness and death of Charles:

Newkirk, Okla

June 8, 1951

Dear Sister--,

I will write you a few lines in regard to Charlie. We were sorry that
you were unable to come. Frank, Henry and Ida came.

He died after an operation at Winfield, Kansas. About 5 PM June 5 and
was buried June 7 in the family lot opposite father.

He had a tumor or mass that had grown or imbedded itself in his heart.It
was not a cancer as it was not malignant. None of us knew that he had
it.The doctor said that it may have develop in a matter of a few months
or that he may have had it for many years. He had a cold last winter and
seemed to be having trouble to get it off his chest. He finally went to
our doctor here at Newkirk and was getting some shots for his suppose
cold. We have a very good doctor here but I quess he didn't examine him
very much.Louise finally made him go to Winfield were he was ex-rayed
and the tumor showed up. He was really never sick. However he did not
help with the work for a couple of days. He went up to the hospital May
23. He was informed of his condition but he did not tell anyone of it
seriousness. This tumor was cutting off his blood supply and his only
chance was an opreation and he knew that the operation was a difficult
one and its success was doubtful. Without the operation he may have
lived for a few months but probably would have had lots of pain.
Personally I think that it was best this way. He was laid to rest very
nicely.

Louise is very much broken up about it and she does have a very
difficult spot. They have a very good man that has been there for about
ten years and if she can keep him it will help a Lot. John the oldest
boy is fourteen next month. Hi is big and husky and a tremendous worker.
Junior 12 is a good worker too and a real good mechanic. Of course they
are quite young for such heavy work and then there is there schooling.
Mary dilivers the milks with the help of the kids. They are all good
kids. Margaret, I think has married very well. His father set them up on
a very nice ranch. She will have a blessed event in August. Jimmy her
husband is a very nice and good kid.

Ma has stood everything awfully well. Jessie Rastle Dailly has invited
us all down to Ponca for dinner today.

We had an awfully hard time contacting you and we finaly hit upon the
plan of going through the Doddridge County Assesors. I wish that you
would send us the best way to telephone you. If you want to contact us:
J M Gamsjager 756W1 Newkirk, Okla will get the job done.

I trust that Okey's mother is better and that you are all well

With all our love

John & Ada.

**John Gamsjager, "Jr."** (XX, Mar. 28, 1896 -- \~1982) was not actually
a junior, but for clarity we will designate him as John Jr. He was a
scholarly man and yet a hillbilly. He graduated from Salem College and
received a Master's Degree from Gettysburg College in Pennsylvania. His
emotional characteristics prevented him from achieving very much in
life. For example, the football players at Salem College were not noted
for being very good students. John would not walk across the platform at
graduation time and receive his diploma with them.

He stayed home for years and helped with the farm. Later he married Ada
Schulte, and they moved onto another farm. John and Ada had a dairy farm
of his own for several years but eventually had to give it up because of
ill health. His mother Eda and his wife's mother were with them in their
final illnesses. Fortunately, Ada was an army nurse, and so was well
qualified to care for them.

Uncle John and Aunt Ada were very active in the American Legion, and
this enabled them to take several trips. It was an excellent activity
for them in their later years. John and Ada visited the Rush Fork farm
rather frequently, and at one time I had my picture taken with Uncle
John because I thought he was so distinguished. Uncle John really was
quite intellectual, but he had a lot of suppressed anger and had
difficulty discussing situations very objectively. When he was visiting
and was ready to leave, he wanted to leave immediately because he
dreaded good-byes. One time, he was putting the car in motion and Ada
had to rush to get into the car. Someone said to Ada, "Don't worry, he
won't leave you." And Ada said, "Yes he would."

After John retired, Ada worked for some years as a nurse. I doubt if
John ever showed her any of the niceties of life, such as allowing her
to proceed through the door first or holding a chair for her. However,
he always made her breakfast and had her car warmed up before she drove
to work. Thus, individuals express their affection in different ways.

A few years before John passed away, he and Ada moved into a small brick
house in Newkirk. Uncle John was not the slightest bit sentimental. His
father had been a stonemason, and John had his father's tools. I would
gladly have had some of these tools to pass along to my children, but
Uncle John sold them at his sale. Edith and I showed the slides of our
visit to Austria, and I gave John a small bottle of vodka from Bad
Goisern. He was almost openly hostile, and the next day he admitted
almost with a snarl, "I don't give a damn about this family history
stuff."

A large lake was created by a dam on the Arkansas River, which flowed
past Uncle John's farm. This lake took part of the farm. The
confiscation of this land for the dam and the sale of the farm gave them
quite a nest egg. They must have been pretty well off when he passed
away.

Edith and I visited John and Ada at their farm sometime in the
fifties..);

**Frank Gamsjager** (XX, Oct. 1890 -- \~1983), like his younger brother
John, earned a teaching certificate and taught a couple of years near
St. Clara before following his father west to Oklahoma. Frank married
very late in life. His wife, Louise, had a daughter from a previous
marriage. She was a very fine woman, and we visited them about three
times. The first time was in 1962, when Edith and I and the three kids
spent the night with them. We had already eaten, but Uncle Frank had a
ton of chicken fried. Uncle Frank and Aunt Louise lived in Muskogee,
Oklahoma. At that time, he was in excellent health. The next time we
visited was some years later, and we had Alma Gallien along. At that
time, Frank was not in very good shape, and they had moved to a
different house. This was not too long after we had located the family
source near Bad Goisern, Austria. I had an excellent slide presentation,
but Uncle Frank had absolutely no comment about it. We visited them a
few years later, when Uncle Frank was in the hospital. He died shortly
thereafter. Uncle Frank would never tell his age. In fact, he wouldn't
tell Aunt Louise his age before they got married.

**Ida Gamsjager** (XX, Sept. 15, 1904 -- \~1986) was thirteen years
younger than Alma. She was slightly mischievous and did not receive the
discipline that the older children received. In a letter to Norita
Gallien Tyson, Ida reminisces about her childhood:

March 20, 1982

Dear Norita and Family:

I feel ashamed that I haven't answered sooner but I have been thinking.
What a nice honor to the name of Gamsjager. There was something that the
family were to go somewhere else, maybe Ohio? I just \[don't\] know.
John.); would probably know but I believe he is too ill to be of any
help. However, the card I had Tuesday, Ada said they had two good
nights. After all this time, the doctor found he has diabetes.

I really don't know a thing. Other than we were afraid of Grandpa. He
pulled my ear if I didn't clean up my plate, so I had a way of slipping
food under the table for the cat or dog. As I grew older I took
Charles's duties of keeping the wood box behind the big cook stove full
of wood, bringing in the cows from wherever, and, as I grew older, I
pulled on those cold old teats. But it was the way of life, and I guess
I enjoyed it. Been trying to think where mother lived when she and Dad
were married. The smokehouse? What a thrill the big new house was. I was
about 5-6, and my footprints are still upstairs in the guest bedroom. I
was spanked for that.

Survival meant being frugal, and Mother and Dad were good at that. It
has in a way been passed down to me and especially my grandson Steve. He
comes back from Warrensburg each weekend and works at the stables. He
gets his earnings which is good, and then the old owner slips him an
extra bill and so does his younger wife. Cute isn't it. They have no
children, and they think of Steve as a son, and they say he is in their
will. Isn't that great. I am so glad for him.

Of course you knew about the parlor and the closet. I would hide in
there when Okey and Alma were courting. I didn't think they knew I was
there but they always did. Those were the days. We always had good food
when Okey would come, driving up in a buggy, drawn by a beautiful horse.
Alma was so excited that she forgot to remove the paper lining from the
cake one time. The Gamsjagers were God-fearing people, never too tired
to say grace at meal time and Bible reading at night followed by games.
All winter long we ate apples. Always had a basketful in the bedroom of
Mother and Dad's. Then early your mother and I would run upstairs to a
very cold bedroom. Of course, our mattress was straw, but it was
comfortable. We all had dogs and cats, and they were always around us. I
loved horses and that has gone on down to my granddaughter. She is an
expert and will continue in that field when she goes to college. Her
room is completely covered with ribbons and trophies that she has won.
She has outgrown her horse and Grandma just hasn't offered to buy her
another horse although I would be invited to do so.

I remember Aunt May, Dad's sister. She had an unknown disease and now I
am sure it must have been diabetes. I loved her apple pie. She baked the
best in the county.

We all went to church on Sunday, always walked and I couldn't see why
when there was a buggy and horses nearby. Then we would rush home, get
dinner over with because the Catholic priest always came down every
Sunday to play pitch. Mother didn't always like that.

One of the highlights of school days was staying overnight with the
Staarman girls, and then they would be invited to stay overnight with
me.

What I am writing really isn't nothing for historical literature. Just
pleasant reflections on my childhood. We really were a very happy
family. I was sick once, they thought pneumonia, but instead found it
was a tapeworm, and when I passed it, I was well. When I went off to
Salem, I had three dresses, but I got along fine. I had never been away
from home, but John.); was there. He took me to a drug store once and he
got irritated with me because I didn't know what to order. Soft drinks
were unknown to me. As you know, we walked about 20 miles to come home
now and then, but it didn't hurt us. Since I didn't have clothes, I made
up with my grades and was always in demand to tutor the boys. One was
the deacon's son. Of course, I sort of liked him.

Now my life is so different. I really miss Bill, but he wanted to be
sure I was taken care of that he left me ample. I have sold my home and
have moved into (as Bill's son put it) a "posh apartment." Really it
isn't, but it could be if I bought new furniture. But it is as secure as
any I could find.

I have two bedroom apartment, but one I use as a den, as I will always
be dabbling in stamps. It faces east, and the living room north,
overlooking the swimming pool and a wooded area. I have sold all real
estate as I simply didn't want to be bothered and I made a fortune from
the sales. Able to get three times what we paid for them 7-9 years ago.
I carried back \$43,000 in mortgages at 8 3/4 and invested the rest at 9
3/4, so my interest and dividend keep me living nicely without touching
the principal.

You said I was good at rambling on, so here goes: Last week I played
bridge Monday through Saturday. Winning high each time. This week I am
not doing so well but am invited to three luncheons and bridge. Never a
dull moment and I am always with different people and that is what I
like about it. Each Friday in June, I am in charge of a bridge
tournament and I wished I weren't but will do the best as I can. I still
have time to read the Bible and have read it through since Bill went
away and am about half through again. I find it better reading than any
novel I could read, but to really remember and understand it will have
to read it many times more.

I haven't given you any news I am sure you can use, but it was fun
writing and especially having your nice letter.

Getting back to John, Ada asked me to rush down if I wanted to see John,
so I guess he was real bad for a few days, then she said he was better.
She was working on his diet and amount of insulin, so I guess she has
that worked out. Love to all.

Ida

Excuse my spelling errors as my fingers are faster than my mind.

Ida's first husband was Ray Moore and they had one daughter, **Patricia
(Pat) Moore Lillibridge** (XXI). Her husband is Tom Lillibridge, and
they have two children. Aunt Ida worked for a moving company in Kansas
City for many years.

We visited them first in 1947, when Pat was about twelve years old. Ida
and her husband were not getting along well, but she did not mention
that to us. I could tell that Pat was disturbed and worried about
something. Many years later, after Pat married Tom Lillibridge and had
two children, Aunt Ida drove east to the Rush Fork farm with her
grandson Steve, who was about ten years old, to visit the family. She
was quite verbal and friendly, and made a good impression. We were
somewhat concerned about her driving ability, and hoped that she and her
grandson would get home without mishap.

Later, she visited the Wysongs and us in McLean. This must have been
between 1958 and 1962, as we had the 1958 Ford with a large engine and
automatic transmission. They were having dinner with us their last
evening, and as an afterthought we checked on the time their train was
to leave Union Station. We found that we had 31 minutes to get her on
the train, so we took off for the station and made it.

Her second husband, **Bill Bach** (XX, died \~1982), was a very nice
fellow. They had a business together of supplying stamps to stamp
machines. They found this to be quite profitable, and their son-in-law
Tom took over the business from them. As far as I know, he is still
doing this.

An incident that was tragic and yet comical occurred when Ida's sister
Alma died. Hazel called Aunt Ida to tell her the news. Aunt Ida was
interested in whether Alma suffered much in her final days. Aunt Ida
said on her end, "I certainly hope I don't suffer like that." Of course,
we didn't hear that, but we heard on our end Hazel say, "Yes, I hope you
don't suffer much either."

After Uncle Bill Bach died about 1982, Aunt Ida moved into an apartment.
She then spent most of her waking hours playing bridge with friends.
Every man to his own taste said the woman as she kissed the cow. That
sort of thing would drive me to an early death.

**Alma Gamsjager Gallien** (XX, Sept. 18, 1891 -- Feb. 12, 1984).
Although Alma and Ida were sisters, they were as far apart as day and
night. Being one of the first children, Alma was raised with much more
discipline than Ida, who was the last child. Alma stayed on the farm
most of her life, and Ida went very early to the city. Ida must have
been about 17 years old when the family moved to Newkirk, Oklahoma.
Since Alma stayed on the farm all her life, the contrast between the two
of them was outstanding. We have no IQ numbers for comparison, but my
guess is that Alma was much brighter than Ida. Alma was a little more
than 50 years old when I joined the family in 1944. She was a very
energetic and forward woman, and it was obvious that she did somewhat
more than her share of running the family.

About thirty years later, Brenda brought home a mousy boy friend named
George. This was a year or two after Pappy Gallien died. George had a
Master's Degree in Pure and Applied Math and another degree in Computer
Science. (He wound up as an accountant.) George was playing set back
with Ma Gallien and two or three others. George was very shy and wasn't
very aggressive. Ma Gallien sat holding her hand of cards, sipping her
bourbon and water and said, "You don't know how to play this game." The
next morning at breakfast, George was dutifully eating an egg and
sausage cake. He probably hadn't had more than a glass of orange juice
and two spoonfuls of dry cereal for years. Ma Gallien said, "George, do
you want another sausage cake?" Being very shy, George said, "Well, I
don't know." Ma Gallien put it on his plate anyway. As Ma Gallien went
back into the kitchen, George mumbled, "That woman has a way of
dispelling all arguments."

After Edith and I were married in 1944, we first went to my home. We
then were invited to Edith's home for Sunday dinner with Dad and Mom.
Mom wanted me to wear my coat, but I wouldn't do it. Sure enough,
everyone was dressed to perfection, and Pappy Gallien had on his coat. I
was treated with the greatest of courtesy, as were Dad and Mom. Grandma
Nolan was sitting there in her starched dress and said in a weak moment,
"I don't like to dress up." Of course, we all sat down to dinner in the
dining room, and Dad said his usual grace, which was "We thank Thee, our
Father, for these and all the blessings of life. Guide us through life.
Save us through Christ. Bless this food to its intended use. Amen."

Ma Gallien was very shy in Pappy Gallien's presence only one time. There
once upon a time was a decorative wood stove in the dining room. There
was some discussion about moving this stove to the cellar house. Pappy
Gallien got mad and raised his voice the only time that I can remember.
Ma Gallien's voice became very low and subdued, and she busied herself
with other things.

In 1944 there was no bathroom in the house, although there was a pump in
the kitchen. After the bathroom was installed about 1947, they let the
hand pump deteriorate. I sent to Weston and got a new leather fitting
for the pump. A few weeks later, the electricity was out for a few days.
Without a functioning pitcher pump in the kitchen, there would be no
water. During her active years, I saw Ma Gallien lie down only once.
That was after Norita and John Tyson were married at the house, and they
left on their honeymoon.

A very funny incident happened after the ceremony. They were married by
Rev. Coffman, a mousy little bachelor. He told John he would signal him
when he could kiss the bride. Apparently Rev. Coffman forgot to signal
John to kiss the bride, and John was waiting for the go-ahead. In true
Gallien girl fashion, Norita got mad and took off without John. In true
Gallien girl fashion, Edith said, "Norita!" Poor John was left at the
alter not knowing quite what to do. Later Norita and I were sitting out
in the swing and Norita said plaintively, "I wanted John to kiss me."
Poor John has been trying to guess for the last forty-five years what he
should be doing. Part of the time he has succeeded.

Ma Gallien was never very concerned about furniture or keeping a fancy
house. Things always were clean and neat, but she did not go out of her
way to decorate the house. This is understandable, for she raised six
kids, hoed the garden, milked the cows, helped sometimes in the fields,
and until the thirties washed on a washboard, usually outside except in
the winter time. Only a woman with a very rugged constitution could have
done this. So, she could hardly be expected to be concerned with the
nicer things.

Ma Gallien never learned to drive a car. Edith tried to teach her one
time, but the first thing she did was back into a fence post. She went
into orbit, and that was the last of her driving. Fortunately, this was
the '53 Chevrolet, which had very substantial bumpers.

Pa and Ma Gallien had to give up the farm in 1953 when June (Okey, Jr.)
was drafted into the army. As Grandpa was still working in the assessors
office, they sold all the farm equipment and moved into town. They
stayed with Mrs. Stutler on the hill in West Union.

Pappy Gallien could never stand anyone being up after he went to bed. I
didn't really know this, so one evening when everyone went to bed, I
said I was going to stay up and read a while. Of course, he very
courteously said, "Go ahead." I went to bed about midnight, and Pappy
Gallien was so upset that he couldn't sleep and got up about five
o'clock and went to work. I figured the last thing I should do was be
apologetic. So when he came home that evening, I told him he needed to
have me around all the time so he could get up early to do more work. He
was quite cheerful about it, but naturally I never stayed up after that.

When Okey, Jr. and Lea were married, Lea and Ma Gallien got along very
well. Their temperaments were very much alike.

In his later years, Pappy Gallien was many times in the hospital in
Clarksburg. During these times, Ma Gallien would stay with Lea's aunt, a
sister of her father's, Armada Weekly. Ma Gallien was always very
attentive when Grandpa was ill. After Pappy Gallien passed away about
1973, Ma Gallien lived alone in the apartment on Court Street. She lived
there until two or three years before she died. During these last years,
she stayed with her children, Edith, Hazel, Lucille, and Norita.

She did very well alone. She seemed to occupy herself very well with
women's activities and fit in very well. She was able to manage
exceedingly well. It was only when she started seemingly becoming senile
(and I'm not sure that this is a proper description) that she was unable
to stay alone. One frequently does not know the real cause of
degeneration of the mind. Her reasoning powers were quite all right, but
she could not function in preparing meals and taking care of herself.
About 1980, I was ventilating the overhang of the Rush Fork house, and
she and I stayed on the farm a week together. We both had a great time.
I busied myself in the attic, and she did things around the house,
painted the yard fence, and did the cooking.

When she was staying at our house during her final illness, she
frequently awakened us during the night. She would be concerned about
waking me, and apologized for it. I would say, "You have been a real
good mother and grandmother and have done your share of taking care of
others. You don't need to feel guilty about someone taking care of you."
This greatly pleased her. She would be especially pleased when I would
cover her when she was sitting in the reclining chair and tuck the quilt
around her legs.

When Alma Gamsjager Gallien passed away in February 1984, her funeral
service was held at the St. Clara Lutheran Church where she had
worshipped with her family since her birth in 1891. The funeral
procession after the service took the route past the old house, long
gone, where she was born, past the house where she had lived as a child,
and past the little one-room country school house where she received all
of her formal education. The funeral procession took the same route,
except for changes in the road, that she and her new husband Okey
Gallien took in a two-seated surrey on November 15, 1916 after their
wedding luncheon 67 years earlier. In 1916, they turned in their rented
horses and surrey in West Union and took the train to Salem. In 1984,
her body was taken past West Union to the Masonic cemetery and interred
beside the man she married in 1916.

**History recounted by Alma Gamsjager Gallien**

**to William Kester Wilson in 1982**

THE WEDDING OF OKEY FORREST GALLIEN AND ALMA GAMSJAGER, November 15,
1916, at the farmhouse at St. Clara. Present were Delphia Gallien,
Alma's parents John and Eda Gamsjager, brothers Henry and Charles
Gamsjager, and sister Ida. Ida was in the eighth grade. She had not
missed a day of school, so she came from the one-room country school
about half a mile below the house just long enough for the wedding. The
preacher was Reverend Hammer, minister at St. Clara Lutheran Church.
Okey brought Delphia and the preacher out from West Union the evening
before, and they had supper and spent the night. They were married at
10:30 a.m. in the parlor, which is the front room, toward the church. As
one stands in front of and facing the house, the parlor is on the left.
They had dinner a little early and left in the two-seated surrey for
West Union. They had rented horses and a surrey in West Union. Alma,
Okey, and Delphia took the train to Salem, where Okey and Delphia's
mother, Jenny Nolan, lived. They stayed there one night and came back
home to the Gamsjagers'. Okey was working on a well, and he rented a
little house from Doc Snyder in Porto Rico. They stayed there one or two
months, and then went to the old house on Rush Fork. Okey worked on the
Schulte Well. He worked on wells for about two years and then became a
full-time farmer. The farm was their sole income from 1918 until 1932,
when Okey became a county commissioner for six years. Then he became
deputy assessor and worked at this or some job in the assessor's office
until his retirement.

THE HOUSE AT ST. CLARA The parlor at St. Clara was Matthias Gamsjager's
room until his death on February 14, 1910. The room across from the
parlor was the living room and also John and Eda Gamsjager's bedroom.
They burned coal, which was dug on the farm from an outcropping up the
run below the church on the left going from the house to the church.
This coal did not last many years, and coal was then bought from a
farmer at Vadis, who had it dug on his farm. It took five 25-bushel
loads of coal to last the winter. The kids slept upstairs in unheated
rooms. Everyone wore long underwear, which was not removed at night.

The St. Clara house was built about 1906. The barn was built some time
between 1906 and 1910.

Ida was about two years old. One day when everyone was eating, Ida went
upstairs, took the stirring sticks from the cans, and smeared paint on
the floor. Ida never missed a day of school in the eight years that she
attended the St. Clara school. She contracted scarlet fever when she was
about 10 or 12, and Fred Schulte got it too. Ida and Fred had been at
the 4-H camp down below West Union back up on a hill. Ida's school was
closed immediately until she got well.

The priest from the Catholic church frequently rode past the Gamsjager
house, and he was always friendly except one day when he rode past in a
hurry without speaking to the boys. They took him to task for this when
they next saw him, and he said, "I was on a sick call and had the Holy
Ghost with me, so I couldn't speak." After that when the priest rode
past the house, the common statement was: "There goes Father. I wonder
if he has the Holy Ghost with him."

The cellar and cellar house at St. Clara were built before the house.
When the house was built, it turned out that the floor of the cellar was
about two or three steps above the floor of the house. John Gamsjager,
Alma's father, propped up the cellar house, numbered the stones in the
walls of the cellar, removed them, dug the floor of the cellar deeper,
and replaced the walls.

Alma's father did not object to the school children playing in his
meadow. He said the little bit of grass the kids would track down was
not important. Mrs. John (Adeline) Krenn thought differently and would
not allow the children to play on her land. Matthias Gamsjager refused
to learn English. He must have lived a lonely life, for his wife,
Theresa died in 1885 at age 53, when he was 65, so he was a widower for
25 years. He was an avid reader of the Bible. His grandchildren would
crowd under the table where he was reading and tickle his legs. This
made him mad, but he didn't report them.

The two churches, Lutheran and Catholic, enjoyed a good relationship,
and there never was any animosity between them. For years they
alternated entertaining each other at a Fourth of July picnic, but
eventually the chore became too great.

When the coal rights were purchased, all of the farmers in the St. Clara
community sold for \$10 per acre. Alma's father John held out for \$25,
and the company finally gave in. This money enabled John to buy a farm
near Newkirk, Oklahoma, and he and his family went there to live about
1921. He essentially abandoned his two farms, the one on Rush Run and
the one at St. Clara. He gave the Rush farm to Okey and Alma. The St.
Clara farm was rented, but the house was unoccupied for over forty
years. In 1981, Hazel and Edith bought the farm from the heirs except
for sixty acres near the Lutheran Church. Hazel got the house and
appropriate acreage, and Edith got acreage mostly on the south side of
the road between St. Clara and Route 18.

When the Austrians first came to St. Clara, they ate rather sparsely
until they could establish farms and gardens. Alma's father John ate so
much mush as a child that he could hardly tolerate it in later years. He
would eat it when served, but not with enthusiasm. As still is true
today, his wife Eda probably served mush when she was mad at him.
Matthias liked "meale-suppe" (probably *Mehlsuppe*, a gruel), which in
this case was bread sliced very thin with hot milk poured over it.

Rolled oats were introduced about 1905. Mr. Severn, who ran the local
store, introduced it, and so people had something to eat besides eggs,
bacon, and biscuits. Mr. Severn ate dinner (really lunch) with Aunt
Tracy Smith (John Gamsjager's sister), and she charged him all of 10¢.
John and Eda kept teamsters and men who worked on the two 12-inch
pipelines. Eda charged 50¢ for supper, bed, and breakfast. Alma said
that when they were peeling potatoes for supper, if they saw a team come
into view, they just peeled some more potatoes, for they knew there was
no other place to stay. One time they had 21 for supper and breakfast.
Part of them had to sleep in the barn.

Occasionally a big line would "blow", and the men would work frantically
until it was fixed, sometimes all night. On these occasions, Eda would
be requested to furnish sandwiches, pies, and cookies at midnight. Only
tough Austrian stock could have stood up to this pace and live to past
90.

Alma had to wash dishes when she was so small that she had to stand on a
stool to reach the sink. She also had to hoe corn in the summer. She
would get tired and ask her father how long until dinner. He told her
when she got the next row hoed and then back on the next one, she could
go to dinner. Between the work and being a growing girl, she got hungry.

When Ida was a teenager, she hauled hayshocks to the haystack with the
aid of Nell, a very smart horse. Ida would hitch the shock to the horse,
and the horse would pull the shock to the stack without direction. When
the shock was unhitched, she would go back to the next shock, where Ida
would be standing to repeat the process.

Ida was small for her age and very quick. She liked to ride, and when
she was about five, she would go to the hayfield at quitting time so she
could ride a horse to the house. One time she made the horse go too fast
and fell off. The horse stopped to come back to Ida and nuzzled her,
seeming to know that Ida could be hurt. She wasn't. Can't damage a
Gamsjager.

The Leopold Hinters (parents of Joe Hinter) kept people overnight, and
one particular "Drummer", who had a regular route, stayed with Leopold
occasionally. He asked that his horse be supplied with eight ears of
corn, but, suspecting that his horse was being shorted, hid in the barn
one evening. Lafe, as he was called, brought the horse two ears of corn
and dropped them in the feed box. "Two", he said, picked them up and
dropped them again, "four", and again "six", and again "eight". So that
is how the Drummers horse got eight ears of corn. The Drummer stayed
elsewhere after that.

Lafe clerked in a store at Leopold and had a reputation for being
careless in his calculations. Kate Kreynebuhl bought some things one
time, and on the way home decided that she had been cheated \$2. When
she got home, she and Silas figured that this was correct, and Silas got
on his horse and went to see Lafe. Lafe said, "Oh, Kate just wanted to
buy something and not tell you about it." Silas retorted, "Kate can buy
anything she wants, and she doesn't have to sneak behind my back." Lafe
found the ticket and the error and gave Silas his \$2.

The old house on Rush Run stood on the upper part of the garden. A large
kitchen was torn down when the new house was built in 1920. the
remainder of the old house was moved to its present location by Levi
Spurgeon by using logs as rollers. It was then jacked up and placed on
stone piers.

There once was a dug well at the Rush house, but John Gamsjager drilled
the present well, so they could have water to drink when they worked at
the Rush Fork farm. It probably was drilled about 1910.

From 1920 until about 1930, Alma washed in a tub with a wash board
between the house and the cellar house. The area from the cellar toward
the gate next to the old house was "paved" with big flat rocks. On a
large table, Alma kept her milk pails. The wash tubs were hung on a
paling fence by the milk table when they were not in use. Just outside
the yard fence toward the old house was a large kettle over a fire pit
to heat water. A copper or brass kettle was supported over a tripod
(with a ring on top) for heating water to wash. A large iron pot was
used to heat water at butchering time. In cold weather, Alma washed in
the kitchen. About 1930, a gasoline-powered Dexter washing machine
appeared.

Alma attended the one-room school below the St. Clara house. She started
to school the first year the school opened, probably 1897, when she was
six years old. Before this school opened, Frank attended another school
above Roy Smith's toward Sand Fork. There were about thirty kids in the
St. Clara school when it opened.

The Rush Fork house was built in 1920, the year Edith was born. John and
Eda were still in St. Clara at the time, but they went to Oklahoma soon
after. Edith doesn't remember them except that they came back on the
train to visit.

Henry lived above a planing and grist mill near the St. Clara
schoolhouse. He moved into the St. Clara house when John and Eda went to
Oklahoma. He moved to Detroit about 1937.

Henry operated the planing and grist mill for several years. It burned
at one time, and Henry rebuilt it. By 1937, the planing, grist, and
blacksmith business was slowing down, so he went to Detroit and got a
job. He came back, had a sale, and took his family to Detroit. I saw
Henry briefly in St. Louis about 1978-79, a few months before he died,
and he told me that the moving to Detroit was the best move he ever
made.

Kate Gamsjager, Eda Gamsjager's sister and the aunt of Alma Gamsjager
Gallien, married John Ruppert, and they lived on Rush Fork, in the
fourth house above Pappy Galliens. Aunt Kate was Lutheran, and John was
Catholic. John attended church with the three older boys, Roy, Harve,
and Rubin. The boys attended Sunday school on Saturday, but the priest
made the kids work after Sunday school. The Ruppert boys refused to
return, and so Uncle John stopped going to church. None of the kids
remained Catholic.

One day the priest was coming by, and the boys suspected that he might
be coming to see Mrs. Ruppert about their absence from Sunday school.
They collected a pile of rocks just in case, but the priest went on up
the road and was spared a "rocking".

A non-Catholic could not be buried in the "consecrated" part of the
cemetery. In order to be buried together, John and Kate would need to be
buried on the hill in the "pagan" part of the cemetery. Therefore, when
Uncle John died, it was determined that he would be buried in the
Lutheran cemetery. John's two brothers, Charley and Bill, were attending
the wake at the house when they learned that John was to be buried in
the Lutheran cemetery. They left at once, but Alma doesn't remember
whether they attended the funeral. The funeral was at the house. Edith
was in a small room with others who were acting as the "choir". As she
was just recovering from the flu, she fainted away, and woke up in the
porch swing with her mother Alma holding her head.

Ida Gamsjager was about twelve years younger than Alma. When Alma and
Pappy Gallien were courting, Ida gave Okey a hard time. She said, "There
goes Okey---not even paying for his horse feed." She said one time,
"Okey, Alma can't bake biscuits." Okey said, "That is okay, I don't like
biscuits."

**GALLIEN FAMILY**

Okey Forrest Gallien's parents were Virginia Catherine Meek and William
Thomas Gallien. The Gallien line (including Minears and Zinns) is
discussed here, and the Meek line (including Apsy, Swan, and Gabart
families) is discussed below under Virginia Catherine Meek.

**Samuel Gallien** (XVII, May 4, 1807 -- Jan. 6, 1889) was born in North
Carolina. Census records of 1860 show that Samuel and his wife Mary were
farmers in Doddridge County. Their farm was valued at \$250, and they
had a personal estate of \$100. These amounts were comparable with those
of other Doddridge County farmers of that time. The Galliens had six
children, including our ancestor James Gallien. Neither Samuel nor Mary
could read or write, although their children apparently could.

**Samuel B. Minear** (XVII, 1813-\~1859) was the father of Henrietta
(Hannah) Minear, Okey Gallien's paternal grandmother. Samuel Minear was
probably born in Preston Co. He married **Olive (Olly) Zinn** (XVII,
\~1816 - ?) The Minears (also spelled Manear or Maneer) lived in Ritchie
County in the Pullman-Oxford area not far from the Daniel Nays and
Elijah Claytons (judging from census records). Samuel Minear died about
1859, leaving his wife Olly and nine or ten children. The oldest son,
William H., had already left home, and Henrietta married James Gallien
either shortly before or shortly after the death of her father. Olly was
left to care for the remaining seven children (ages 1 to 20). She
married Silas Sigler (born \~1820), a widower about three years younger.
Silas's wife Hulda had recently died, and he was also a single parent
with several young children to care for. The 1870 census shows Olly and
Silas Sigler living with the three youngest Minear children (ages 11-18)
and the youngest Sigler boy (age 12).

**James Gallien** (XVIII, Oct. 24, 1828 -- Dec. 26, 1904) married
**Henrietta** (**Hannah) Minear** (XVIII, Nov. 18, 1841 -- Dec. 22,
1902) in 1860 in Ritchie County. James and Hannah Gallien had five sons:
Dennis (July 11, 1860 -- Sept. 13, 1894), Joseph C. (\~1862 -- ?),
William Thomas (1865-1894), Walter M. (\~1871 -- ?), and Ulyssus W.
(\~1874 -- ?). In September 1861, James Gallien enlisted in the Union
Army. He remained a private during his entire tour of duty. His company,
M6 of the West Virginia Infantry, split up into small groups to guard
tunnels and bridges (#4 and #18) on the NWV railroad, which ran through
Rowlesburg and Grafton.

During the Civil War, he began going downhill physically. He was treated
for ophthalmia (an eye disease) in a military hospital in 1863 and for
rheumatism at the General Hospital in Clarksburg. In the fall of 1864 in
Grafton, his stomach hurt him so much that he wasn't able for duty
except light camp service until he was discharged. After the War, he
suffered from kidney and stomach ailments and eventually developed heart
disease. Before the War, he was reputed to be one of the strongest men
around, but afterwards he became stiff and clumsy and could do only 1/3
to 1/2 of a man's work in a day.

It is not clear how James Gallien supported his family after the Civil
War. In 1870 he had no real estate, although his personal estate was
worth \$200. He sometimes worked as a hired hand, but he was not strong
enough to make a living this way unless he had a charitable benefactor.

He applied for a government pension, and over a dozen of his neighbors
wrote eloquent affidavits on his behalf during the 1880s. A thick folder
of these testimonies is stored at the National Archives in Washington,
D.C. One man wrote that before the War he had often heard James Gallien
spoken of as a very smart man and a hard worker, who had never been
known to make complaints. After the War, he had become a different man.
He was no longer able to walk fully erect, perhaps because something was
wrong with his frame. The pension was granted, and James Gallien
received \$4-17 per month until his death in 1904. Despite his many
ailments, he lived to be 76 years old and outlived his wife by two
years.

A few notes and questions for anyone interested in pursuing genealogical
research on the Galliens: The early Galliens often spelled their name
Gallion. James Gallien once traveled to Cumberland, Maryland, perhaps to
visit relatives. Other Galliens lived in Morgan County, and in
Rowlesburg. Samuel Gallien does not seem to be listed in either the 1850
or 1870 census of Doddridge County. If Samuel Gallien was born in North
Carolina, why did he go to Doddridge County and how did he get there?
Did he live anywhere else in West Virginia?

The third son, **William Thomas Gallien** (XIX, Aug. 3, 1865 -- Sept.
13, 1894) married Virginia Catherine Meek (see below), and they lived in
Avon, a community \~10 miles southeast of West Union in Doddridge
County. William Thomas was known to be rather impetuous, and this still
shows up to some extent in his descendants. William Thomas and his
brother had contracted to buy land. They were digging a well on this
land in September of 1894 and did some blasting in the bottom of the
well. Now they both knew that one should not go down into a blasting
area until the fumes were cleared out. One of them thought he heard
water and just couldn't wait. When he didn't come back, the other went
down to see about him. So both brothers died in the well. This was a
great tragedy, but they had no one to blame but themselves. The families
also lost the interest in the land they were buying without any
compensation. At that time, Okey Forrest Gallien was about four years
old, and his sister Delphia was about two years old.

The well site is at a long bend in the road about a mile north of Avon.
On the hill above the bend (to the left as you travel south) was the
house where Dennis and William Thomas Gallien lived with their families.
The house is now gone, and a mobile home sits on the site (1990).

**Virginia Catherine Meek** (**Jennie Nolan**) (XIX, June 29, 1865 --
Mar. 10, 1952) was born in Nina, a community along Hunter Fork a few
miles east of New Milton. Her father was **Jacob Gabart Meek** (XVIII,
Nov. 8, 1833 -- May 14, 1903), originally from Augusta County
(Staunton), Virginia. Her paternal grandparents were **Montecue Allen
Meek** (XVII, Jan. 12, 1795 -- May 6, 1879) and **Susan Gabart** (XVII,
Nov. 1, 1789 -- Oct. 6, 1870). Jennie's mother, **Mary E. Absey**
(XVIII, Dec. 4, 1834 -- Feb. 11, 1873) came from Loudoun County,
Virginia. Variant spellings of Absey are Apsy and Aspey. Jennie's
maternal grandparents were **Mary S. Swan** (XVII, Jan. 19, 1814 -- ?)
and **George Apsy** (XVII, Aug. 17, 1805 -- ?), who was born in England.

The Meeks have gathered considerable information on their ancestors.
Seven months after Susan Gabart Meek died in 1870 at age 80, Montecue
Allen Meek (variant spellings are Montecua and Monteque) married Jane
Bungarder. He bought a grist mill on the Middle Fork of Ten Mile Creek
in Harrison County in 1869 and operated this mill until his death in
1880 at age 84. Montecue was apparently the youngest of about six
children of **Samuel** (XVI, Aug. 16, 1763-?) **and Elizabeth Meek**
(XVI, May 7, 1768-?) of Augusta Co., VA. Samuel was the son of **Thomas
Meek** (XVI), grandson of **John Meek** (XVI, also of Augusta Co.), and
great-grandson of **Guy Meek** (XV), who immigrated to Anne Arundel Co.,
MD prior to 1662. Revolutionary War records in Augusta Co. show John
Meek and a Daniel Meek were charged with being absent from roll call on
April 8, 1779. Samuel Meek paid taxes in Augusta Co. from 1787-1797, but
most of the official records show the early Meeks absconding or failing
to perform their tours of duty.

Jacob and Mary Meek had some eleven children. Six of their children are
buried with them in the Eddy Cemetery in Miletus: Martha J. Meek (Jan.
24, 1856-Sept. 22, 1862), George Washington Meek (Aug. 3, 1859-Oct. 7,
1862), John M. Meek (Sept. 18, 1862-Feb. 18, 1863), and three unnamed
infants. Virginia Catherine and two boys, Martin V. Meek (XIX) and Jacob
Henry Meek (XIX), are the only children who survived into adulthood.
Martin V. Meek had a large house on Buckeye Creek a few hundred yards
south of the Greenbriar Fork. The Galliens and Martin Meeks would visit
at least once a year. Martin Meeks son, John J. Meek of Salem, compiled
an extensive list of ancestors and descendants of Jacob Gabart Meek. In
1990, Edith, Kester, and Bill visited Juanita and Kenneth Meek, the son
of Jacob Henry ("Henry"). Martin and Henry Meek are buried at Salem. The
Harry Meek place, previously occupied by the Martin Meek family, was a
real showplace and is still in the Meek family. The Jacob G. Meek place
on Hunter's fork was sold to a Mrs. Prunty \~1985. This is a two-bedroom
house with a large central hallway and two other rooms; a cellar was
added later. The house is located along Hunter Fork on the north side of
the road 1.1 miles from the junction at route #15 (Nina).

The Meeks attended the Pleasant Hill Church, where some Meek family
members are buried.

Mary.; Absey died in 1873 at age 39, when Jennie was only seven years
old. The next year Jacob Meek married **Almira E. House** (XVIII, Dec.
22, 1840 -- Jan. 3, 1915, married Nov. 19, 1874). The stepmother was
strict and made Jenny work hard baking pies and doing other chores. Her
picture hung in the Okey Galliens' cellar house, and the children would
turn her picture around so they didn't have to look at her stern face.

Virginia Catherine's upbringing was certainly rustic. Occasionally
Indians would disturb their family or steal their honey. There were
large pegs on the wall in her bedroom to hang her clothes on. One night
as she was getting into bed, she saw a large snake stretched across the
pegs.

After Virginia Catherine's husband, William Thomas Gallien died, she was
in the predicament of being a widow with no property and no home. She
lived temporarily with her father, Jacob Meek, and Mr. Meek became very
fond of Okey and Delphia. Okey enjoyed spending time with his
grandfather and learned many things from him. In later years Grandpa
Gallien spoke very highly of his grandfather Jacob Meek. The Meeks lived
in Doddridge County, and the place is marked on the map.

Virginia Catherine later married a **Edward Nolan** (XIX) and lived with
him for about ten years, but his children were too unruly. One of Mr.
Nolan's girls became pregnant, and Virginia Catherine moved out. All of
her life from then on, she was known as Grandma Nolan or Jennie Nolan.
My daughter, Mary Virginia Wilson, was named for Grandma Nolan and was
always called Jenny. Grandma Nolan lived in Salem for many years and
kept roomers and boarders. Afterwards, she came to live with her son
Okey and was there until she died in 1952 at the age of 86.

Jennie Nolan lost more than her share of young family members. Most of
her ten brothers and sisters died in infancy or childhood. Her mother
died when she was seven. Her husband died after less than five years of
marriage. In as sense she also lost her daughter, who married a man who
abruptly relocated to a farm in a remote part of Ohio.

She was a very good woman and had a lot of native intelligence. Although
she went to school for only three years (and school was only three
months out of the year), she learned to read and write. She would sound
out longer words in a sing-song rhythm. For example, a-b ab, s-o-l sol,
u-t-e ute l-y ly absolutely. She was fond of reciting homespun wisdom:
e.g. "If it's raining by 7, it'll stop by 11." She also steeped in
folklore and home remedies. For example, Edith Gallien Wilson remembers
drinking large quantities of sassafras tea in the spring to thin her
blood, which had gotten thick when she sat idle during the winter.

Jennie Nolan was always very good with all her grandchildren. I have a
picture of her and Billy when he was about three years old. The last
time we saw her, Brenda was a babe in arms about six months old. From
her bed, she reached up and touched Brenda's feet and remarked about
what a cute baby she was. Although she has been gone for 35 years, her
room at Rush Fork is still known as Grandma Nolan's room.

When we were home in the fall of 1951, I took Grandma Nolan over to
Dad's house for lunch. Billy rode in the back seat, standing up most of
the time to see over the back of the front seat. When we had almost
arrived at my house, Grandma Nolan turned and looked at Billy. She
remarked that he was practically asleep even thought standing up and he
soon fell over on the seat sound asleep. She had a great time with my
folks and was very pleased to have been the center of attention. She
became ill not long after that and never fully recovered. She evidently
died of depression, old age, and the feeling that she was useless.
Grandma was always very eager to help around the house, and she always
did more than her share of the work.

**Delphia Gallien** (XX, Nov. 9, 1892 -- Mar. 10, 1970) was the spittin'
image of her niece Edith Gallien. But in contrast to Edith, Delphia had
a troubled early life. After her father died when she was two years old,
the family was always poor and unstable. She had a stepfather for a
short time, and at other times the family lived with her grandfather,
Jacob Meek. Delphia was very shy and self-effacing. When her mother
would tell her to powder her nose because they were going to Salem (a
nearby cosmopolitan town), Delphia would obediently put on powder and
then wipe it off at the first opportunity.

Delphia later married Everett Morris. Mr. Morris made plans to move to
Ohio, and told Delphia's mother, Jenny Nolan, only at the last minute.
Grandma Nolan was shocked and hurt that her daughter was moving so far
away.

For the rest of their lives, Delphia and Everett Morris lived in or near
Harrison County, Ohio. They lived on a farm near Cadiz, about thirty
miles northeast of Wheeling. As tenant farmers for a Mr. Swan, they
raised wheat, sweet corn, and cherries. They never did very well
financially. Their family of six lived in a small rented house without a
bathroom. Eventually, when they were in their seventies, they bought a
small house in the nearby village of Bowerstown.

Jenny Nolan, who spent six months of every year with the Morrises and
six months with the Okey Gallien family, always brought back glowing
reports of life in Ohio to the Gallien children, who became jealous of
the Morris family. The Morris children were likewise jealous of the
Gallien children, who according to Grandma Nolan had a much better life
on Rush Fork.

Everett Morris was a devout member of the Quaker Church, a conservative
branch of Quakerism quite distinct from Quaker Meetings. He strictly
forbade cardplaying and drinking, and the family was always going to
functions at the nearby Quaker Church.

The Morrises had four children. **Virginia M. Morris** **Rainsberger**
(XXI, ca. 1920 -- ) took care of her parents until they died. Then she
did home nursing. In middle age, she married Foster Rainsberger, whose
wife had been under Virginia's care before her death. They live on a
sizable farm near Scio, Ohio. They have no children.

**Robert Morris** (XXI, ca. 1922 -- ) and his wife Marion spent about
twenty years as missionaries along the Amazon near Manaus, Brazil. He
was a good craftsman and made many things one couldn't buy in the remote
South American jungle. They had four boys, Dave, Don, Dan, and Denny.
They now live in Amboy, Indiana.

**James Morris** (XXI, ca. 1924 -- ) and his wife Doris were
missionaries in central Africa for 20-30 years. They left Africa about
1980. James now travels widely as a national director of missionary
work. James and Doris have no children and now live in Oregon.

**John Wesley Morris** (XXI, ca. 1926 -- ) and his wife Phyllis lived
for many years in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Michigan, where John Wesley
was a minister. Several years ago he left the ministry to become a
director of maintenance at a hospital. John Wesley and Phyllis have
three or four children and now live in West Liberty, Ohio.

**Okey Forrest Gallien** (XX, Oct. 2, 1890 -- Sept. 11, 1973). As his
father died before he was yet four years old, Okey had to learn to take
care of himself and partially take care of his mother and sister. They
lived near Wolf Summit for a while, and, among other things, he
delivered newspapers (The Grit). He quit school at an early age after he
had finished all the books through the eighth grade. He was encouraged
to go to college but knew that he couldn't afford it and so went to work
on the pipeline in a low capacity. Since he had a lot of ability, he
quickly moved up to supervisory jobs. This was a period when oil and gas
were being discovered, and many pipelines were being laid. He worked on
pipelines in West Virginia and Kentucky for many years and later worked
for the Hope Natural Gas Co. At that time, many immigrants, especially
Irish and Italians, were being brought in to work on the pipeline, and
he supervised numerous people who couldn't speak English. He had
hundreds of stories and pictures of his pipeline gangs, and those were
memorable experiences for him. In the course of his pipeline work, he
boarded at the home of John Gamsjager, where he met John's oldest
daughter Alma. A courtship ensued, during which Okey often sent Alma
postcards from various locales where he was laying pipe. Okey and Alma
(ages 26 and 25) were married on November 15, 1916.

He had a knack for getting along with people of any origin and was
especially good with blacks. At one time a very mean Irishman threatened
him with a tool and probably would have killed him. The blacks as one
man rose up to defend him. The Irishman backed down, and that was the
end of the incident.

The Rush Fork house and farm of 200 acres belonged to Grandpa and
Grandma Gamsjager. They didn't give them the farm for many years, but it
was well understood that it would be theirs. They paid \$200 a year rent
on the place. In 1920 the house was extremely well done. By today's
standards it would need a few improvements. The kids all went to school
in a little one room schoolhouse up the creek above the Hursts. Aunt
Norita always was chubby and was a very cute little girl. The boys all
loved to carry Norita on their backs, and this made Hazel and Edith a
little jealous. Of course, the fact that they were a little too big to
carry may have had something to do with it. Edith's first teacher was my
cousin Amy Gaston, who later married Harry Smith.

Pappy Gallien made his living from the farm from 1920 until 1932, when
he was elected on the Republican ticket to be a county commissioner. He
served six years, and then was appointed deputy assessor of Doddridge
County by P. D. Holden. In the early 1950s, Okey disposed of most of his
farm machinery at a large sale and gave up farming full time to
concentrate on his third career as an assessor. In the course of
assessing property, he came into contact with nearly every person in
Doddridge County. His fairness, honesty, diplomacy, and political skills
were crucial to carrying out a job that directly affected each
landowner's tax bill.

Okey worked as deputy assessor until he was 76 years old. In his earlier
years he spent most of his time on the road assessing property. He was
slow and meticulous. Later he worked mostly in the courthouse helping
people figure out their taxes, looking up property, and transferring
deeds. At night, he would enter the changes in the books. In later years
his work pace slowed down, and he often had to go back in the evening to
finish his work. There was some pressure for him to retire, but he said
retirement was the worst word ever invented.

In the 1950s, Okey and Alma moved to West Union, where they lived in a
house with Mrs. Icey Stutler on the first hill south of the former B&O
Railroad line as one proceeds from west from downtown. During this time,
they often went back to the Rush Run farm on weekends. Later they moved
to an apartment at 119 Court St., just opposite the courthouse. This
apartment was the second floor of a large Victorian house owned by Mr.
and Mrs. Carl Yeater.

Okey and Alma were very interested in their children's education. For
many years, Okey served as a trustee for the Cove District Schools. All
of the children were tutored nightly by their parents, and all finished
high school in West Union. A discussion of Okay and Alma's children and
their descendants (see family trees) is left for future family
historians.

About the second or third time Edith and I came home, Pappy Gallien was
sitting at the head of the table as usual, and I was sitting to his
left. He didn't have his false teeth in, so his face was a little flat.
The first time I was there, he had his teeth in and was very handsome.
As he sat there in his old clothes and gumming his food, he said, "We
put on all the style the first time you came, now you are a member of
the family." Another time, we came in the winter time by train. Pappy
Gallien met us in West Union and later took us over to Dad and Mom's
house on the Harrisville Ridge. On the way, he wasn't wearing his teeth,
but I noticed that when he arrived he looked so much better. It didn't
dawn on me until later that he kept his false teeth in his coat pocket.
Years later when we took Joe Hinter to Austria, Joe had a partial plate
that he didn't wear all the time. He said, "I'm going to be like Okey
Gallien and carry my false teeth in my pocket."

Okey and Alma Gallien had six children. **John William (Bill) Gallien**
(XXI, Aug. 4, 1917 -- 1991), **Edith Virginia Gallien Wilson** (XXI,
Nov. 4, 1920 -- ), **Hazel Henrietta Gallien Wysong** (XXI, Aug. 30,
1922 -- ), **Mildred Norita Gallien Tyson** (XXI, Aug. 4, 1924 -- ),
**Lucille Mae Gallien Zinn** (XXI, Nov. 30, 1926 -- ), and **Okey
Forrest Gallien**, **Jr.** (XXI, Jan. 29, 1933 -- ). Their spouses,
children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren are listed in the
family trees under "Descendants of Okey and Alma Gallien. Additional
material is likely to be controversial. To avoid stirring up a hornet's
nest, anecdotes involving these family members have been kept to a
minimum. The task of compiling an entertaining and enlightening history
of the Gallien generation XXI and their descendants is left to a more
intrepid historian.

**Memories of growing up**

**by Edith Gallien Wilson**

One of us girls always went to sleep on his lap every night. He always
helped us with our homework. He knew more than any of the teachers who
taught at Rush Fork School (except Amy). He was also a trustee for the
Cove School District and thus was involved in the selection of teachers.
Many of the people in the neighborhood came to him for advice because he
was considered one of the wisest men in the neighborhood. He was usually
very gentle in disciplining his children, but occasionally he gave
whippings. Brother Bill got the most because he disobeyed the most. We
all worked hard and were brought up with the work ethic. It was early to
bed and early to rise. Nine o'clock meant bedtime.

Life has not always been driving a BMW with a swimming pool in my back
yard and all the amenities of living in the lovely suburb of Salona
Village in McLean, Va.

Growing up on a 200-acre working farm on Rush Fork in Doddridge County,
West Virginia was very different. We always had plenty to eat for we
raised most everything, but oranges, bananas, and ice cream were an
unusual great treat. The work ethic was always in evidence, and I still
have it. We never talked about a vacation for we never took one. Our
only relaxation was on Sunday when we would go to church and perhaps be
invited somewhere for dinner or we would invite someone to our home to
have dinner and spend the afternoon. It would always include entire
families. A big treat on Sunday afternoon was to make chocolate fudge,
popcorn or taffy. This was after my sisters and I could do this by
ourselves which was in our early years (10-12). As I remember, I could
make corn bread and do a lot toward getting supper by the time I was
eight years old. Being the oldest girl, I did lots of chores, for my
mother was always outside doing milking, gardening, feeding chickens and
many other things. She always loved working outside and left the inside
to us girls as soon as we could manage things. This is not to say that
she didn't do lots inside too, like bake a dozen loaves of bread a week,
can (preserve) vegetables and fruits in season, wash down the walls in
the entire house every spring during house cleaning season, sew, and
many other things.

In summer I had to hoe corn, a job I hated. There would be several acres
of field corn which Dad would plow through the rows with a horse and
plow. Those of us old enough had to take a hoe and till the soil around
and close to each stalk of corn. We also had to hoe potatoes about three
times a season and then help in the harvest field which lasted almost
the remainder of the summer. Harvesting the hay meant riding horses back
on the hill and hauling hay shocks to the barn or haystack, carrying
dinner in big baskets to the hired hands and family working on the hills
in back meadows, coming home in the evening and hunting the cows for
milking, which was on the other side of another hill, and doing all the
evening chores. As I observed all families in my community living a
similar life (although I know we did more than many others) I formed an
image in my mind that this was not for me to do all my life. There was
little communication with the outside world. We had a telephone, but no
radio, TV nor daily newspaper for many years. Slowly I learned there
were places where life was different and bright lights twinkled. I made
up my mind I would never marry a local farm boy and live the life of a
farm wife.

Education was always held in high esteem in our family. It was never "if
we would go to college", but "when we go to college," and my parents
talked about it frequently and explained that we would have to help each
other through school. My father was very capable but never had formal
education beyond the eighth grade; but he had studied Ray's higher
mathematics and all the McGuffy readers, so he was prepared to help us
with our homework in elementary school which he did willingly every
evening. He also knew a lot of geography and helped me understand about
all the places beyond the ocean which I assumed I would never see. Now I
have been beyond the ocean more than a dozen times and have seen many of
the places which I dreamed about in my elementary geography book. My Dad
was a good teacher and probably knew more than most of my early teachers
who had little training beyond a teaching certificate of two years or
less from an undemanding college.

My father was highly regarded in the community and neighbors would seek
him out for advice. He later was elected as a County Commissioner
(County Government) and later a Deputy Assessor and spent more than
forty years in county government. During that time my eyes were opened
more to the outside as I became familiar with all the offices in the
county courthouse and was very comfortable there.

Because my father was well-liked and very respected, I always had an
identity in high school with the faculty. I'm telling all this because
it helped me to form a good self-concept which I have always had. Even
in later years when teaching school, we were always stressing the
importance of helping students form a positive self-image, I became
aware that all students had not been blessed with the same nurturing I
had. I must add here that I was a nervous child in many ways. I would
cry easily and when my father tried so gently to explain my homework. I
would just cry, probably because I was tired in the evening or angry
with myself that I couldn't readily comprehend.

I started to school when I was four years old because I could read some
and the teacher of the grade school (Amy Smith) said I could come. I
only went during the fall and spring when the weather was good. I just
sat and listened to the others and wrote on my tablet and didn't cause
any trouble. Sometimes the teacher told me I could go write on the
blackboard which I loved. Then I wouldn't know when I was to go back to
my seat and would stand there and wet my pants (black bloomers) because
I didn't know how to ask to go to the outside toilet. The teacher said I
never caused any trouble. I did learn to read early and fast and was in
the second reader probably by the time I was 6, but am aware that I was
an average student. Mostly I was self-taught, and learned the most after
I started teaching school.

To go to high school, I got up around six every morning. My mother
always saw that I had a good breakfast (in winter time buckwheat cakes
and sausage and/or hot oatmeal). Then I would walk a mile across the big
hill and catch a school bus to ride eighteen miles to West Union to high
school. I never minded the long ride, for it was fun and interesting
being with friends on the bus. The part I envied was the students who
lived along Route 18 and walked down their driveway to get on the school
bus. I really wished for that luxury and the fact that they didn't need
to wear big boots and heavy coats that I needed for the long walk across
the hill. I would leave my big boots in the bus stop. Many mornings the
temperature would be zero, and there would be snow on the ground when I
would leave before 7 a.m. in the dark. Sometimes I would take a lantern
part way up the hill and leave it on the path when daylight approached,
picking it up on the way home.

My junior year in high school, I stayed with a family in West Union and
did housework for them after school for my room and board. My parents
thought this better than the long walk and ride. I didn't like that
arrangement too well, although I learned a lot living with this rather
sophisticated family and they were very nice to me. My senior year, I
lived at home and walked the hill again, even though in winter it meant
leaving before daylight and getting home at dark. I did the minimum
homework and went to bed. My grades were average.

As I think back to my early childhood, it was a really pleasant time. My
sisters and I had many playhouses, and we played dolls and housekeeping
by the hour. Our favorite place was the two rooms over the cellar. We
could do whatever we wanted to in that area. My brother made us lots of
doll furniture. Sometimes we would want to change our playhouse and
would use the corncrib in summer or the top of the smokehouse or big
rocks on the farm. We spent hours sewing dresses for our dolls and
cutouts for the paper dolls.

Our own clothes were few and plain, so dressing dolls was my vicarious
living. In grade school I remember this one wool made-over dress which
it seemed like I wore everyday all winter. It was warm, but I never felt
very good in it and yearned for a change; but I understood my mother was
doing the best she could just to keep six children in clean clothes of
any kind. Money was always scarce, even for the necessary things and we
were always taught by my conservative mother not to "put everything on
your back." Even though I can now afford to buy more clothes, I still am
careful about spending a lot of money on clothes. My aunt who lived in
Wichita, Kansas used to send us boxes of her cast-off clothes. My mother
would make some over for us, and others we used as dress-up clothes. She
must have been a party lady, for she sent gorgeous organdy, lace, and
silk clothes which I loved. Also high-heeled shoes, which I adored
dressing up in for play.

After two years and a summer at Salem College, I landed a job as a
secretary (clerk) at the Union National Bank in Clarksburg paying \$60
per month. I was on my way! I bought a radio for \$18 and later a navy
blue suit for \$32 and spent months paying for them. I had lots of
friends, both men and women. There were several girls who worked at the
three banks in Clarksburg, and we were all quite friendly. I did
volunteer work for the American Red Cross as a nurse's aid and worked at
the old Union Protestant Hospital in Clarksburg after my banking hours.
This was during World War II, and everyone pitched in.

My friends and I loved to dance and took advantage of all opportunities.
Sometimes we went to big dances like the Elk's Club, bank, or square
dances and sometimes to places called road houses with a nickelodeon for
music. Neither I nor my friends ever drank anything but cokes. I didn't
know about alcoholic drinks until I was married, although my folks
always made wine at home. In looking through a newspaper, I saw an ad
that said the American National Red Cross in Washington, D.C. needed
secretaries, starting at \$150 a month. My eyes popped, and much as I
loved my job, friends, and living in Clarksburg, I knew I wanted to move
on. So I applied and in November 1943 was on my way to Washington, D.C.
Later my good friend Ernestine followed me to D.C. and we have remained
lifelong friends.

At first I was very homesick living at Club Shannon, but that didn't
last long. I made friends at work and at the Club. Early I met this
fellow from Harrisville, West Virginia and felt it was a tie to my
heritage but didn't think much about it. At Christmas time, we rode the
train back to our respective homes, and I realized how kind, thoughtful,
gentle, and humorous this fellow was. During the late winter and early
spring, we began to see more of each other. He had a canoe and belonged
to the Washington Canoe Club. During the spring we spent many hours on
the Potomac River, attended dances at the Canoe Club, and walked through
the zoo in the evenings. The zoo was only a block from the Shannon Club,
where we both lived.

When Kes proposed to me in the canoe near the "Three Sisters Rocks" in
the Potomac River, I knew I was hooked. That was in June. On September
9, 1944, we were married at the Trinity Methodist Church at 5th & Seward
Square, S.E. in Washington, D.C. I had two good friends who lived with
the minister and his wife. I went to church there and the minister's
wife gave us a reception. My friend Ernestine was maid of honor. All our
friends came. After a wedding trip to Petersburg, West Virginia and a
visit to both our families, we came back to Club Shannon and moved into
a suite (larger bedroom and private bath). We still ate all our meals at
the club. Apartments were difficult to find during the war and after.
When my boss at the Red Cross left to go back to California, she talked
her landlord into renting her apartment to us. It had a bedroom, living
room, kitchen, and bath. It was located just off Connecticut Avenue,
N.W. on California St. We thought we had a palace.

Edith Wilson has also related the following stories, which son Bill has
embellished.

When Edith was in grade school on Rush Fork, the school kids were
treated to soda pop one time. The kids were proudly showing off that
they knew how to drink pop from the bottle. Edith had never had pop
before and thought it tasted awful. She leaned back and pretended to
swagger like the other kids but furtively drained the pop over her
shoulder onto the ground.

Edith met her life-long friend Ernestine Mullen (Gacy) at Markey's
clothing store in downtown West Union. Ernestine was a bookkeeper and
clerk at the store, which represented high fashion for Doddridge County.
On the occasion of one of Edith's rare purchases at this store,
Ernestine helped Edith pick out a "perfect" dress. They quickly
discovered that they had a lot in common, and Ernestine invited Edith to
go out for a coke.

In her junior year of high school, Edith roomed with Ernestine at the
Doaks in West Union. She paid \$25 per month for room and board. The
Doaks lived in a large house across from the courthouse. Mr. Doak, who
owned Markey's Store was grouchy (to say the least), and his wife was
prim and proper. Mrs. Doak was high society in West Union and often held
teas for high school girls. Edith had attended these teas; being a poor
farm girl, she never dreamed she might live in the Doak's mansion some
day.

The Doaks had a hired girl, Lona Batton, to cook the meals. Lona was
never very pretty, and she never married. Mr. Doak never allowed Mrs.
Doak to drive, but after he died, she bought a car and drove everywhere
with Lona as her companion. When Mrs. Doak died, she left Lona the house
and a comfortable income. Now Lona is a member of the Women's Club and
an upstanding member of the community. If Mr. Doak had died first, he
probably would have left Lona out on the street with no inheritance.

Ernestine taught Edith the ropes of living with the wealthy and
powerful. Ernestine advised Edith to just sit and eat and be quiet when
Mr. Doak was having one of his "spells." Having grown up in a normal
family deprived of psychopaths, Edith had never heard of spells. So she
didn't notice when Mr. Doak was having a spell, and she just kept right
on talking. Mr. Doak glared at her to be quiet, but not knowing the ways
of high society, she just kept on talking. Ernestine promptly set Edith
straight on this matter. But living with the wealthy also gave them
perks. They would sometimes sneak down the back stairs for midnight
snacks of cream or ice cream. Edith chose to live at home during senior
year of high school.

After graduating with a Normal School degree from Salem College, Edith
did not get a job in the fall. She did some housework for the Rymers in
West Union, and her father got her a job in West Union at the
courthouse.

About this time, Edith taught for a week as a substitute at a one-room
school at Nina. The school was near the mouth of Hunter Fork and very
close to the homestead of Jacob Meek. Okey Gallien arranged for Edith to
stay with the Nicolsons. The Nicolsons had free gas, and they kept their
house stifling hot in winter. Edith slept with their daughter Clare, who
smelled bad. In fact, the entire house smelled like a feed lot in July
because the chamber pots were emptied only once a week.

At school, Edith had no idea of what to do or what to expect.
Miraculously, the school kids showed her their lessons. One came early
to start the fire, and others told her how the school was run. This
experience did not inspire Edith to become a rural schoolteacher. She
could envision her future: moving around teaching in one-room schools
and boarding in smelly houses until she married some country hick and
then spending the rest of her life milking cows.

Edith had saved enough money from her job at the courthouse to enroll in
a secretarial course at Salem the following summer. She had already
learned shorthand and typing in high school, and didn't learn anything
new at Salem. Her most vivid memories are of a bookkeeping teacher,
Prof. Harris who was short and pompous. Kester Wilson had also taken a
course from Prof. Harris; at the first meeting, he said "Here's the
textbook. Study it well. See you at the final exam." Kester also recalls
how Salem once beat Ohio Wesleyan at football, and he and the other
students had quickly organized an enthusiastic parade. A second parade
was directed by the professors, notably Prof. Harris; the latter
complained to Kester (Student President) that the students were
unenthusiastic.

Edith took her secretarial skills to Clarksburg and later to Washington,
D.C. It took courage (and fear of the alternative) to diverge from the
path she was expected to follow and set out alone for the big city. When
she left Clarksburg for Washington, the Red Cross was paying her way. So
she packed up numerous suitcases and hat boxes and bought a first class
ticket. The ticket, which included a sleeper, cost \$10. However, she
couldn't find the light switch and had to sleep with the light on.

> **APPENDIX**
>
> **Farms Neighboring Arden and Mittie Wilson**

The first list starts from the Mt. Pisgah Church on the Harrisville
Ridge and goes toward Harrisville. N and S refer to the north and south
sides of the road. The second list notes the families on Indian Creek.
In addition, three neighboring families (Howard Hodge, Jim Primm, and
Jimmy Wilson) lived in Rockcamp.

Property owners bordering the Wilson farm are the Nays (E), Tates (S),
Stanleys (W), and Richards (N, across the road). Property owners
bordering the Blair Place are the Stanleys (E) and Ludfords (S). Other
neighbors of Arden Wilson were in Rockcamp (Howard Hodge, Jimmy Wilson,
and Jim Primm) and at Five Forks (Paul or Dutch Mulnik).

In 1990, Edith, Kester, and Bill were trying to take a shortcut on the
dirt road from Five Forks to Indian Creek in the Toyota 4-wheel drive.
However, the road was so muddy and rutted that we got hung up. We walked
down to Five Forks, where we found Dutch Mulnik, a contemporary of
Kester Wilson, mowing his yard. Dutch called up Carson Wamsley (another
contemporary), who pulled us out with his truck.

[Thomas and Alice Mason.]{.underline} (S) They lived in a log house with
a clapboard covering. The Masons kept a bull, and the Wilsons took their
cows to his bull. Tom derided the churchgoers of the nearby Mt. Pisgah
Church as hypocrites. Arden Wilson used to teach Sunday School at the
church. Someone asked Arden once if you had to be a hypocrite to join
the church. Arden said no, and Tom Mason said "humph!." The Mason Place
is at the source of both Indian Creek and Rockcamp Run.

Tom was stubborn and something of a rounder (i.e. liked other men's
women). In the 1940s he was found shot to death. Although three bullet
holes were found, his death was described as a suicide. His wife died
about the same time. The house is now gone and has been replaced by a
small bungalow. Thomas Mason, Jr. of Charleston and his brother still
own the property.

[Arden and Mittie Wilson]{.underline} (S) This house was sold to Dale
and Nellie Locke in 1962 when Arden married Mary. Dale Locke had gone to
grade school with Kester Wilson. Dale had been working in Ohio, where he
had had a heart attack. The Lockes came back to Ritchie Co. to retire.
Dale died about 1980, and Nellie later put the house up for sale. Kester
Wilson bought this house in1987 and did considerable renovation,
including insulating the walls, drilling a well, and improving the
drainage. The house was rented to the Aikens for a few years and is now
occupied by Barbara Weir, a chemical engineer for Calgon Corp.

[Dewey and Pearl Primm Hutchinson]{.underline} (S) Pearl Primm was Jim
Primm's daughter. The Hutchinsons lived in a red tile house built about
1930. Both have been dead for years. The house is currently owned by a
Mr. Stanley, who rents it to the Aikens.

[Claude Primm]{.underline} (N) Kester was good friends with Claude's son
Paul. When the Primms moved to town, the Homer Kearns family moved in.
They occupied the house from about 1928--1935, Homer had several
children, including a beautiful daughter named Hazel. The Kearns boys
were very smart; they often came to the Wilsons to play dominoes. The
next occupant was Ardie Starkey, the son of Bud and Belle Starkey. Belle
was the sister of Tom Kirkpatrick, who got mad at Ed Garrison and burned
down his house in Rockcamp.

[Kate Harlan]{.underline} (N) Kate and her son Burns worked for the
Parkersburg News. Kester Wilson had taken a picture of Arden squirting
milk from a cow's udder into a cat's mouth. The Harlans were
instrumental in getting this picture published in the Parkersburg News.
Kate took care of Bill and Brenda in 1950 at the Wilson house on the
Harrisville Ridge so that Edith and Kester could go to an American
Chemical Society meeting in Chicago. (Mittie was not strong enough to
take care of them herself, and Arden wouldn't have any part of diaper
changing. His son Kester, by contrast, reluctantly changes diapers, and
during visits to his granddaughter has been given ample opportunity to
keep in practice.) About 1960, Kate went into a rest home in
Harrisville, and Burns got married. About this time, Pete and Ruby
Wilson acquired the house, which they thoroughly renovated. Pete died
about 1980. Ruby, who worked for the Public Assistance Office (welfare)
in Harrisville, still lives in the house. She is vigorous, friendly, and
knowledgeable. Ruby Wilson's house faces the east end of the Blair
Place.

[Charlie Tate]{.underline} (N) About 1920, he received a degree from
West Virginia University. His training was in raising chickens, and he
had a large chicken farm. However, he was shiftless and disorganized and
ultimately gave up the chicken business. He and his wife lived in their
house until their deaths. They had two daughters and two sons. The
family still occupies the homestead, to which they have added two or
three mobile homes. This house is across from the Blair Place.

Once the Tates gave Arden Wilson a scrawny little kitten. Kester was
driving. Arden waved a cheerful good-bye to the Tates. Then when they
rounded a bend and were just out of sight of the Tates, Arden dropped
off the cat.

[Beer joint]{.underline} (S) About 1950, Arden Wilson sold an acre from
the Blair Place for someone to build a house. The house never got built,
and the land was sold to a Mr. Kiester, who put up a beer joint, much to
Arden's chagrin. drinking Arden retaliated by refusing a right-of-way
for an electric line, and for years the tavern had to operate with the
dim light produced by a generator.

[Arnold and Ada Snyder]{.underline} (S) The Snyders lived in a log
cabin. They had no children of their own, but they had several foster
children. About 1930 they sold out and went to Harrisville. (However, a
few years later they returned to live in a shack on Indian Creek, where
they died about 1950.) The log cabin was torn down and another house was
built on the site.

When Arden Wilson was young, he got a job with Claude Primm and Arnold
Snyder to cut filth on the Nay Place. Uncle Joe Nay always drove a hard
bargain, so they weren't being paid very well. Arden and Claude would
separately tell Arnold how bad they were getting gypped in the contract.
Arnold was so mad he was cutting more filth in an hour than he normally
cut in a day. He worked so fast that they actually ended up with a good
hourly wage.

[John Wellings]{.underline} (S and N) The original house was far down in
a hollow on the south side of the road. Later he built a brick house on
the north side of the road. The Wellings were considered pillars of the
community. They had no children and have been dead for years.

The following houses on Indian Creek are listed beginning with the Nays
going downstream.

[Nay Place]{.underline} This farm has been successively occupied by Joe
Nay, his son Cooster, and Cooster's son Floyd. Presently the farm is
owned jointly by Joe Neal, Floyd and Eleanor, who currently are renting
to David King.

[William Martin Wilson Place]{.underline} Arden Wilson was the executor
of William Martin's estate. There were several problems among the heirs
in settling the estate. Mary Jane had \$5000 in bonds that Guy held for
"safekeeping." In settling the estate, Arden asked Guy for the bonds.
Guy gave him the numbers, but Arden asked for better proof. Then Guy
confessed that he had spent the bonds. Mary Jane had wanted to give
Arden and Kester their notes (i.e. forgive their loans) at her death.
Guy Wilson apparently held these notes. He magnanimously gave Arden his
note for \$239 but kept Arden's not for \$1500 and Kester's note.

Division of the land also caused some trouble. Arden wanted the Stull
Place, which is the field just south of Arden's farm. Guy (hardly an
avid farmer) said he also wanted it. Arden sued for division and got it.
Stella got the "big field", which she sold in 1947 to Arden for \$1700.
In 1960, Arden sold it to West Virginia Pulp and Paper, the current
owners. Guy got the Tate Place, which he sold to the Tates. Loe got the
house, which he sold to Alf Tate. The latter, who was known as "old
puke," lived in the house until his death in 1971. This was a sorry
place for him to spend his last years, as there was little heat and less
insulation. There was no heat in the kitchen, and water would freeze on
the floor.

[Tate Place]{.underline} Jeff Mosser now owns the Tate farm, which is at
the end of the passable part of the road up Indian Creek. Jeff's father
is the son-in-law of Alf Tate. The Tate Place, which now consists of the
original house, a new house, and one or two mobile homes, is actually on
a tributary of Indian Creek.

[Methodist-Protestant Church]{.underline} The congregation has long
since folded, and the building is now used for storage. There is a ford
across Indian Creek between the church and school. An abandoned road ran
north from a point east of the church. This road went along Indian Creek
to the William Martin Wilson homestead and then through Arden's farm to
the Pullman Ridge Road. The main road going east leaves Indian Creek at
the ford and goes to Five Forks; it is largely impassable beyond the
Tate Place.

[Patton School]{.underline} The schoolhouse is pretty dilapidated but
still standing (1990). It is being used as a hay barn.

[Robert and Ada Patton]{.underline} The Pattons had no children, but an
old maid, Ann Patton, lived with them. She never lifted a hand to help
with anything. At age 11, Kester Wilson got sick at the Pattons from
eating too much watermelon. He hasn't eaten watermelon since. Bob Patton
was a pillar of the community. He lent money to people who were broke.
He lived to past 90.

The following houses are on the Bearwallow Run road, which goes from
Indian Creek to the Pullman Ridge.

[Tom Haines]{.underline} He was mentally defective and didn't know it.
He got happy at revival meetings and praised God. He lived in a
dilapidated house.

[Charlie and Louise Mulniks]{.underline} They had two sons and a girl.
One son, Carl, married a woman from the Middle East and moved to
California. His parents followed them west. The house is no longer
standing.

[Coleman Locke]{.underline} Either he deserted his wife and four sons,
or he was thrown out. Afterwards the family went to live with the
Cunninghams. Kester Wilson went to grade school with the sons: Spencer,
Glen, Fred, and Dale. Dale Lock married and went to Ohio, where he
worked. After a heart attack, he and his wife Nellie bought Arden and
Mittie's house on the Pullman Ridge (see above).

> **Farms Neighboring Okey and Alma Gallien**

This list goes upstream starting from the Mouth of Rush.

[Delbert Cole]{.underline} Delbert was killed when his tractor
overturned. His wife Mavis still farms the place with the help of her
daughter and son-in-law, Franklin Rastle.

[Henry Brannon]{.underline} Henry and his wife are long gone, but his
daughter still owns the farm, which the family uses as a vacation home.

[Wilmer Cole]{.underline} Wilmer and his wife died some twenty years
ago. His children, Juanita, Clarence, Maxwell, and Billy Cole use the
farm as a vacation home.

[Stanley Lowther]{.underline} This house is empty and run down.

[Grant Lowther]{.underline} The house is presently used as a hunting
lodge.

[Okay Gallien]{.underline} The house is owned the a corporation of the
Gallien family and is used as a vacation home. Currently Don Sleeth
farms the Gallien place.

[Joe and Lottie Spurgeon]{.underline} They died in the 1960s. The house
has changed hands several times and is now owned by the Dugans, who came
from near Baltimore.

[Schulte]{.underline} This small house was always owned by the
Spurgeons. It had been occupied by a woman who died in the 1930s. For
years it was vacant; it is gone now, and the Tate family has a mobile
home on the original site. The parents of Mr. Tate live in the George
Lowther house (see below).

[Andrew Hurst]{.underline} The Hursts had six children, Stokes, Sherman,
Jennings, Hugh, Ross, and Hattie. Stokes and Ross married and moved
away. Hattie married, but her husband was killed shortly afterwards.
Hugh obtained a Masters Degree in Chemistry; he taught at Doddridge High
School and later became principal. Sherman and Jennings took care of the
farm and never married. Jennings is still alive in 1990. Virgil, the
cook and caretaker, has lived there for 30 years.

[Eustice and Minnie Burton]{.underline} The Burtons had five children:
Ronzel, Buster, Leo, Pearl, and Leone. Buster was killed in World War
II. Leo left to work in the Wierton steel mills. Pearl was Edith's best
friend in grade school. They were also friends in high school, but Pearl
married early and ended up working in the laundry department at the
State Hospital in Weston. Only Ronzel stayed on the farm. He farmed the
Gallien place after Okey retired from farming. It seemed like he and his
wife Jean farmed half of Rush Fork during the 1960s. They were strong
and industrious; Jean helped in pitching hay and operating the tractors.
In those sexist days, her farm work was considered inappropriate or
scandalous by some. However, it should be added that Alma Gallien
sometimes also pitched hay and ran the raking machine. Ronzel died about
1980. He and Jean had no children, but Jean has a daughter, Connie, from
a previous marriage.

[George Lowther]{.underline} The Lowthers house was distinctive because
it was the only house on Rush that was always unpainted and the only
house on the east side of the road. They had three children. Roy and
daughter Vern lived there until the 1950s. The house, which for years
was vacant or rented out, was finally bought by the Tates.

[John and Kate Ruppert]{.underline} Kate Rastle Ruppert was Alma
Gallien's aunt. The Rupperts always had candy for the Gallien children.
When the Galliens needed thread or a cup of sugar, they would often
borrow from the Rupperts to save a trip to the store. The Rupperts had
six children: Roy, Harve, Rubin, Ed, Wallace, and Marie. Roy, Harve, and
Wallace were heavy drinkers.

Roy married and lived in Grove. His wife died of tuberculosis, and he
was later shot. Their daughter Maybelle held prominent secretarial
positions, and her son Mike has a large factory in Knoxville. The
Ruppert descendants maintain a cabin in Grove.

Harve and Wallace never married and stayed on the family farm. Harve
worked for Hope Gas. Later Jean and Ronzel Burton bought the Ruppert
house. Presently Jean's daughter Connie lives there with her two
teenagers, who are often seen racing up and down Rush.

Ed Ruppert married and moved to Grove, where he still lives. One of Ed's
sons, John, is a plumber. John has done plumbing for the Galliens, and
he also does car repairs.

Marie Ruppert married Lewis Lowther. Marie and Lewis had no children of
their own, but they raised the Sleeth kids (Randy and Rodney), whose
parents drank. Marie and Lewis had a farm on Route 18 and for a while
operated a store on Route 18. Lewis died. Marie owns the Sleeth garage,
a gas station and grocery on Route 18 at the junction of the Fallen
Timber road (between Leopold and the Mouth of Rush). Sleeth's garage,
which had fallen into disrepair, has been rehabilitated as a dive called
the R&R.

[George and Annie Smith]{.underline} The Smiths had four children: Harry
(see below), Paris, Gay, and Fay.

[Harry and Amy Smith]{.underline} Harry Smith, son of George and Annie
Smith, married Amy Gaston (Kester Wilson's cousin). They had one
daughter, Patricia, who married Carleton Matheny. The Mathenys live in
Charleston and frequently return to the family place, which their
children especially like.

[Conley Place]{.underline} At the Harry and Amy Smith house, the road
leaves Rush Run to ascend the Grove Hill. The Conley Place is located
off the road several hundred yards up Rush Run past the Harry Smith
Place. The many flowers in this valley memorialize Mrs. Conley's
fondness of gardening. Mrs. Conley died in the 1920s under mysterious
circumstances, and the family left Rush Fork. The old house burned
around this time. In the 1980s, the grandchildren built a nice vacation
house on the original site.

Families living in shacks near the Gallien farm before 1930:

[Reeds]{.underline} This family lived about 200 yards up the Ruppert
hollow near a spring. The Reeds sold their 125 acres to the Gamsjagers
except for half of the mineral rights. Okey Gallien paid \$20 for this
half royalty. Later a Reed descendant, Judge White in Charleston,
contested the royalty. Jennings Hurst testified on behalf of the
Galliens. The Gallien's attorney, Mr. Holland, died during this case,
and his son, Robert Holland Jr., took over the case and won.

[Boyces]{.underline} The Boyces lived in the next hollow down Rush
(south) from the Ruppert Hollow. The Boyce has was gone by 1920, but
traces of the old household, including dishes and glasses, remain. This
house was located at the edge of the Boyce Meadow, which has become
inaccessible to tractors and is growing up.

[Walls]{.underline} The Walls lived in the Wall Hollow. Their access to
the main road was behind the Wilmer Cole house. The house is long gone,
and the tract of land is now a mature forest. Old foundation stones on a
flat spot of ground mark the location of the old house.

[Rupperts]{.underline} John and Kate Ruppert originally lived at the
upper end of the Ruppert Hollow. This land, about 100 acres, is now
owned by the Sponaugles. The Galliens would like to buy this land, but
the Sponaugles are asking \$1000 per acre at a time when the going price
of such land is about \$200 per acre. The Rupperts used the house as a
hay barn until it was torn down about 1950. The Rupperts used a road
through the Gallien meadow to their land. The deed to this land provides
a right-of-way up the hollow along the south side.

Other Gallien neighbors:

In addition, the Galliens were friendly with several families on Bear
Fork: Clarence and Alphie Gaston Spurgeon (Alpha was Kester Wilson's
cousin), Sponaugles, Ed Ruppert. A Spurgeon still owns land on Bear Fork
and goes to St. Clara Lutheran Church. On Bear Fork, the order of houses
was: Lowther, Taylor, Schulte, Spurgeon, Ruppert, and Sponaugle.

The [Ralph Taylor]{.underline} farm abuts the Gallien farm on the east.
The Gallien children walked across the hill to the Taylor Place on Route
18 to catch the bus to high school in West Union. Until about 1960,
there was a well-worn path, but the way is now grown up. Ralph Taylor
married Frieda Cole. When she died, he remarried. He had four children.
His second wife died, but he is still living on the farm.

Other people important in the life of the Galliens:

[Icy Stutler]{.underline} Okey and Alma lived with Icy Stutler in West
Union for many years around 1960. Icey's son Fats Stutler now lives
across from the courthouse in West Union.

[Robert Holland]{.underline} (attorney) Mr. Holland represented the
Galliens on various court cases. His son, Robert Holland, Jr., has taken
over the practice.

[Cleo Yeater]{.underline} Okey and Alma rented the upstairs of Cleo's
house for several years around 1970. After Okey died and Alma became too
old to live alone, Hazel and Lucille moved Alma's belongings out of the
apartment and to the Rush farm. Cleo called and complained that they had
taken a skillet and two pillows that belonged to her. Hazel and Lucille
were pretty sure the items belonged to Alma but said that Cleo could
come and get them if she was sure they were hers. The next morning at
the farm while Hazel and Lucille were frying eggs in the skillet, Cleo
knocked at the door. After her husband Carl Yeater died, Cleo became
Mrs. Spencer and later (1990) senile.

[Mr. Holden]{.underline} He was repeatedly elected assessor of Doddridge
Co. Okey was his trusted Deputy Assessor. Mr. Holden's son is now
Sheriff of Doddridge Co.

[Rev. Maurer]{.underline} He is the pastor at the St. Clara Lutheran
Church.

> **Finding the Gamsjager Ancestral Home**
>
> **described in a letter written by Edith Gallien Wilson**
>
> Note: The location of the ancestral family home was found from a worn
> inscription on the gravestone of Maria Theresa Gamsjager (wife of
> Matthias). It reads "Zum Andenken unsrer Mutter geboren zu Goisern
> Oberösterreich".
>
> July 5, 1976
>
> Dear Family,

Kes and I thought you might enjoy hearing about some of the highlights
of our recent trip, and it may give you ideas about future trips.

The first phase of our trip was to Stockholm where Kes was attending an
ISO Meeting for a week. I joined him there on June 16, in time to attend
a lavish banquet and renew friendships of several years and particularly
from September 1975, when Kes hosted the group of approximately forty in
Washington, representing eleven countries.

We were in Stockholm when King Gustaf was married to Princess Silvia
Sommerlath from Germany. I stood outside the palace with many other
tourists until we saw both the King and the Princess come out at
separate times on the day before the wedding. Later in Stockholm, while
Kes attended meetings, I visited Skansen Island, their zoo and folk park
(Stockholm's show place), and saw the Vasa Ship which was a warship
pulled from the North Sea in l968 after being on the bottom of the sea
since the l600s.

Then we went directly to Vienna, Austria, and loved it from the start.
We stayed in a \"pension\" of a beautifully furnished old town house and
overlooking the Opera House and the large promenade area (no cars)
called The Kärtnerstrasse. It was a marvelous location and for five days
we went from early until late to see the sights. It was daylight until
11:00 p.m., so we never knew when to go to bed. We were within walking
distance of the famous Hofburg Palace, housing the beautiful life led by
the Hapsburg family, especially by Maria Theresia and Emperor Franz
Joseph I in the l700s. We could have spent several days there alone. The
Vienna Choir Boys and famous Lipizzan Horses and stables are in the
palace complex. Riding the streetcars, particularly on the Ring, was
easy with Kes asking questions in German, so we went to the wine
drinking tourist trap of Grinzing. There you wander from one singing,
drinking bar lounge to another, sampling their wine in each place. All
public buildings in Vienna are enormous and beautiful in baroque
architecture. We rode the world's largest Ferris wheel in the Prater
Park which was the King's old hunting ground.

Our decision to find Bad Goisern produced our most exciting adventure.
We took a 7 a.m. train from Vienna to Salzburg, rented a car, and with
maps, started the 50 mile drive through the most beautiful \"Sound of
Music\" country you can imagine. Bad Goisern (our family heritage) is a
small village in a valley surrounded by towering Austrian Alps. One look
made us wonder why our ancestors ever left. The place has one charming
old hotel - part of the hotel is over 600 years old. There are many
guest houses, for the place is now a resort. It was full of German
people on vacation. I'm sure there were other Americans, but we didn't
meet with any and had the feeling that this place was visited mostly by
Germans and Austrians. Hay season was on, and women were in the fields
around the village working in the hay, which seemed to be shocked and
hauled the same as in earlier days. Life seemed gentle, unchanged, and
everyone was friendly and helpful. A young student, whose parents were
in the hayfield and whose father brought him out of the house because he
could speak English, told us there were many Gamsjagers there and
directed us to a Matthias Gamsjager's grandson, who owned a shoe shop in
the village. With difficult chatting with the grandson's wife, we
determined that this was not our direct family line, although we could
see family resemblance. We were intrigued enough to wait until evening
though to see father Christian Gamsjager, age 66, who was out riding his
moped (two wheeler) all day with his wife. We found Christian later in
the evening in knee breeches, tanned, a shock of hair and looking like
he might be 45. He couldn't speak a word of English and Kes' German
didn't match his very well, so we didn't stay long. They did direct us
up in the mountain to another village where another group of Gamsjagers
lived.

The adorable Lutheran Church stood in the village surrounded by trees
and a cemetery, as it must have appeared when built around 1184. The
Pastor's home, located through a little walkway between two garden, was
built at the same time. Mr. and Mrs. Gerhard Richter, pastor and wife,
were most hospitable and took us in his study and pulled out huge old
record books listing births, deaths and marriages dating back before
1100. The names of Gamsjager, Krenn, Schmidt, Hinterer, etc., appeared
often, but since we had no valid statistics to look up, and we could see
it time consuming without more information, we didn't take more of the
pastor's time. The church had a spire, bell, rough hewn board stairs
leading to a balcony, a pretty old altar, and a wooden baptismal font.
The cemetery was the most unusual I've ever seen and exactly like the
Catholic church which we also visited. Each family has its own plot, all
in cement and the size of one grave. Each ten years the bones are mashed
down to make room for more bodies. Each evening or morning men and women
appear to walk to the cemetery and weed and water the flowers for their
family plot. It is a perfectly groomed cemetery, full of flowers. We
felt we weren't ready to leave when evening came, so we checked into a
guest house, without luggage, and the next morning took some pictures,
copied down all the familiar names in the cemetery and left, vowing to
come back again soon.

Then the long ride by car and train back to Vienna, where we checked out
of our \"pension\" and went to Dublin, Ireland. The Irish were such a
contrast from the clean lovely country we had just come from. However,
the Irish were just as friendly and we found later, their country just
as beautiful. We worked our way, driving on the left side of the road to
Limerick, Waterford (toured the Waterford Glass Factory) and on to Cork,
visiting castles all the way. We attended a fabulous banquet at Bunratty
Castle built in the 1100s. The banquet was a replica of a 1100 feast
with Lords and Ladies, and we were made to feel like a visiting Lord.
All food was drunk or eaten with fingers except for a knife. There was
entertainment of Irish music, the harp, or readings all the time. The
most beautiful spot in Ireland for us was Glengariff on Bantry Bay where
we stayed in a castle and visited with our friends, the Nagels, who have
a house and terraced gardens covering a rock peninsula overlooking
Bantry Bay. A real dream place.

At Blarney, near Cork, we climbed to the top of Blarney Castle to kiss
the Blarney Stone. Driving north toward Shannon, we drove through
mountains and sheep country which had unbelievable scenery, passed
through Adare with its thatched roofs and Adare Manor, reputed to be the
prettiest village in Ireland; thence to Shannon and home TWA, New York
and Dulles.

**Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary**

Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named Kes

A poor country boy with no finesse

He left the farm to give city life a try

Went to work for the FBI

The Feds, secret agents

He lived in a boarding house in DC cit

There he met a girl who was smaret and pretty

She was Edith, the secretary

He had found the girl he was going to marry

He didn't know what he was getting into

One night at dinner they were having a chat

Edith was talking 'bout this and that

Kes asked Edith just where she was from

Fine'lly she admitted she was from Rush Run

West Virginia that is, . . . hill billy country

They went on a honeymoon and Kes found out

What this marriage would be all about

Wen to breakfast on the very first day

Looked at each other in that honeymoon way

OOOOOOO

xxxxxx

At dinner one evening with all the children and grandchildren, Edith was
sitting near Toji, while Anna was at the other end of the table next to
Kes. Toji was talking about the things he had done, and Edith was
exclaiming how wonderful he was. Anna suddenly burst into tears, saying
"Grandma just likes Toji, and I'm stuck down here with Grandpa."

**Amy Smith's Wedding and Honeymoon**

Today is September 8, 1987. We are going to listen to my cousin, Amy
Gaston Smith, tell about her wedding, which took place on June 23, 1927.

"Aunt Orpha had taken me to Parkersburg and helped me pick out my
wedding clothes. So I had those all ready. On the Sunday evening before
we were married (I can't remember now which day of the week we were
married on), he (Harry) came over. He came up Sunday noon, and he had
somehow got a piece of steel in his eye. It hurt him terribly, and he
didn't want to talk very much. But I had for a week been collecting
pieces of furniture. I mean, going through the catalog picking out
pictures of furniture I liked, and I had them all fastened together for
when we went to Baltimore to Montgomery Ward. Well, his grandfather had
suggested that he buy and pick out our furniture. For thirty years
before that, he had been a merchant and had a license to buy furniture.
You know how a person feels to let someone else pick out your furniture,
and he was going to order it from someplace over in Ohio. So we argued
about it back and forth, and he wouldn't talk very much and kept his
eyes shut, for his eye hurt and you know how it is with a piece of steel
in your eye. We didn't do too much talking, but he stuck right to it and
thought his mother should go ahead and have his grandfather pick out and
order our furniture.

"It was 2:00 when he left that night. It was the latest he had ever
stayed. Aunt Hattie always managed to know how long the boys had stayed,
and before noon the next day, she had told someone in the family on the
telephone about it. She should have known that on a party line, everyone
at Grove and over on Rush could hear. But she had to tell us about it.
Well, she didn't have to worry, for we had other matters on our mind.

"Well, I didn't sleep much that night. By morning I had decided that if
I had to let somebody else pick out my furniture, it could be picked out
for somebody else! So I called at his home the next morning before noon
and told him not to mail in the order that had the furniture on, but she
(his mother) said it had already been mailed. But she would call the
post office and tell them not to mail it. So, I told her I wanted to
talk to Harry in the next day or two. I think it was on Monday evening
she (Harry's mother) wanted to come to the store at Summers anyhow to
get some things. So, they came on up and that was the first time she had
been in our home. So, his eye wasn't bothering him, and everything was
okay. So, I just told him I wanted to pick my furniture out myself. He
never did know or realize just how near I came to calling the whole
thing off.

"So on the morning of our wedding, the 23rd of June, he came to pick me
up. My mother came out and had a basket of food she and Velma had fixed
for our wedding dinner. Mother had been crying and she said to Harry,
"Now I want you to be good to her. she is a good girl." Well, that just
sent him for a loop. I began to think he was going to back out. he just
sat there slumped up and didn't have anything to say for a good bit.
Finally, I said, we had better be going, for we had a long way to go on
the bad roads.

"We got about half way down to aunt Hattie's house and hung up in a mud
hole. That wasn't unusual for the 23rd of June, for there wasn't
anything but dirt roads in that part of the country.

"It was that way all the way to West Union except for about a mile close
to West Union where a member of the count court had a hard road built
out to his home. Harry had to get out and use his hands to bail water
out of the mud hole and use his hands to gather rocks to fill up the
hole. He did have a can, but of course, he had to have that to use to
fill up the radiator of the new car when he picked it up. I didn't say
that he had already bought a new Dodge car, and we were going to pick up
the new car when we got to West Union.

"So, when we got to West Union, we had to pick up the new car. Then he
had to get a new shirt and some socks, for he didn't get into town very
often. He went about doing errands, and I had some errands to do. Then
we started to the hilltop where the minister lived. He was Reverend
Doddrill."

"Harry forgot that in the meantime he had to change his clothes. So we
would go to a distant cousin of his who lived in West Union, Susie and
Cecil Stutler. You couldn't wear your good clothes to town over the
muddy roads. So we just walked in on then unannounced. They made us most
welcome. In the meantime, he had forgotten to bring up his new socks
which matched his blue suit. So he had to leave his others on. He had
also forgotten that his mother always put a little tuck on each side of
his collar, for you couldn't buy certain length sleeves then. And in
order to get the sleeves long enough, he had to buy an extra size shirt.
So he had to keep the same shirt on--the same one he bailed the mud out
with. He just put the new collar on over that."

"So we got to the minister's about a half an hour late. I knew we were
going to be late with all that hang-up business and all the other things
going on. He had miscalculated the time. After we were married, we sat
there and talked a little while. Everything was all right when he stood
up, but when he sat down, there was that hole in his old socks. He tried
to keep his feet crossed to cover up the hole, but that was embarrassing
to me. I noticed the hole, and I expect the others did too. We then bade
them good-bye and started on our trip.

"This was about three days after Flag Day on June 14, so every place we
went they were playing the Star Spangled Banner and had flags flying. We
had a good bit of fun over that and said they were doing it in our
honor. We drove along a good while, maybe beyond Salem, I just can't
remember, and stopped to eat our lunch that Mother and Velma had
prepared. We spread out a luncheon cloth on the grass, and Velma or
Mother had baked us a little wedding cake. It wasn't more than six
inches across, but it was layered and iced. You couldn't take more food
with you than you could eat in a day, for there was no such thing as
refrigeration. I just remember that we had that cake and fried chicken.
We had enough for that meal and that evening. Then we continued on our
way to our destination, which was Washington, D. C. and other points
east.

"Meantime, I remember that that new Dodge car couldn't be driven more
than so many miles per hour, and no car went very fast in those days. So
we drove on and got on top of Backbone Mountain. We had eaten the rest
of our food some place along the way, for we couldn't save any over
until the next day, and it was getting late in the evening when we got
to this inn where we were going to spend the night. I can't remember the
name, but it was so beautiful, and I can remember just range on range of
mountains and it was evening and the mist was hanging over. I just
remember how much mist was hanging all over the mountains, and it was a
beautiful sight to see. Well, we'll leave the rest of the evening
covered with mist too.

"The next morning I remember there were two ladies at the inn, and there
was a cook making pancakes. I just remember how many pancakes the size
of a saucer that woman ate. The cook just kept making pancakes. She was
remarkable she ate so many. We started then and drove along and I
remember on the side of one of the mountains there was a spring-like
place and a pipe with lots of water flowing out of it. Of course, people
needed a place to fill their radiators for climbing those steep
mountains. It seems like there was a shelter built over it, and maybe
there was a place where there were performances where people held
dances, or maybe I'm mixing it up with somewhere else.

"While I was telling about the muddy roads, I meant to tell about why we
were being married by Reverend Doddrill instead of Harry's minister, who
lived about three miles from my home, or my minister, who lived over in
Ritchie County somewhere. I had known Reverend Doddrill for about two
years. I had been secretary of the Sunday School Convention, and he had
been district superintendent and the county president. I had known him
in both of these offices, and the last one I attended was in Southwest
District. I somehow thought we would be in good hands if he performed
the ceremony because of something that happened as we came home from the
last convention.

"We were coming down this steep hill near Dave Flick's home when the car
Velma was driving, a Model T Ford, climbed a steep bank. For the tie rod
had broken, and we went through a fence and were headed straight down.
Velma got down on the floor and, with her hand, held the brake some way,
and a bush helped stop it too. There we were all hanging over the hill,
and she held it until we all climbed out. Reverend Doddrill was in his
car behind us, and somehow I felt that him being right there with us had
something to do with the miracle that saved us from going over the hill.
Also, when we were at the County Teacher's Institute, he was there, and
I had to tell about our school and the hot lunch we served. We were
about the first school to serve a hot lunch, and Reverend Doddrill said
he would like to go to that school. I had to backtrack to tell about
Reverend Doddrill.

"When we got to Washington, we had a lot of sightseeing to do. Harry had
been there twice before, but I had never been there. We couldn't get to
Mt. Vernon, for there was something going on. We went to lots of places
-- the Congressional Library, which I thought was some place. I always
did like books. We went to the Lincoln Memorial and lots of places. They
all made an impression on me. We climbed up to the Washington Monument
-- I can't remember how many steps, but there were many. I can't tell
everything, for it would take too long.

"Then we went to Baltimore and to Montgomery Ward Store, for we were
going to buy part of our furniture there. I didn't have to use all the
clippings I had, for when we got there, they were having a sale getting
ready for the fall furniture. So, we got a davenport and two chairs for
less than we thought we would have to pay for a davenport and one chair.
We bought a kitchen cabinet, which I still have, and a metal top table
and chairs. We also bought a bedroom suite and a rocker to match and
several other things, all of which were to be shipped while we were on
our trip.

"We went on with our trip toward Atlantic City. We were crossing the
Delaware River just at sunset. We were on a ferry. the sky was so rosy,
and it was something I will never forget as we crossed the river where
it was about a mile wide. We stayed at an inn that night not too far
from where we crossed the river. The woman at the inn was very kind to
us and talked to us a lot. I can't think of her name, but her husband
thought her name fitted her disposition well, for she was very lively.

"We went along then and got to Atlantic City sometime that day. We
walked along the boardwalk a lot, and it was very tiresome, but Harry
was not going to be caught riding in one of those sedan chairs and
certainly not in daylight. He said it looked too much like you were
riding in a baby carriage. But long towards evening, he relented, and we
hired a sedan chair. It cost maybe a dollar an hour, and the man rode us
all along the boardwalk, which seemed like miles. The boardwalk was
lined with stores with the most beautiful furniture and crystal. It was
the prettiest I had ever seen then or since, growing up where I did.
They even had gold chairs, which I thought was pretty unusual. I think
Harry really enjoyed that.

"Our hotel was right on the boardwalk, and we could see right down to
the ocean and feel that nice ocean breeze. The next day we started out
to see sights, and we walked out on what I think was called the Million
Dollar Pier. There were several of them, and I read a few years later
where the one we were on burned down. We walked along and came to where
some children were singing and putting on a program. There was dancing
and lots of shops. We walked on out to the end of the pier. Harry
couldn't understand why none of the men were wearing hats, for at home
men always wore hats. Harry pulled his Panama sailor hat down over the
side of his head where the wind was blowing, and we got to the end of
the pier. He forgot when we turned to come back that the wind would
change. So his hat was on the side of his head, and it blew off and just
floated down in the ocean, bobbing around like a little boat. His brand
new wedding hat was gone. He had paid \$5.00 for it, and no one at home
ever got to see it. Fortunately, he had his last year's straw hat with a
straight brim with him, for he needed a hat.

"Then we started home. I can't remember if we stayed more than one night
in Atlantic City. Fortunately, the steel in his eye had not bothered him
the whole time we were on our trip, but when we started home, it began
to bother him and made it difficult for him to drive. It was a misery
for him to drive back as far as Clarksburg. It was a Saturday, but as
soon as we got there, he hunted up an eye surgeon. It was a simple
procedure for the doctor to remove the steel. He held a magnet to the
eye, and it came right out. It didn't hurt any more after that. After
that was done, we hunted up Palais Royal Furniture Store to get a dining
room suite. This is the one we still have and have used it all these
years.

"Well, this was Saturday afternoon, and they (his parents) weren't
expecting us to come in until Sunday, so we stayed on in Clarksburg. We
wouldn't have been back that early if it hadn't been for his eye. We
left Sunday morning so we would get there by eleven o'clock, for
everyone was gathering in for us to come home. Everything went fine
until we got across the Grove Hill and was on the level ground. And then
Paris Smith, Roy Ruppert, and some of his brothers had built a fence
across the road. Since Harry owned the property along that part of the
road there, he just laid down a fence and drove down through his field.
It was pretty tricky, and he did bang one of his new fenders up pretty
lively. We did manage to drive down, cross the creek once and then we
got to level ground. Then we crossed the creek again, and we got into
the barn lot and crossed the creek again. Then he got out to open the
gate, and Roy Ruppert tried to get the car keys, but I managed to hold
on to them, and we drove through the gate and then didn't have very far
to walk.

"People came out and began throwing rice. I tried to warn them about
Harry's eye, that he had a very sore eye, but they didn't even listen.
Luckily, he didn't have any trouble with that. There was a big crowd
there for dinner that day. The next Sunday we were supposed to be at my
home for dinner. We went and took his parents and his brother and
sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law. Roy said he had never eaten such a
big dinner. That about winds up our wedding trip.

"We still couldn't move in our house for a while, for that new bedstead,
when it did come, had the headboard busted, so that had to be fixed. We
stayed down at Harry's home for a few days until all the furniture came
and we got it all moved in. I had everything that I would need in the
kitchen. I had two sets of dishes and everything I needed to cook with.
Willy Cigins and his wife from Texas were there while we were still
there, and she said, 'Well, it was a long time before we had all the
things that you have to move in with.' We gave up our room while they
were there and just took our mattress and put on the floor in our own
home. We decided it wasn't bad sleeping on the floor, so we just slept
up there until we got all our furniture in.

"So, that was that. I can't say we lived happily ever after, but we
lived happily -- well, everybody has a little \... argument, but who
doesn't accept that."

**Excerpts from Barr Wilson's History**

Barr Wilson has amassed a large volume of information about the Wilson
family. He has compiled much of this material into a book, entitled
*Descendants of John Wilson, 1756-1827 (Brother of Colonel Benjamin)*,
published by McClain Printing Company in Parsons, West Virginia in 1975
(now out of print). This book covers the Wilson side of our family in
great detail and is written from the point of view of a scholar,
historian and genealogist. Barr Wilson presents information from
original sources and whenever appropriate judges the validity of the
material.

Note that Barr Wilson's History is well-indexed. The "general index" is
on page IV in the front of the book. This is primarily an index of
indexes for various branches of the family. The index of descendants of
Archibald Wilson is found on pages 89--101. This index illustrates the
variability in generation spacing. Whereas Arden Wilson's descendants
were not to begin generation XXIII for another ten years, other branches
of the family were well into generation XXIV by 1975. These differences
in generation spacing reflect birth order and the age of parents during
childbearing years.

The following parts of the book that pertain to our family (those marked
by an asterisk are included here, at least in part):

Early ancestors, including John Wilson and Mary Warthen, pp. 1-36; 444

Archibald J. Wilson (1801-1866), pp. 37-46\*

John Marshall (Squire) Wilson, pp. 101-109\*

Descendants of Squire Wilson, pp. 109-176

Descendants of Mary Jane Nay and William Martin Wilson, pp. 125-132\*

Other early ancestors, p. 366 and following

Family of Elizabeth Blackburn (wife of William Wilson), pp. 374--375

Family of Mary Warthen (wife of John Wilson), pp. 377--385

Hudkins, Ingram, and Slaven families (ancestors of Elizabeth Hudkins,
wife of Archibald J. Wilson), pp. 387-405

Families of Millie Amos and Elijah Clayton (ancestors of Rebecca Jane
Clayton, wife of Squire Wilson), pp. 440-443\*

The following excerpt (condensed from pages 37--46) describes Archibald
J. Wilson:

2\. ARCHIBALD J. WILSON (XVII-68), 1801 -- 1866

Archibald J. Wilson was born Jan. 10, 1801 at Beverly in Randolph Co.,
VA.

In 1817, Archibald Wilson, with his father John Wilson, were witnesses
to the will of Abraham Ingram \[the maternal grandfather of Naomi
Ingram, Archibald's future wife\]. This was on Hacker's Run, about three
miles below Philippi. The sheriff of Harrison Co, VA sold land belonging
to Moses Thompson. Archibald Wilson bought this land. When Moses
Thompson made him a deed, Mary Wilson and Blackburn Wilson, his mother
and brother, were witnesses to the deed. This land was on Fox Grape Run,
a branch of Hacker's Run.

Archibald Wilson married Elizabeth Hudkins on July 27, 1826. He was 26
years of age at the time of the marriage. Most young men at this early
time were married by the age of 20 years. It may be that John Wilson,
father of Archibald, was physically handicapped and Archibald had to
remain at home to help the family make a living.

Elizabeth Hudkins was born in Randolph Co. on Oct. 27, 1809. She was the
daughter of Barton Hudkins and Naomi Ingram.

Barton Hudkins was the son of Bennett Hudkins and Nancy Anglin.

Naomi Ingram was the daughter of Abraham Ingram and Elizabeth Slaven.
Elizabeth Slaven was the daughter of John Slaven Sr. and Elizabeth
Stuart.

Archibald Wilson sold this land on Fox Grape Run in 1828. In 1828 he
bought land in what is now Ritchie Co. from a Mr. Lowther.

He removed to this land in 1828. This is the Charley Broadwater farm
near Oxford, Ritchie Co.

Miss Minnie Kendall Lowther wrote in the Parkersburg News in 1943: "The
Wilsons have not only been one of the outstanding families of
Wood-Ritchie, but of the state. Few realize the large part that they
have played in our history. It was Archibald and his wife, Elizabeth
Hudkins Wilson, who set the line going in this section of the State when
they removed from Taylor Co. to what is now the Broadwater farm, near
Oxford in 1828. When our grandparents, Archibald and Charlotte Willard
Lowther, removed as the first settlers of Holbrook six years later, they
and the Wilsons were neighbors in the wilderness, and the friendship
formed then lasted throughout the years and has extended somewhat to
their posterity. Grandmother always referred to them as "Uncle Archie"
and "Aunt Betty". By and by the Wilsons removed to the Pennsboro
vicinity where they were destined to rest."

"Archibald Wilson's ability became one of the strong forces in the
development of Ritchie Co. He taught school, was its first County
surveyor, was a member of the first Constitutional Convention of the
State, and was the first to suggest that the Counties be divided into
Districts for educational purposes, and was the author of the resolution
making such provisions, which, somewhat altered, became part of the
constitution. All the years the Wilsons have figured in educational
matters."

In the year 1838 Archibald Wilson and his family removed from Oxford to
the mouth of Lynn Camp. An incident to the moving as related by a
grandson, "Dick" Wilson of Cairo: "My grandfather Lowther started
working for Grandpa Wilson when he was a very young man. When Grandpa
Wilson moved from Oxford to the Taylor farm, Grandpa Lowther was helping
him move. Grandpa Lowther was on a horse carrying "THE POT OF FIRE" and
had one of Grandpa Wilson's daughters on the horse. A turkey scared the
horse, the horse jumped. Grandpa Lowther had to throw the fire to save
the baby."

They resided where Paul Headley now lives (1975). There is an old
graveyard close to the house. The exact location is not known or the
names of any persons buried there. There are colored people buried
there.

From the earliest times, the main road from the Toll Gate vicinity to
the Harrisville vicinity went down Hughes River. Archibald Wilson's
residence was on this road. They probably served meals to travelers and
kept them overnight.

This road figures in several entries in the Court Order Books. \[Several
documents are presented showing the election of Archibald Wilson as
Surveyor of Ritchie County, demonstration of a certificate of his
qualifications as a surveyor, evidence that he had secured a \$3000
performance bond, and numerous details regarding the surveying,
construction, and maintenance of roads.

\[The 1850 Census shows Archibald J. Wilson, a farmer aged 49 years with
the following family members and their ages: Elizabeth (40), John M.
(22), Basil (20), Horatio N. (18), Barton (16), Leroy (15), Evaline
(14), Temperence J. (11), Love Ann (9), Sarah E. (7), Archibald B. (5),
Winfield S. (3), Josephine (1), and Mary (70). Mary was born in
Maryland, and the rest were born in Virginia. Note by WKW---The age and
birthplace fit Archibald's mother, Mary Warthen. The 1860 Census shows
Archibald J. Wilson, aged 59, with real estate of \$20,792 and a
personal estate of \$4,968 and the following family members: Elizabeth
(50), Bazzel (21 \[error, should be 30\]), Leroy P. (25), Evaline (23),
Temperence (21), Love Ann (19), Sarah E. (17), Archibald B. (5),
Winfield S. (12), Josephine (10).

FROM HARDESTY'S ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF RITCHIE AND DODDRIDGE COUNTIES ---
PUBLISHED 1883:

Archibald Wilson---Deceased---Who was born Jan. 10, 1801 in Randolph Co.
\[now\] W. Va. Was one of the first, what is now Ritchie Co., W.Va.,
settling here when neighbors were 8 or 10 miles apart. He died Sept. 24,
1866. He owned 5000 acres of land, which at his death was divided among
his heirs. He served 12 years in the County as surveyor of lands. In
Randolph Co., Oct. 27, 1809 was born Elizabeth Hudkins, who on the 27th
day of July 1826 became the wife of Archibald Wilson. John and Mary
Wilson were his parents, and his wife was a daughter of Barton and Naomi
Hudkins. Twelve children were born to Mr. and Mrs. Wilson: John M.
\[John Marshall\] Sept. 27, 1827, lives in Pennsboro, this Co.; B. H.
\[Basil Hudkins\] June 19, 1829, lives in Pennsboro, this Co.; Horatio
\[Horatio Nelson\] July 2, 1831, lives in this Co.; Barton H. \[Barton
Hudkins\] Feb. 23, 1833; Leroy P. \[Dump\] Sept. 18, 1834; Evaline, Aug.
9, 1836, these three living near Pennsboro; Temperence J. Dec. 14, 1838,
res. in Smithville, this Co.; Lovean \[Love Ann\] Oct. 18, 1840, lives
on Bone Creek, this Co.; Sarah E. \[Sarah Elizabeth\] April 25, 1841 and
Archibald \[Archibald Blackburn\] Aug. 18, 1843, lives in Pennsboro.
Winfield Scott, Oct. 22, 1847, lives in Colorado City, Texas. Josephine
\[Josephine Jackson\] Aug. 14, 1849, lives in Pennsboro, Rit. Co., W.
Va. \[Note to the above---The will of Archibald Wilson lists 2555 acres
of land plus some acreage, not given to be sold to settle the estate.\]

FROM HISTORY OF RITCHIE COUNTY---PUBLISHED 1911 by MINNIE KENDALL
LOWTHER

THE WILSONS: The year 1828 brought Archibald Wilson with his family from
Harrison (now Taylor) Co. to the Broadwater farm near Oxford.

Mr. Wilson was a native of Randolph Co., he having been born near
Beverly in 1801. Near the year 1825 he was married to Miss Elizabeth
Hudkins, a daughter of Barton Hudkins of Simpson's Creek, Taylor Co.;
and after spending the first years of their married life there, he came
to Oxford, and ten years later changed his place of residence to the
Edmund Taylor farm at the mouth of Lynn Camp, on the North Fork of the
Hughes River, where his life came to a close in 1866.

His remains filled the first grave that was made in the U. B. Cemetery
at Pennsboro, he having been interested in the erection of the Church at
the time of his death.

He was a man of marked ability, and one of the prominent citizens of his
day in State affairs. He was a school teacher and was the first Co.
Surveyor. He served as a member of the first Constitutional Convention
of the State, and was the first individual to suggest that the Counties
should be divided into Districts for educational purposes; and was the
author of the resolution making such provisions, which though, somewhat
altered, became a clause of the Constitution.

His wife died in 1892, at the age of 83 years and was laid by his side.

Their children were as follows:

Mrs. Temperence T.W.) Ireland, Morgantown; Mrs. Josephine (Jesse)
Hammond, Portsmouth, OH; W.S. Wilson, Texas; Mrs. Evaline (Smith) Bee,
Mrs. Love (Alex) Prunty, the late Mrs. Elizabeth (C. M.) Collins; J. M.,
Basil H., the late H. N., A. B., Barton H., and L. P., all of the Co.
The last four have passed on.

FIRST CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION OF WEST VIRGINIA MET AT WHEELING,
NOVEMBER 26, 1861.

ARCHIBALD WILSON WAS A DELEGATE FROM RITCHIE COUNTY.

FROM MOORE'S HISTORY OF HARDY COUNTY, PAGES 86 AND 87:

On Dec. 6, 1861, A. J. Wilson, delegate of Ritchie Co. (near the Ohio
River), native of Randolph Co. (the western neighbor of Hardy),
introduced the following resolution: "That it shall be the duty of the
Legislature of this state to make suitable provisions to district and
lay off the Counties of this Commonwealth in School Districts for free
schools, to be supported by such portions of the literary fund of the
state of Virginia as the states may be entitled to. All moneys accruing
to the state by fines---and all moneys accruing to the state from
confiscation of property of Rebels residing within the boundaries of
this state and two thirds of the Capitation tax---shall be applied to
the establishment and support of public free schools.

FROM HISTORY OF RITCHIE COUNTY by MINNIE KENDALL LOWTHER

CHURCHES: The first church (United Brethern) came in 1866 with Mrs. E.
D. Martin, Philip Sigler, Morris Bradford, C. R. Brown, A. C. Barnard,
and J. M. (John Marshall) Wilson donors of the grounds. Mrs. Martin
giving the site for the church and the rest for the Cemetery. \[From the
chapter on Pennsboro. Mrs. Edith Davidson Wilson Martin was a daughter
of Colonel Benjamin Wilson.\]

Archibald Wilson died Sept. 24, 1866. His remains filled the first grave
in the U. B Cemetery at Pennsboro.

This inscription is on his tombstone:

ARCHIBALD J. WILSON, DIED SEPTEMBER 24, 1866, AGE 65 YEARS, 8 MONTHS, 14
DAYS

WILL BOOK NO. 1, RITCHIE COUNTY, 1843--1883, PAGE 446

A. J. WILSON, LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT\
I, Archibald J. Wilson of the County of Ritchie and State of West
Virginia being of sound mind and understanding do make this my last will
and testament as follows---First I will and bequeath to my dear wife
Elizabeth Wilson my dwelling house with household and other furniture
and as much of my home farm as \[illegible\] to use during her natural
life and one Bey Colt and all other personal property on the farm not
herein after provided for. Second, I will and bequeath to my sons
Archibald Blackburn Wilson and Winfield Scott Wilson my home farm at
their mother's death together with all land owned by me adjoining it
except about 250 two hundred and fifty acres lying on Buzzards Run which
I will and bequeath to my son Barton H. Wilson embracing all land owned
by me southeast of a straight line running from a White Oak tree
standing on top of a ridge between Beason and Buzzards Run a corner to
lands of William Elder. Third, I will and bequeath each to my sons Basil
H. Wilson and Leroy P. Wilson the following tracts of land, one situated
on Collins Run containing 300 acres and one tract situated on Bunnels
Run containing 100 acres. Fourth, I will and bequeath to my daughters
Eveline Bee and Josephine Wilson one tract of land situated on Beason
Run containing 400 acres. Fifth, I will and bequeath to my daughter
Temperence Jane Ireland and Love Ann Prunty one tract of land on
Leatherbark containing 900 acres. Sixth, I will and bequeath to my son
Horatio N. Wilson and my daughter Sarah E. Wilson one tract of land
situated on Straight Fork of Spruce Creek containing 535 acres. Seventh,
I will and bequeath to my son John. M. Wilson the following tracts of
land, one tract situated on Slab Creek containing 70 acres and the west
end of a tract lying between lands of John \[Csops?\] and lands of E.
Taylor as far as the top of the river hill, also my interest in a tract
of land known as the Jarvis land. Eighth, I will and bequeath to my
daughters Sarah E. Wilson and Josephine Wilson two yearling colts and
also at their mother's death my household and kitchen furniture and they
are furthermore to have a home and support of the home farm as long as
they remain single in life. I hereby appoint J. M. Wilson and H. N.
Wilson as executors to settle my estate and they are hereby authorized
to sell all real estate not herein otherwise disposed of or so much of
them as will settle all debts against the estate also by one Bey Horse
and three head of steer cattle and the balance of my sheep after leaving
twenty head on the farm. If any lands should be lost on account of
deficiency in the title, the heirs all are to sustain an equal loss.
Eleventh, all property personal and real, to be sold at private sale, by
the executors. Given under my hand the 12th day of September, 1866.

Teste---Blackburn Wilson Simon Davis A. J. Wilson

We, the undersigned except and receive this as the last will and
testament of our father.

J. M. Wilson

Bassel H. Wilson

H. N. Wilson

W. S. Wilson

A. B. Wilson

Evaline Wilson

T. J. Ireland

Josephine Wilson

Sarah E. Wilson

Barton H. Wilson

Leroy P. Wilson

Love Ann Prunty

Teste---

Blackburn Wilson

H. W. Ireland

State of West Virginia, Ritchie County Records Office, Oct. 9, 1866. The
last will and testament of A. J. Wilson, deceased, was this day produced
before me in my office and there being no objection of the probity of
said will. Thereupon Blackburn Wilson and Simon Davis the subscribing
witnesses thereto duly appeared before me in my office and being sworn
fully proved said will thereupon said will is fully admitted to probate.

James McKinney Recorder

of Ritchie County, W. Va.

I, James McKinney, recorder of Ritchie County in the State aforesaid do
certify that the foregoing is a true copy of the last will and testament
of A. J. Wilson, decd. together with the order thereto annexed duly
admitted to record this 19th day of October 1866.

Blackburn Wilson was a brother of Archibald Wilson. Simon Davis was the
brother-in-law of Archibald Wilson, both having married sisters (Edith
Hudkins and Elizabeth Hudkins).

Elizabeth Hudkins Wilson died July 18, 1892. She is buried in the U. B.
Cemetery at Pennsboro, WV. The following inscription is on her
tombstone:

ELIZABETH WILSON, BORN OCTOBER 27, 1809, DIED JULY 18, 1892

They were the parents of twelve children:

1\. John Marshall (Squire) Wilson (XVIII-291)

2\. Basil H. Wilson (XVIII-292)

3\. Horatio Nelson Wilson (XVIII-293)

4\. Barton Hudkins (Bail) Wilson (XVIII-294)

5\. Leroy P. (Dump) Wilson (XVIII-295)

6\. Eveline Wilson (XVIII-296)

7\. Temperence Jane Wilson (XVIII-297)

8\. Love Ann Wilson (XVIII-298)

9\. Sarah Elizabeth (Siss) Wilson (XVIII-299)

10\. Archibald Blackburn (Dick) Wilson (XVIII-300)

11\. Winfield Scott Wilson (XVIII-301)

12\. Josephine Jackson Wilson (XVIII-302) .

The following excerpt (pages 101-109) describes John Marshall Wilson:

JOHN MARSHALL (SQUIRE) WILSON (XVIII-291), 1827-1916

John Marshall Wilson was born September 16, 1827. He is supposed to have
been born on Simpson's Creek in Taylor County. Later information points
to his having been born on Fox Grape Run, two or three miles below
Philippi, in what was then Harrison County, but now is Barbour County.
He was the only child not born in present-day Ritchie County.

In later life he was known by the name of "Squire."

On August 20, 1850, he married Rebecca Jane Clayton, a daughter of
Elijah Clayton and Millie Amos of White Oak. Rebecca Jane Clayton was
born September 16, 1833 in Marion County.

Elijah Clayton was a very religious man and would not let Rebecca marry
John Marshall Wilson. So, John Marshall joined the church and became a
very devoted member until after the wedding.

They probably had only three different residences. The first residence
was near the Wilson Cemetery (the McDougal Farm) on Beason. They then
moved to Spring Run, where Joe Wilson now lives (1975). Before 1900 they
moved to Pennsboro and resided there until their deaths.

From the 1860 census of Ritchie County: John M. Wilson 33; Rebecca J.
26; Sherman V. 8; Leman C. 7; Quincy K. 5; Wm. M. 4; Alpha 2; and
Lincoln 4 1/2.

FROM THE HISTORY OF RITCHIE COUNTY (published in 1911):

> John Marshall Wilson, brother of LeRoy P. (Dump), is one of the oldest
> as well as one of the most prominent citizens of the town of
> Pennsboro.
>
> He stepped upon the 'Battle Field of Life' on September 16, 1827, and
> at the age of 24 years claimed Miss Rebecca Clayton, daughter of
> Elijah Clayton, as his bride; and for almost 60 years he has been a
> thrifty farmer of the Pennsboro vicinity; he having resided on the
> homestead now owned by his son Alpheus, and on the McDougal farm
> before removing to the outskirts of town, and he is a large landowner.
>
> His children, all of whom grew to years of maturity and married, were
> twelve in number: Sherman, Quincy A., and Josephine (Mrs. Howard
> Broadwater) have all passed on. Lehman, William, Ben F., Lincoln,
> John, Hooker, Creed, and Ingaby, who is Mrs. John McDougal, all belong
> to this part of the county, and all are heads of intelligent families.

The Wilson Cemetery on Beason is located on the McDougal Farm.

John Marshall Wilson was a trader in lands and loaned money. If one was
a good risk, it was easy to borrow from him. If one was not a good risk,
no money was to be had. He would be "very hard up" and be desperately in
need of money. Then he (John Marshall) would try and borrow money from
the would-be borrower.

The coming of the banks in the 1890s and early 1900s upset him very
much. He had no use for the banks and was very mad at them.

Louie Foster made her home with him. In his older days he kept his money
in a safe in the kitchen. when he made a loan, Louie would open the safe
and count out the money. She was the treasurer.

Rebecca Jane Wilson carded the flax, spun the wool, and made clothes for
all twelve children. The family, except for salt, sugar, and coffee, was
almost self-sufficient.

Everyone was welcome and were always asked to eat. Many preachers made a
point of stopping here and trying to convert John Marshall. They always
ate a good meal before making their "pitch."

Mrs. Judd H. Dresbach (XX-2137) wrote the following in January 1970:

> I am the only daughter of Fonton Bee, son of Evelyn Wilson Bee, sister
> of your grandfather, Marshall Wilson, and have lived in Ohio since
> 1901. I spent almost the entire summer of 1914 visiting my
> grandmother, who lived with Mrs. James Foley's parents, Mollie Bee and
> Luther Shafer in Pennsboro. There was something of a 'gathering of the
> clan' that summer and Uncle Marsh's home was headquarters. Our great
> aunts, Love Prunty and 'Ciss' Collins, were still living in Pennsboro
> (she is mistaken, 'Ciss' Collins died in 1908). Aunt Temperance
> Ireland came by train from Morgantown, Aunt Josephine Hammond came
> from Portsmouth, Ohio, and Uncle Columbus Collins came from a
> Confederate home somewhere in the South. I was elected to serve as
> escort for the elderly aunts as they crossed the dangerous railroad
> tracks in Pennsboro to and from your grandfather's home. After they
> had all gathered in, they all stayed at your grandfather's home, and I
> remember played cards all of one night. Aunt Josephine's
> granddaughter, who came from Portsmouth with her, and I slept on the
> third floor of the big house and had a wonderful time. While there, I
> met your father Creed, who as I remember had a large blue scar across
> his forehead. Also I met your Aunt Ingabee and was a guest in her home
> one day. Ingabee and Uncle Marsh had visited our home in Chillicothe
> sometime before 1909, but I don't believe your father ever did.

A print of Pennsboro by a Mr. Fowler, 1899, shows this large three-story
house upon the hill above the present Allen's garage.

John Marshall Wilson died April 16, 1916. His death resulted from a
cancer located in the corner of his mouth.

OBITUARY John Marshall Wilson was born in Barbour County on September
16, 1827 and died April 16, 1916 at age 88 years, seven months.

> He was united in marriage to Rebecca Jane Clayton on August 23, 1850
> and to this union twelve children were born, viz. Sherman V., Leman
> C., Quincy A., William M., Alpha O., Lincoln, Hooker, Ingaba McDougal,
> Creed, Josephine Broadwater, John A., and Ben. Of this number, two
> sons and one daughter have preceded him to the grave; Sherman V.,
> Quincy A., and Josephine Broadwater.
>
> Mr. Wilson was an old landmark in Ritchie County, having lived here
> practically all his life and by industry and economy had accumulated a
> large fortune, which he leaves to his children and grandchildren. The
> family of Mr. Wilson raised in this community are all highly respected
> and well-to-do citizens. He leaves an aged wife, of 82 years and nine
> children.
>
> "Death borders on our birth and our cradle stands in our grave." God,
> to prevent all escape, has sown the seed of death in our very
> constitution and nature so that we can as soon run away from ourselves
> as from death. Every ache, pain, and wrinkle you see stamping itself
> on the brow, every accident which reveals the uncertain tenure of
> life, every funeral bell that tolls is only God's reminder that we are
> only tenants at will and not by right pensioners on the bounty of the
> hour his not ours.
>
> We live by deeds, not years, in thoughts, not breaths, in feeling, not
> figures on the dial. We should count time by heart thrills. He most
> lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, and acts the best.
>
> Funeral services were conducted by Rev. C. B. Gruber, Rev. H. S.
> McCulty, and Rev. J. M. Knight. W. F. Still, undertaker, had charge of
> the funeral. The funeral was held at the big house at Pennsboro. He
> was buried in the Wilson Cemetery at the mouth of Beason, within a few
> hundred feet of where he went to housekeeping.
>
> The inscription on the tombstone--JOHN MARSHALL WILSON, 1827-1916
>
> The funeral procession from Pennsboro to Beason was by buggies and
> horses. Mr. Sill headed the procession with his old hearse and a black
> team of horses. We were in a two-seated buggy.
>
> It took so long to go there. Mr. Sill drove his team very slowly. He
> just let the team with the hearse just creep along. It seemed like we
> were hours on the road. It was the longest trip I have ever taken.

Rebecca Jane Wilson only survived her husband by a few months. The cause
of her death was Flux.

OBITUARY:

> Rebecca Jane Clayton Wilson was born September 16, 1833 and departed
> this life August 21, 1916, aged 82 years, eleven months, and five
> days. She was married to John Marshall Wilson on August 20, 1850, who
> departed this life April 16, 1916. To this union were born Sherman V.,
> Leman C., Quincy A., William M., Alpha O., Lincoln, Hooker, Ingabee
> McDougal, Josephine Broadwater, Creed, John A., and Ben. Of these,
> three have preceded her to the great beyond, viz. Sherman V., Quincy
> A., and Josephine Broadwater.
>
> Funeral services were conducted at the home by Rev. C. B. Gruber,
> assisted by Rev. J. M. Knight, after which the remains were laid to
> rest by the side of her husband, on the old home farm on Beason.
>
> Mr. Sill's hearse led the slow procession from the home in Pennsboro
> to the Cemetery at Beason. We did not go by buggy this time. Bruce
> Rogers had a Model T Ford Touring car and we hired him to take us. We
> went on ahead and waited for the funeral procession at the Cemetery.
> This did not seem like the long trip of the spring before, at the
> funeral of John Marshall Wilson.
>
> Inscription on her tombstone: REBECCA CLAYTON WILSON, 1833-1916.

J. M. WILSON WILL (Will Book no. 3, page 278)

Pennsboro, W.Va. I make this my last will.

FIRST. I will to my wife one third interest during her lifetime in all
the real estate I own at my death. Also to have the home buildings and
all the land that is on the same side of the road that the buildings are
on during her lifetime then to go to S. V. Wilson, and the household and
kitchen furniture and one third of my personal estate to be hers in her
own right if she outlives me.

SECOND. I will to S. V. Wilson the home place the part on the southwest
of the county road up the hill and including the land that he has
possession of, the balance of the place give to his mother her lifetime
to be his at her death.

THIRD. I will to Creed Wilson the E.C.C. Lee farm at Toll Gate that he
now had possession of.

FOURTH. I will to Ben Wilson the lands conveyed to me by James M. Marsh
and others Eli M. Marsh and S. J. Taylor including all the lands I own
in that connection the same land he lived on.

FIFTH. I will to Lincoln Wilson the John A. Cross farm on Rockcamp in
Union district.

SIXTH. I will to my granddaughter, Josie Flanagan, five hundred dollars
to be paid out of my personal estate.

SEVENTH. I will to A. O. Wilson the following boundary of land.
Beginning in the road in a line between his and my land, thence with his
line to Ashford Taylor's land, and with his line to E. R. Taylor's land,
thence with his lines to Bernard's line, thence with these lines to
Peter Thomas' land, thence with his lines to A. J. Harris land, thence
with the same to A. O. Wilson land, thence with his lines to place of
the beginning. I require him to pay five hundred dollars to my personal
estate within five years from my death without interest.

EIGHT. I will to W. M. Wilson the land conveyed by J. O. Cross to me
also by the following boundary of land beginning in the Beason Lane
where the Cross line leaves the road, thence with said road to the land
I sold H. J. Knight, thence with his lines to the J. O. Cross land,
thence with the lines of the same to the place of beginning. One other
tract beginning in the road at the mouth of grape Vine Hollow, thence
with the ridge to the old Worth line, thence with the same to the land
now owned by Lincoln Wilson, thence with the lines of same to said road
and with the road to place of beginning. This is the same land I sold
Lincoln Wilson some years ago, and he gave it up.

NINETH. I will to Hooker Wilson that part of the Jefferson Cross place
not sold and the land conveyed to me by A. B. Wilson joining the Cross
place and also the following boundary of land commencing in the road at
the mouth of grape Vine Hollow, thence with the ridge to the O. L.
Riddle land and with the same to the old worth line and with the same to
the Wells land and with the same to M. M. Broadwater land, and with the
same to the county road, thence with the same to the place of beginning.

TENTH. I will to L. C. Wilson the following boundary of land beginning
in the county road at the upper end of the Beason meadow, thence with
the county road crossing the bridge to the river road, thence with the
river road to M. M. Broadwater land, thence with his lines to the Wolf
land and with lines of the same to the Tom Elliott place and with the
lines of the same to the land conveyed by Frank Maxwell to L. C. Wilson,
thence with the lines o the same to the old Jacob Richards land and with
the lines of the same to the place of beginning. I require him to pay
one thousand dollars to my personal estate any time within five years
from my death without interest.

ELEVENTH. I will to Ingaba McDougal the A. D. Cunningham land, also the
following boundary of land beginning at the road opposite her home at a
corner of the Bradford land, thence up the hill with the Bradford fence
to the S. S. Joseph place and with the lines of the same to the division
fence between the land her and John A. Wilson has possession of and with
the said fence to the forks of the run to the mouth of Clay Lick Run and
near where A. D. Sprinkle had his saw mill set, thence S. 75 W. to Mary
McKever land, and thence with the same to the said A. D. Cunningham
place, thence with lines of the same to the place of beginning. I expect
the right of way for a road through this land for an outlet to the lands
of the two runs above, said location to be selected by John A. Wilson
and Vene Wilson and J. O. McDougal.

TWELFTH. I will to John A. Wilson the M. M. Tarleton place and also the
following boundary of land beginning at a water beech at the forks of
the run near the Spiker house, thence with a line of the Tarleton place,
thence with a line of the Spiler place to the line of the Collins and
Jarvis survey, thence with the lines of the same to the lands conveyed
by S. S. Joseph to me, thence with the lines of the Joseph place to the
division line between him and Ingaba McDougal, thence with the said
fence to the fork of the run near the J. O. Collins place and near the
gate thence up said run in the middle of said run to the mouth of Clay
Lick run near where A. D; Sprinkles saw mill was set, thence N. 75 E. to
the Tarleton land and with the lines of the same to the place of the
beginning. I except the right of way for a road through this land for an
outlet to and from the land I give Vene Wilson.

THIRTEENTH. I will to Vene Wilson the E. J. Jarvis farm, except that
what I have given to Ingaba McDougal and John A. Wilson. Now if Vene
outlives me the place is his unless he should outlive me and die before
he disposes of the place to be sold and proceeds go equally to all
persons named in this will, except himself and his sister Josie Flanagan
and his grandmother Wilson. However, if he has married and has an heir,
then the place to go to his heir or heirs.

I give Creed Wilson in addition to the E. C. C. Lee farm, the Horatio
Britton land conveyed to me by A. D. Ireland, Commissioner.

Given under my hand, March 2, 1899.

Witness in the presence of both witnesses. E . Z. Weekly and H. J.
Scott.

The following excerpt from pages 125-132 of Barr Wilson's History
describe Mary Jane Nay and William Martin Wilson, their children Stella
Rebecca Lambert Wilson, Otis Guy Wilson, Loe Roy Wilson, Arden Wilson,
and their descendants.

WILLIAM MARTIN WILSON (XIX-623), 1856 - 1937.

William Martin Wilson was born 25 March 1856. He was married on 5
November 1874 to Mary Jane Nay, a daughter of Daniel Nay and Elizabeth
Hayhurst. Mary Jane Nay was born on 3 October 1855. The following is
taken from the Clarksburg Exponent, November 1933. This is taken from a
description of their Diamond Wedding anniversary. (Note - This
description, more or less, would fit many of the early Wilson families.)

> "For four years after their marriage, Mr. and Mrs. William Martin
> Wilson lived in an old log house at the head of Indian Creek and then
> moved to the site of their present abode, where they lived in a
> one-story frame house some time. He then erected a two-story frame
> house, which was added to as the family increased until there are now
> eight large rooms. They also have a commodious summer house of two
> rooms close at hand, which they use in summer for cooking and eating.
> They have lived here 55 years, and in Ritchie County all their lives,
> except the one year Mrs. Wilson lived at the home of the grandfather,
> Elijah Nay, in Marion County, when she was small.
>
> "Wilson has been an industrious and successful farmer and now owns 456
> acres of fine grazing land, said to be the best kept land in Ritchie
> County. It is 'clean as a pin' as he expresses it. Included are forty
> acres of meadow, which is cut on the shares. The farm in general is
> rented out for grazing purposes only. He does light work on and around
> the premises now, such as looking after his garden, attending to one
> horse and two cows he now keeps and seeing that the fences are kept in
> repair. He sells his share of the hay not used by the horse and cow.
>
> "Indian Creek, on which the farm is located is a 17-mile stream with
> its source a mile distant above his house and emptying into the South
> Fork of the Hughes River two miles below Smithville. Along its banks
> is a fertile valley, which produces abundantly. The Wilson residence
> is halfway between Harrisville and Pullman, but off the main highway
> about one mile.
>
> "With modern equipment, running water, natural gas facilities, and
> other conveniences, the residence is an ideal country home. However,
> while natural gas is used almost throughout the house, one room is
> reserved for a wood stove fire in winter such as 'puts gas fires in
> the shade' and is used as a life-long custom of the family.
>
> "Such fruits as the family needs as well as the vegetables its members
> eat are mostly grown on the farm. The son, Arden, who lives a mile
> away, assists in the management of the farm and fondly looks after
> every need of the aged couple. Mrs. Wilson does her own housework. Mr.
> and Mrs. Wilson have an old buggy, once very serviceable but now in
> the day of the automobile, practically out of commission.
>
> "Mr. Wilson, reared on a farm, cleared a great deal of the land and
> did all other kinds of farm labor, although he never made shingles but
> sometimes had them used on him as he jocularly recalls. He turned out
> hoop poles by the thousands and helped get out lots of staves, which
> were sent to the railroad at Harrisville for shipment. Much of the
> fine timber on his farm was burned as there was no market for it. Some
> oak timber is still left on the farm. He obtains his gas fuel from the
> main line extending up Indian Creek and across the country by the way
> of Oxford from Chevaux de Frise Creek.
>
> "Like farmer boys in his youth, Mr. Wilson attended school about three
> months a year and in the winter time when there was little to do on
> the farm. His education, therefore, never reached the academic stage,
> he says. He was too young to know much about the Civil War, although
> he remembers about his father and others reading about its progress.
> He and one of his brothers about that time carried his father's mail
> to and from Pennsboro, a distance of two miles, and did the same for
> John Cross, who was a neighbor. He recalls that for carrying the
> Cross's mail for an entire year, the latter gave him two cents. They
> took the money, but were too timid to tell Cross what they thought of
> him.
>
> "Wilson remembers seeing soldiers drill from time to time at Pennsboro
> and was thrilled. He had several uncles on the Union side in the war.
>
> "Mrs. Wilson attended school in her girlhood and acquired the
> fundamentals of an education. While she did not pursue arithmetic into
> higher mathematics, she says she learned to count money readily.
>
> "Mrs. Wilson remembers that Jones Raiders in 1863 stole a horse
> belonging to her father when they marched through Ritchie County on
> the way to the Ohio River.

Mary Jane Nay Wilson died on 17 May 1937. William Martin Wilson died on
22 December 1937. Both are buried at Harrisville, West Virginia.

His obituary (Pennsboro, December 24, 1937):

> Funeral services will be held, it is tentatively announced, at 1:30
> this p.m. at the home on Indian Creek, not far from Harrisville, for
> William Martin Wilson, 81, who died Wednesday night at his home of
> cancer of the liver, the Reverend French Boone, pastor of the
> Harrisville M.E. Church will conduct the rites.
>
> Internment will be in the Harrisville Cemetery. The deceased, a
> prominent farmer, was the son of the late John Marshall Wilson and
> Rebecca Clayton Wilson and was born and raised near Pennsboro. He is
> survived by the following children: Mrs. Stella Lambert, wife of T. D.
> Lambert of Rawlings, Maryland, O. G. Wilson, Dean of Marshall College,
> Huntington; Loy Roy Wilson of Chillicothe, OH.; Arden Wilson of near
> Harrisville and by two brothers--the survivors of twelve
> children--Creed Wilson of Toll Gate and Mayor Ben Wilson of Pennsboro.
> His wife, Mary Jane Nay Wilson, to whom he was married on 5 November
> 1874, died last May.
>
> Dr. O. G. Wilson is in a Huntington Hospital and will be unable to
> attend the funeral.

They were the parents of four children:

1\. STELLA REBECCA WILSON (XX-1022), born 15 September 1875. She married
on 4 February 1930 L. Dow Lambert. No children. He had a daughter,
Martha, by a previous marriage.

Stella wrote a small novel which was published in 1961, entitled *Along
Came the Other Girl*, a story of love and adventure in pre-revolutionary
Virginia. It was printed by American Press in New York. This is a very
interesting book. Her nephew, Kester Wilson, said she was very pleased
with the publication of this book. No record of her death. Probably
buried at Rawlings, Maryland *\[actually buried at IOOF Cemetery in
Harrisville\]*.

2\. OTIS GUY WILSON (XX-1023), born 11 September 1877. As a young man he
taught school in Ritchie County. He wrote a series of articles of his
early teaching experience in Clay District of Ritchie County. On 23
December 1913, he married Helen Vance. Clarksburg Exponent, 1933,
Diamond Wedding Anniversary of William Martin Wilson:

> "Professor Otis G. Wilson, head of the department of education of
> Glenville State Teachers College at Glenville and the second member of
> the family of the aged couple, married Helen Vance, daughter of
> William Ball Vance and Anna Fairburn Vance on December 23, 1913 at
> Erie Pennsylvania, the resident city of her parents. She was born
> March 26, 1884 at St. Ignance on the Straits of Mackinaw, Michigan.
>
> "Professor Wilson was graduated from West Virginia University at
> Morgantown in June 1907, receiving the B.A. degree, and from the same
> institution he received his Masters Degree in 1908. In 1908 he took
> post-graduate work in the University of Chicago, in 1909 at Columbia
> University, and in 1922 at Harvard. In 1931-32 he took a residence
> years work in the University of Pittsburgh, and has little to do now
> to complete the Ph.D.
>
> As an educator, Professor Wilson served as superintendent of the
> Elkins Schools from 1908 to 1915 and filled a similar position at
> Fairmont from 1915 to 1930, his long tenure indicating that he gave
> splendid service in each position. He has been head of the Department
> of Education of the Glenville State Teachers College since the
> beginning of the school year in 1931.
>
> "Mrs. Otis G. Wilson is equally finely educated, receiving the B.A.
> degree at West Virginia University and her Masters Degree from the
> University of Pittsburgh. In early life she taught school. Active in
> women's work, she is the second vice president of the West Virginia
> Federation of Women's Clubs and recently completed an official tour of
> the state. Mrs. Wilson was president of the Women's Club of Fairmont
> when the family resided there. She is a woman of personal charm as
> well as culture. Her mother is dead. Her father, retired from
> business, resides near Erie Pennsylvania.
>
> "In additional to his educational work, Professor Wilson was assistant
> chairman of the War Savings Campaign in Marion County in World War I
> and had active charge of the Four Minute Men Speaking Campaign in
> connection therewith. He also conducted County Institutes in different
> parts of West Virginia and became well-known in the state.
>
> "A member of the State Code Committee in 1919, Professor Wilson left
> his impress on that collaboration of laws of West Virginia. He did
> efficient work as a member of the State Textbook Commission in 1910.
> He was president of the State Educational Association in 1914. Wilson
> is a member of the National Education Association and of the College
> of Teachers Education, a national organization."

Otis Guy Wilson was Dean of Marshall College at Huntington at the time
of his death in 1957 *\[actually died in 1952\]*. Helen Vance outlived
him by more than ten years. She died 12 March 1969. Both are buried at
Harrisville, West Virginia.

W.W. Trent, superintendent of schools of West Virginia, wrote as
follows:

> "One among the outstanding leaders of education in West Virginia
> within the first half of this century was Otis Guy Wilson, who as a
> teacher of rural schools, as superintendent of city schools, as dean
> in a college, and as president of the West Virginia Educational
> Association, endeared himself to all who knew him. On his retirement,
> education lost a forceful character; on his death on June 19, 1952, a
> true friend. (date in error) Otis Wilson was born and reared on a farm
> in Ritchie County, where he attended a one-room rural school. He later
> entered the West Virginia University, where he was graduated with an
> A.B. degree in 1907 and with an M.A. degree in 1911. In 1936, Salem
> College honored him with a Ph.D. Degree. He served as city
> superintendent of schools of Central City, Elkins, and Fairmont and as
> Dean of Education at Glenville State College and Marshall College. As
> a recognition of his services and leadership, he was elected president
> of the West Virginia Educational Association in 1914. He carried a key
> of Phi Beta Kappa and of Kappa Delta Phi, of which honor organization
> he was a member. For many years, he was a teacher of the men's Bible
> class of Johnson Memorial Methodist Church.
>
> "I knew him as a student at the university, where I learned to honor
> and respect him. I had the good fortune of succeeding him as
> superintendent of Central City Schools of the Elkins Public Schools. I
> watched with satisfaction his efficient and sympathetic activities as
> dean of the colleges. In all positions, he showed himself to be a
> master of school organization and its details, a capable leader of
> men, and a sympathetic friend of students.
>
> "As a teacher, his interest was the interest of his pupils. With no
> selfish motive, he gave his time and energy that they might grow,
> intellectually and morally, into self-reliant citizens able to make
> contributions to society. His every act indicated that he was willing
> to give himself that others might live. He lived to serve, not to be
> served. He was a great teacher."

HER OBITUARY.

> "Mrs. Helen V. Wilson, 84, formerly of 619 S. Terrace, died Wednesday,
> 14 March 1969, in a Huntington Hospital. The widow of Dr. Otis Guy
> Wilson, dean of the Teachers College at Marshall University from 1935
> to 1945, she had been a patient in a Huntington nursing home.
>
> "Funeral services will be conducted Friday at 10 a.m. at the Steele
> Funeral Home by the Reverend Norman K. Morgan, pastor of the
> Presbyterian Church at Logan. Burial will be in the Odd Fellows
> Cemetery at Harrisville, West Virginia. Born 26 March 1884 at St.
> Ignance Michigan, she was a daughter of the late William Ball Vance, a
> descendant of early settlers of Newark, New Jersey, and the late Anne
> Fairbairn Vance, whose father was a partner in an iron plant in Erie
> Pennsylvania and figured in the development of the iron industry in
> Michigan. She graduated from Erie High School in 1903 and from West
> Virginia University with a B.A. degree in 1910. Accepting a position
> as English teacher in Elkins (West Virginia) High School in 1910, she
> met Mr. Wilson, then superintendent of schools in Randolph County.
> They were married 23 December 1913. A few years later they moved to
> Fairmont, where Mr. Wilson was Dean of Fairmont State College
> *\[actually City Superintendent of Schools\]* and Mrs. Wilson was a
> teacher of English.
>
> "She became president of the Women's Club of Fairmont and later of the
> West Virginia Federation of Women's Clubs.
>
> "The Wilsons later moved to Pittsburgh to attend the University of
> Pittsburgh. Dr. Wilson received his Ph.D. Degree and Mrs. Wilson her
> M.A. in 1931. They then went to Glenville State College, where Dr.
> Wilson was dean of the Education Department and Mrs. Wilson taught at
> the college. Mrs. Wilson spearheaded a movement to establish the
> Junior Department of the Women's Club of Glenville.
>
> "After coming to Huntington, Mrs. Wilson was elected President of the
> West Virginia Federation of Women's Clubs. She was a member of the
> Women's Club of Huntington and sponsored the organization of the
> Beverly Hills Women's Club.
>
> "She was a member of the West Virginia Library Commission from 1941 to
> 1956 and in 1956 received the American Library Association's Trustees
> Award for outstanding service in promoting library service in West
> Virginia.
>
> "She was a member of the Presbyterian Church, Chi Omega Sorority,
> Delta Kappa Gamma honorary, and of the Daughters of the Pilgrims.
>
> "Survivors include two sons, Vance N. Wilson of Crete, Illinois and
> Attorney William G. Wilson of Logan; a sister, Miss Emma F. Vance of
> Erie and five granddaughters and one great-grandson."

They were the parents of two children:

1\. WILLIAM GUY WILSON (XXI-2180), born 29 November 1914 at Elkins.
Attended West Virginia University, graduated with an A.B. in 1937 and an
L.L.B. degree in 1939. He married Frances McGuire on 31 January 1942. He
had been engaged in the practice of law at Logan, West Virginia since 15
March 1941. He served in the Navy during World War II. Frances McGuire
is the daughter of John G. McGuire and Inis M. Thomas. Parents of three
daughters:

> \(1\) Elizabeth Jane Wilson (XXII-2171), born 13 August 1943. She
> married Jay H. Fast. One daughter: (1) Sarah Elizabeth Fast
> (XXIII-2099).
>
> \(2\) Frances Ann Wilson (XXII-2172), born 5 November 1946. She
> married Randolph B. Newland. One son: (1) Brant Wesley Newland
> (XXIII-2100).
>
> \(3\) Sallie Ruth Wilson (XXII-2173), born 29 March 1951. Student at
> West Virginia University.

2\. VANCE NAY WILSON (XXI-2181), born 22 July 1918 at Fairmont, West
Virginia. Attended Marshall College and the University of Michigan, A.B.
1940 and M.A. in 1941. Married Ann Gibson Hall on 31 May 1941. She is a
daughter of Eleanor Kimmel Hall and Nicholas Hall. He spent 44 months in
the Navy during World War II, 15 years with Pennwalt Cuomica
Corporation, nine years with Hamlor Industries, and is presently with
Smith Oil Co., a division of Sun Oil Co. They reside at 4310 Wildwood
Lane, Rockford, Illinois 61103. They resided in Philadelphia four years,
College station Texas for two years, Crete Illinois for 18 years, and in
Rockford, Illinois since 5 June 1972. They are the parents of two
daughters:

> \(1\) Ann Robin Wilson (XXII-2174), born 18 December 1946. Married
> Charles T. Cotton in November 1966. One son: (1) Richard Vance Cotton
> (XXIII-21001/2). Another child is due 1 November 1972. They reside in
> Dallas, Texas.
>
> \(2\) Paula Vance Wilson (XXII-2175), born 5 October 1949. Married
> Richard Duncan on 21 August 1970. He is an Ensign in the U.S. Navy
> Reserves. .i).Wilson, Otis Guy

3\. LOE ROY WILSON (XX-1024), born 12 April 1878, died 1951. He married
(1) Anna Prunty in September 1900. She was born 8 August 1882 and died
11 December 1956. She was a daughter of Marshall Prunty and Flora
Lawson. They were divorced. Anna Prunty Wilson later married John Long
of Fairmont. Roy Wilson and Ann Prunty resided at Chillicothe, Ohio
*\[apparently she never lived in Chillicother\]*. He was in the taxicab
business. Both are buried at Harrisville, West Virginia. Two children:

1\. MABEL WILSON (XXI-1533), born 14 March 1902, died 12 March 1950. She
married (1) William Barnes in 1923. They were divorced. Parents of one
son:

\(1\) Harry Marshall Barnes (XXII-2176), born 15 February 1926. He
married Elizabeth Rhodes on 14 July 1950. They had three children, (1)
Carolyn Elizabeth Barnes (XXIII-2102), born 17 May 1951, (2) Harry
Marshall Barnes, Jr. (XXIII-2102), born 29 August 1958, and (3) James
Paul Barnes (XXIII-2103), born 28 January 1965.

1\. MABEL WILSON (XXI-1533), married (2) Arthur Parsons on 24 June 1930.
He is from Arizona. They had one son:

\(1\) John Wilson Parsons (XXII-2177), born 14 April 1931. He married
Joan Fout on 11 October 1958. They had three children, (1) Carla Kay
Parsons (XXIII-2104), born 13 April 1959, (2) John Stephens Parsons
(XXIII-2105), born 4 April 1960, and (3) \[name unknown\] (XXIII-2106).

2\. HARRY MARSHALL WILSON (XXI-1534), born 31 March 1904, died 15
October 1963. He married Lillian Kincaid ca. 1934. She was born 8
September 1911, the daughter of William P. Kincaid and Lena O. Brown.
They resided in Fairmont. He is buried at Harrisville. They were the
parents of two children:

\(1\) Lillian Kay Wilson (XXII-2178), born 30 October 1935. She married
James Edwards in 1954. He was born 2 February 1931. They had five
children: (1) Rosetta Kay Edwards (XIII-2107), born 12 July 1955, (2)
James A. Edwards (XIII-2108), born 1956, died 1956, (3) Daniel James
Edwards (XIII-2109), born 4 May 1957, (4) Barbara Estelle Edwards
(XIII-2110), born 20 September 1958, (5) David Arthur Edwards
(XIII-2111), born 1959, died 1960.

\(2\) Harry Marshall Wilson, Jr. (XII-2179), born 17 June 1945. Married
(1) Florence Sloan. They are divorced. One child: (1) Franklin DeWayne
Wilson (XXIII-2112), born 31 October 1964.

\(2\) Harry Marshall Wilson, Jr. (XXII-2179) married (2) Charlotte
Watkins.

4\. ARDEN WILSON (XX-1025), born 31 March 1882. In 1907 he married
Mittie Adams Woofter (*sic*), born 6 April 1883. \[It is unclear why
Woofter appears here and below in Mittie Adam's name, since Woofter is
her *mother's* maiden name.\]

From the Clarksburg Exponent, 1933:

> "Arden Wilson, youngest member of the family of William Martin Wilson
> and Jane Nay Wilson (*sic*) lives in a fine country residence of the
> Pullman Pike four miles east of Harrisville, where he owns a highly
> productive farm of 130 acres and is a live wire farmer. He married
> Mittie Adams, a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Joshua Woofter (*sic*), 26
> years ago. Mrs. Wilson was born 6 April 1883 above Oxford. She is a
> descendant of Andrew Woofter, who in 1851, settled in Ritchie County.

Arden also bought wool. He "caned" chairs. He did this work up until the
time of his death. He liked to attend sales and always bought some item.
He played the violin and won a few "fiddling" contests in his time.
Mittie Woofter Adams (*sic*) died 17 March 1960. She is buried at
Harrisville. They were the parents of two children:

1\. KERMIT WILSON (XXI-1535), born 9 April 1910 *\[actually 1909\]* and
died 16 May 1928. Student at Fairmont State Teachers College at the time
of his death. Buried at Harrisville.

2\. WILLIAM KESTER WILSON (XXI-1536), born 15 September 1913. Married
Edith Virginia Gallien on 9 September 1944. She was born 4 November
1920, daughter of Okey F. Gallien (born 2 October 1890) and Alma Mae
Gamsjager (born 18 September 1891). Information by Kester: "I was born
and raised near Harrisville. A.B., Salem College 1934, M.S. in
Chemistry, West Virginia University 1938. I taught in Fairmont High
School in 1936, was fingerprint classifier at the FBI in 1936-37, and
was at the National Bureau of Standards, Gaithersburg, Maryland, from
1937 until the present. At the National Bureau of Standards, I worked on
the development of methods for the evaluation of paper and the
development of permanent record papers. I participated in national and
international standardization work.

"My wife, Edith, in addition to raising three children and keeping
house, has been a school teacher fro the past twenty years in Maryland
and Fairfax County Virginia." Three children:

> \(1\) William Kendall Wilson (XXII-2181), born 19 July 1948. Graduated
> from Earlham College, Richmond, Virginia (*sic*), 1970. Major in
> mathematics. Resides in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
>
> \(2\) Brenda Jane Wilson (XXII-2182), born 27 July 1950. Graduated
> from Earlham in 1972 with a math major. Entering graduate school, Ohio
> State, Columbus, Ohio.
>
> \(3\) Mary Virginia (Jenny) Wilson (XXII-2183), born 14 June 1955.
> High school senior.

4\. ARDEN WILSON (XX-1025) was married a second time to Mrs. Mary
Sommerville Zinn, a widow woman. They resided at her home in
Harrisville. Arden died 7 July 1971. Buried at Harrisville.

Obituary, Harrisville:

> "Funeral services for Arden Wilson, 89, of Harrisville, who died
> Wednesday at St. Joseph's Hospital will be held at 11 a.m. Saturday at
> the Raiguel Funeral Home in Harrisville. The Reverend Henry Matheny
> will officiate, and burial will be in the Harrisville IOOF Cemetery.
>
> "He was born in Ritchie County, son of the late William and Mary Jane
> Nay Wilson. He had been a farmer.
>
> "He is survived by his widow, Mrs. Mary Sommerville Zinn Wilson, one
> son, Kester Wilson of McLean, Virginia, and three grandchildren. He
> was preceded in death by his first wife, Mrs. Mittie Adams Wilson, and
> one son, two brothers and one sister.

The following excerpt (pages 440-443) describes the Clayton and Amos
families (ancestors of Rebecca Jane Clayton, wife of John Marshall
Wilson):

THE CLAYTON AND AMOS FAMILIES

From Now and Long Ago by Glen D. Lough, Monongahela Survey Book No. 1.

David Anderson and David Claton \[Clayton\] 10,000 acres, lying in Big
Paw Paw and Little Paw Paw Creeks from just below (now) Baxter to above
Fairview and to the head waters of the two Paw Paw's, 1783. Anderson and
Clayton gained control of this great tract through procuring assignments
of individual tracts from the early settlers, and the procurement of
land office treasury warrants, numbers 21007, 21009, 21008, 20977,
20949, and 21670, all issued in 1783. The survey was entered Jan. 5,
1785, "Paw Paw Creek and the waters of Indian Creek, accepting and
relinquishing 10,000 acres which includes 20,000 acres to the claims of
sundry persons included within the same."

This tract adjoined the lands of Augusta Ballah (Granttown area), and
Thomas Pindall (Indian Creek area), who did not join in the project. the
survey was made in Nov. and Dec. 1782-1783, for William Worth. How long
Anderson and Clayton had been in control of the lands at this time isn't
clear. Exactly how the project fared is not clear either. Monongahela
records show that several of the settlers who assigned their titles of
lands to Anderson and Clayton were still residing on these lands as
owners long after 1783. So it is safe to assume the project failed, at
least partially, and most of the land reverted to their original owners.

Adam O. Heck informed this writer that the David Clayton mentioned here
was the father of ELISHA CLAYTON, Revolutionary soldier, early Marion
Co. area settler, and highly respected citizen, whose pioneer home was
on Little Paw Paw Creek, on lands that were once part of the great
Anderson and Clayton Tract.

Note to the above: ELISHA CLAYTON was the father of ELIJAH CLAYTON, who
married Millie Amos and settled on White Oak, Ritchie Co. Elijah Clayton
was the father of Rebecca Jane Clayton, who married John Marshall Wilson
(XVIII-291), page 101.

ELISHA CLAYTON Service---N.J. Va. No. 12942 N. W-1145 and B.L. Wt.
26529. Enlisted in Monmouth Co., N.J.; between 1776 and 1780, served two
years under Captain J. Smook, Colonel Herd's Regiment, took part in the
fighting at Long Island and Monmouth; captured and held prisoner in N.Y.
nine months. Soldier was born Dec. 11, 1757 in N.J., died March 31,
1845; is buried in Cunningham Cemetery, near Baxter.

Married (1) Elizabeth King, daughter of John and Elizabeth Shaw King,
born ca. 1764, died 1792. Children (first wife):

> Thomas M. (1785 -- ?, died before 1824), married Millie Dragoo,
> daughter of John Dragoo;
>
> Elizabeth (1787 -- April 12, 1857), married George Dawson
>
> Elisha, Jr. (1789 -- ?), married (1) Sept. 27, 1808, Drucilla Hoge,
> daughter of Henry Hoge, married (2) Feb. 21, 1823, Euphama Clayton,
> cousin
>
> Sarah (1792 -- ?), married Aug. 30, 1814, William Hill Wilson of Md.

Married (2) Oct. 15, 1793 Elizabeth Little of Hancock, MD, born about
1775, died Nov. 12, 1860. Children (second wife):

> Dr. John Parker Clayton (Feb. 2, 1796 -- March 8, 1857), married March
> 6, 1819, Susannah Jones (1801 -- 1872)
>
> David L. Clayton (1801 -- Sept. 1854), died near Winchester, VA,
> married \[sic\] James C. Pebbles of Bradford Co., PA
>
> Euphama (1802 -- 1884), married Sept. 27, 1822 Jeremiah Snodgrass
> (1798 -- 1880)
>
> Richard Clayton (Oct. 6, 1804 -- July 7, 1876), married March 23,
> 1833, Nancy Amos (1816 -- 1901), daughter of Stephen Amos, son of
> Henry Amos
>
> Little Clayton (Sept. 6, 1806 -- March 13, 1895), married Sept. 27,
> 1828 Rachel Parker (1808 -- March 22, 1861)
>
> Ezekiel Clayton (July 18, 1808 -- Aug. 14, 1877), married March 24,
> 1831 Mary Thorn (Feb. 18, 1811 -- 1883)
>
> ELIJAH CLAYTON (Sept. 11, 1811 -- Aug. 3, 1873), married Oct. 31, 1829
> Millie Amos, sister of Nancy above
>
> William Fairfax Clayton (1812 -- ?), married Dec. 1836 Lydia Fleming
> (Feb. 17, 1819 -- ?)
>
> Rebecca (1813 -- Oct. 7, 1856), married Nov. 10, 1828 John D. Parker
> (1807 -- 1879)
>
> Nancy (1817 -- ?), married Dec. 23, 1834 Benjamin D. Holden
>
> A government marker was erected at his grave Oct. 9, 1927, by the
> Haymond Chapter of the DAR cooperating with the American Legion, with
> an appropriate address by Otis Guy Wilson (XX-1008), p. 127, then of
> Fairmont, accepting the marker on behalf of the Clayton family. Otis
> Guy Wilson is a great-great-great grandson of that Revolutionary
> soldier.

From History of Ritchie County \[Minnie Kendall Lowther\]:

ELIJAH CLAYTON in 1841 purchased the Barton Hudkins improvement of John
M. Wilson (XVII-69), p. 53 and became the first permanent settler here
(White Oak), remaining until his death, on Aug. 3, 1873. He was of Irish
Lineage, his father Noah Clayton \[Note: Noah was not his
father---Elisha Clayton was his father (see above)\] having crossed the
sea and settled in Virginia early in the 19th Century and then removed
to Monongahela Co., where he died on Sept. 27, 1811, on Little Papau
\[Paw Paw\], in what is now Marion Co. \[Note: some of this is in
error\]. Elijah Clayton was born and there he grew to manhood. He was
one of a family of 12 children, some of whom became very prominent. John
Clayton represented his District in the Richmond Legislature in both the
House of Delegates and in the Senate; David L. Clayton, another brother,
being a musician of note, wrote the "Old Virginia Harmony." Richard,
Ezekiel, Little, William, and Elisha were the other brothers; and the
sisters were Mrs. Effie Snodgrass, Berea; Mrs. Nancy Holden, Mrs. John
D. Parker, and Mrs. Wilson, all of Marion Co."

"Elijah Clayton married Miss Millie Amos, daughter of Stephen and
Elizabeth Miller Amos of Marion Co., and was the father of 14 children.
He was a Lay Minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church and his
influence was a power of good. At his home the first church society in
the community was organized. He gave the grounds for the White Oak
Church and Cemetery, and here, beside his wife, who died Aug. 10, 1891,
he reposes. He was one of the corner stones of the church, and was a
pillar as long as he lived. A splendid life portrait of this venerable
man, which was placed there by his son, Leander Summerfield "Bud"
Clayton, not long since, now impressively greets the visitor to this
church, reminding him that though his form had vanished, his memory is
revered, his influence is still large.

His children:

Leander Summerfield "Bud" Clayton, resided at the old home and \[sic\]
the late Stephen and Perry of White Oak

Mrs. Rebecca (J.M.) Wilson (see John Marshall Wilson, XVIII-291, p. 101)

J. Spencer Clayton, of Pennsboro

Franklin C. Clayton, of Des Moines, WA \[sic\]

A. A. Clayton, of Lawford, WV

David L. Clayton, of Missouri

the late Ishmael Clayton, of Illinois

the late Mrs. Ingaby (Elmore) Prunty, of White Oak, WV

the later Mrs. Amanda (Ezra) Chipps, of Doddridge Co, WV

Mrs. Millie F. (Reilly) Mason, of Webster Co, WV

Elizabeth, died at the age of 10 years

Sophronia, died in infancy

Note to the above: Mrs. Addie Elswick, Route 2, box 88, Elkview, WV
25071 has written (1975) a 34-page small book entitled "The Family of
Mary Clayton Amick (1884 -- 1974)." This is a splendid history of the
Clayton family, tracing their lineage back to about the year 1000. Also
contains more information of the Ritchie Co. Claytons. Anyone interested
in the Clayton family should get this book.

From *Now and Long Ago* by Glen D. Lough:

AMOS BLOCKHOUSE: Thomas Arnett (1816 -- 1899) told Adam O. Heck and
others that John Amos and his neighbors built a blockhouse on the land
on which Amos lived on Indian Creek above present Arnettsville, before
1790. Arnett said he was about 20 years old when this "Fort" was taken
down, and the logs used by Charles Glasscock in constructing a barn.
Rev. Peter Barrack (1818 -- 1899) told Rev. Henry Morgan that he several
times preached in this blockhouse. Henry Amos is mentioned as owning the
land upon which the blockhouse stood. Stephen H. Amos (1825 -- 1906) and
David M. Arnett (1829 -- 1918) said it was their understanding that
Henry Amos built the Amos Blockhouse (with the help of neighbors) the
same year Jacob Straight was murdered and scalped by Indians (1786?).

From *Portrait Encyclopedia, Marion Co.*, page 235:

Henry Amos was a native of Delaware, but at an early age located on the
head of Indian Creek, in Monongahela Co., WV (then Virginia). There, in
the midst of a vast wilderness, he established himself, and began
clearing of a farm. this was an undertaking which at that time required
the display of no ordinary amount of courage, as the country was
inhabited by roving bands of treacherous and blood-thirsty savages; he,
however, succeeded and devoted the remainder of his life to the pursuit
of agriculture."

Note Henry Amos had a son, Stephen Amos, who was the father of Millie
Amos, who married Elijah Clayton. Their daughter Rebecca Jane Clayton
married John Marshall Wilson (XVIII-291, page 101).

**Joshua Adams' Store**

**and the economics of rural Doddridge County in 1900**

In the following excerpt from a 1988 Christmas letter, Nelson Zinn's
Aunt Mildred describes how her father, Homer Wilson, earned and spent
money. The center of action is Joshua Adam's store from 1899 to 1906.
Joshua, the maternal grandfather of William Kester Wilson, was then
65-70 years old. Several of Joshua's second crop of children had left
home by then. Mittie Adams married Grant Pritchard during this time.
Bert, Nettie, and Bessie were teenagers, and the latter two had not yet
died of tuberculosis. Orpha, the youngest, was only about ten years old.
Although Homer Wilson is at best distantly related to our family, his
way of life suggests how our ancestors of that time might have lived.

**A Grain of Mustard Seed by Mildred W. Rule 1988**

"The grain of mustard seed that inspires this writing consists of a
date, one word, and a price: January 5, 1901, rice, \$.10. This seed of
information was discovered in a notebook my father, Homer Wilson,
carried in his pocket to record transactions. The first item entered in
the book was in 1899, the last was in 1906. This tiny seed conjures up
many, many "sprouts' and 'buds' of circumstances and conditions that
grow into a great plant in my garden of memories. As I reflected upon
this item, I was struck with a feeling of amazement that such a small
item could be associated with so many circumstances and remind one of so
many memories.

"The first 'sprout' bursting forth from this tiny seed takes the form of
a conjecture that on January 5, 1901, my father did not have in his
pocket as much as ten cents, but stopped at the 'country store' nearest
his home and charged ten cents worth of rice (in those days probably one
pound). That was done so that my mother, Eliza Wilson, would have rice
to cook for breakfast the next morning. After the rice was cooked in
boiling water until the grains were soft, sugar and cream (real cream)
were added. Dad's way of eating rice (one of his favorite foods) was to
place a slice of bread on his plate, cover it generously with the
creamed rice, then using his knife and fork to assist him in eating, he
ate with vigor, as he did everything else.

"The reason that I stated that Dad did not have as much as ten cents in
his pocket was that he seldom charged anything if he had cash to pay for
his purchases. The ten cents worth of rice was the only item purchased
that day. Between November 28, 1900 and January 16, 1901, four items
were charged at the store, each on a different date, one of those items
being the rice for ten cents. The other items were: one pair of gloves,
\$.34, one pair of boots, \$3.50, and Dr. Pierce's Medicine, \$.85
(medicine for animals).

"On the opposite page of the notebook was a list of products (butter and
eggs) Dad had taken to the store and received credit for. It was common
practice then for a storekeeper to give a farmer credit for his produce,
which the farmer 'dealt out' in items from the store. All of the above
substantiates the statement that I have heard Mother make that in those
days cash was scarce.

"Another page has a record of produce taken in four trips to the store
between December 21, 1900 and February 9, 1901. This produce was
apparently used to pay for 100 pounds of fencing wire that had been
charged on December 1, 1900. The amount of the purchase was \$4.20. Four
trips to the store over a period of seven weeks to take produce to pay
off a \$4.20 debt! Does that not prove that life was 'hard' then? This
transaction took place at the Joshua Adams store.

"About two and a half pages of the notebook are devoted to a record of
eggs and butter taken to the store on eighteen different trips from
November 28, 1900 through May 26, 1901. The name of the store was not
given, but it was probably the Summers store. It was the closest store
and the post office was in that store. During those months, the price of
eggs fluctuated between nine cents and twenty cents a dozen, but the
price of butter was more stable -- from eighteen to twenty cents per
pound. Only one other item was listed on these pages, sixty three pounds
of chickens, 6¢ per pound, total \$4.00. The amount of the total is
wrong by 22¢, so either the storekeeper was generous or Dad's arithmetic
was inaccurate.

"Another 'branch' of information was found in some records of work that
Dad did for other people. When he worked his team of horses, he got
\$2.50 for a day's work and \$1.50 if he worked without the team. I have
heard Mother say that when they were married in 1896, Dad had a team of
oxen but no horses. When he worked his oxen, he got \$1.50 a day. On one
page it is recorded that Dad received \$4.50 a day for working his team
of horses four days hauling equipment from one gas well to another. I am
sure he felt as though he had struck a gold mine when he got \$18.00 for
four days work.

"Another item that shows the great contrast between 1901 and 1988 is
Dad's record of livestock bought and sold. Listed as bought were six
head of calves (not \$75 each but \$75 for six), 15 head of sheep, \$75,
one buck sheep, \$25, two head of colts, \$50 -- a total of \$225.
Listed as sold that year were eight head of two-year old steers, \$275,
one two-year old heifer, \$30, ten head of lambs, \$40 -- a total of
\$345. That left a profit for the year on livestock of \$70.

"Another 'bud' of information on one page of the notebook is a list of
neighbors who had promised Dad that they would sell their lambs that
year (1901) to W. A. Mason. That practice, 'engaging lambs' for a
certain dealer, was one Dad continued for many years. Dad had scales for
weighing livestock. On the appointed day, the neighbors brought their
lambs to Dad's scales to weigh them, then placed them in one of the
small pens surrounding the scales to await the arrival of the drove of
lambs to be brought by on their way to market. Often the drove of lambs
was placed in Dad's small pasture field and the drivers were given
night's lodging before the lambs were driven on next day to the railroad
to be shipped to a nearby city. I can still hear the persistent bleating
of the tired, hungry, lonely lambs as they cried for their mothers from
whom they had recently been separated -- or at least that is why I
thought they were 'crying.'

"Another vivid memory I have of raising sheep is of Dad at lambing time
coming to the house early in the morning carrying a cold and stiff
newborn lamb wrapped in a gunny (burlap) sack and laying it on the floor
before one of the fireplaces in one of the downstairs rooms of the
house. When and if the heat revived the lamb, it was reunited with its
mother.

"In 1903 Dad built the house on the hill where our family lived for many
years. In the notebook is a page with this notation: 'Doors 3, 2-6 x
6-6.' On the same page is a partial outline of a house plan with the
places marked where the doors were to be located. The part of the plan
marked 'front' have the rooms arranged as they are to this day with
three doors opening onto the front porch. Each of the doors originally
had a glass panel in the upper part of the door frosted in an intricate
pattern but the door at the end of the porch has had a plain glass panel
since about 1911, when I rammed my hands through the glass when I was
attempting to stop after running a race with my brother across the
porch.

"Only one other notation in the notebook refers to the building of the
house. On one page is written, 'Work on the house by Pary Grags.' This
was Perry Gregg -- Dad was always a poor speller. It is indicated that
he is to be paid \$1.00 a day, but the figures are too jumbled to
determine how many days he worked.

"There are frequent notations of Dad having borrowed money from his
family -- his father, mother, and two brothers, during the fall of 1902,
the year of 1903, and the first part of 1904. Those dates correspond
with the time the house was built, so no doubt the borrowed money was
used to pay for building material. When I think of how much work was
involved, I cannot help but be amazed that Dad found the time or
resources to build a ten-room house that he planned himself, cut the
timber on his farm, trim the trees, haul them to a sawmill to have them
sawed into lumber, and then sawed each piece of lumber with a hand saw
to make it fit, and no doubt did most of the carpentry work himself. Dad
was always a hard worker.

"I could go on and on, but pretty soon my story would surpass the size
of a mustard plant. So writing about any other happenings that come to
mind because of the things I have found recorded in Dad's notebook I
will nip in the bud."

> **Family Medical History**
>
> **Wilson family.** As far as I know neither the Wilson family nor the
> Nay family have any genetic defects. None were especially nearsighted.
> William Kester wore glasses for astigmatism, and most needed to wear
> reading glasses in their forties. All the Wilsons have been
> right-handed.
>
> John Marshall Wilson died at age 88 of cancer of the lip and tongue,
> evidently caused by smoking a pipe.
>
> Rebecca Clayton was very strong physically, stubborn and held grudges.
>
> William Martin Wilson was 80 at death. He was strong, broad
> shouldered, 5'8"-6', and almost never sick. He is rumored to have
> drunk considerably in his early years. He told me that he couldn't
> drink because it went straight to his kidneys. He reportedly died of
> liver cancer. He had an enlarged stomach and couldn't hold food down
> at the end. He was passive and indecisive but very stable emotionally.
> He had a good understanding of people. He was not emotionally close to
> his wife. They just lived together but didn't sleep together.
>
> Mary Jane Nay Wilson was 80 at death. She was slender, \~5'4", and
> almost never sick. She lost an eye as a child from being hit by a
> switch and got a cataract in other eye. So, she was nearly blind in
> her seventies. Her hearing also went bad in her seventies. She was
> less stable emotionally and occasionally lost her temper. She was not
> emotionally close to husband.
>
> Arden Wilson was 89 at death. He was 5' 9", 180-190 lbs. and was
> generally in excellent health. He had a digestive irritation all his
> life. He got stomach aches or diverticulitis, which was apparently
> brought on by certain foods, including lettuce, peas, tomatoes, and
> almost every other vegetable. However, he ate apples, berries, meat,
> potatoes, pickles, eggs. He had no hardening of the arteries at 80.
> After his case of smallpox at 42, he had permanent scars. His
> digestion problems improved for several years afterwards. He was
> stubborn and held grudges. He held anger inside for days at a time and
> was often at odds with his wife. He was sensitive and tended to be
> indecisive on difficult judgment calls.
>
> Mittie Adams Wilson was 76 at death. She died of colon cancer because
> she refused to have an operation. She was 5' 5", 130-140 lbs.
> (slender), and in excellent health until age 41 (1924). It was said,
> "She could digest whetstones." She had a hysterectomy at 41 and
> suffered a heart attack in the hospital because of poor hospital care.
> She was never well afterwards. For example, she couldn't do washing
> and was very nervous and couldn't take much. She had high blood
> pressure and took digitalis. She had great strength during difficult
> times, such as when her son died, but she often went to pieces over
> little problems. She was touchy, sensitive and easy to anger
> (emotionally unstable). She was often at odds with her husband. She
> was hard to reason with if she wanted something and could be
> overbearing, but she was also easily crushed.
>
> Otis Guy Wilson died at age 76 of prostate cancer.
>
> Loe Wilson died of prostate (?) cancer in his early seventies.
>
> Stella Wilson Lambert died of old age at about 90. She was very
> healthy but had bad joint trouble and could barely walk in later
> years. She had a nervous breakdown in her early fifties and was
> institutionalized briefly. This was caused by a conflict between
> reality and fantasy of marriage.
>
> William Kester Wilson is 5' 9", 160 lbs. I was never very strong
> although worked on farm. My coordination never developed. As a baby I
> often lay motionless in my crib. Above my right eye was a dermatoid
> cyst that was removed at age 24. One of my kidneys has not functioned
> since birth, as determined by x-ray at age 50, when my functioning
> kidney was infected. I had prostate trouble at puberty. It was first
> diagnosed at age 24 and I have been treated for it off and on
> throughout life. I acquired severe sinus trouble at age 36. The
> symptoms were a slight sore throat in mornings, malaise, a very runny
> nose, and often I was barely well enough to go to work. This developed
> into allergies. I took series of allergy shots for \~2 years at age 45
> and have not been troubled since with allergies or sinus problems. I
> had a fistula operation at 39 (like hemorrhoids), two hernia
> operations at 52 for right and left sides, a successful prostate
> operation at 57, a minor trans-urethral resection (prostate, removed
> non-malignant nodes) at 71, cataract operation in my right eye with
> implant at age 72, an outpatient hernia operation at age 75, and an
> implant in my left eye at 77. My energy has never been very high. I
> have a tendency towards stubbornness, pouting, and emotional
> instability, but all these are less pronounced than in my parents.
>
> Kermit Wilson died at age 19 of pneumonia. He contracted measles in
> February or March and was told to stay in bed, but he got up and went
> to school anyway. He was very weak and almost collapsed. He recovered
> but about May 1 developed a bad cold, which went into influenza and
> pneumonia. He died about May 14. He was 6' 2", 160-180 lbs. and in
> excellent general health. Considering his heritage, he was emotionally
> stable and had only a very mild form of the Adams/Wilson traits of
> stubbornness and sensitivity.
>
> In later years Wilsons tend to become introspective and seem to sit
> and stare into space. As I have acquired that tendency, I realize that
> it is not necessarily a mental deficiency but a lack of incentive to
> speak unless there is something to say. Arden could be the life of the
> party, and suddenly he would take off his shoes and go up to bed.
> Also, Barr Wilson, William Martin Wilson, Otis Guy Wilson, and Leman
> Wilson had this trait.
>
> **Adams family.** Joshua Adams was very strong physically. He was
> short and stocky, in excellent health, and never got tired. He was
> kicked or thrown by a mule in his fifties and was never very strong
> afterwards. He probably died of colon cancer. He had a fiery temper.
>
> Sarah Elizabeth Woofter Adams died of colon cancer at age 71. She was
> \~5'4", slender, and had no illnesses. She bore 11 children and had no
> miscarriages. She broke her hip at age \~70 and recovered fully. She
> was meek and gentle, cried easily, and never raised her voice.
>
> In the children of Joshua and Sarah Elizabeth Adams, there was some
> degree of emotional instability, nervousness, and tendency toward a
> morbid personality. My Uncle Homer had a breakdown after he completed
> his law degree. For about six weeks, he laid around the house with the
> twitches and shakes. Although a very successful attorney, he worked
> more in a staff capacity for a gas company and seldom did courtroom
> work. All of the Adams girls exhibited this nervousness and emotional
> instability to some extent. My mother showed this instability and was
> always thinking the worst in every situation. I inherited this to some
> extent.
>
> Three aunts on the Adams side died of tuberculosis, two in their teens
> and one in her early thirties. Orpha had a lot of nervousness, and in
> her early seventies called it this "Adam's nervousness." Mittie and
> several of her sisters also had this condition. Aunt Luella became
> senile in later years and died at age 77 from complications of
> diabetes. Uncle Homer died of circulatory problems (a heart attack?)
> in his late sixties. Uncle Bert developed high blood pressure and
> hardening of the arteries, and died after having heart attacks at age
> 65 and 66. He was stubborn and canceled his life insurance to spite
> his wife (not true according to Jeanne).
>
> **Nay family**. As I remember, neither Mary Jane Nay Wilson nor Uncle
> Joe Nay ever had gray hair.
>
> **Gallien family.** Okey Gallien died of congestive heart failure at
> age 82. He was 6', 200 lbs. He was always healthy and strong. In later
> years he had rheumatism. At age 61 he was diagnosed as having severe
> hardening of the arteries. He also had sneezing fits. He smoked for
> years.
>
> Alma Gallien died of miscellaneous causes age 92. She had no health
> problems until she broke her femur at age 90. She was diagnosed as
> having bladder cancer at 92, and she complained of her right side
> hurting when she was in her high eighties. She had a stocky build and
> was 5' 5" and 140 lbs. In later years, she had a shaking palsy that
> she evidently inherited from her mother. She had a nervous temperament
> and a dominant personality. She was very nearsighted from childhood.
> Alma was essentially left-handed although she wrote with her right
> hand. Her daughter Edith is left-handed.
>
> William T Gallien died in well accident at age \~26.
>
> Jenny Gallien Nolan died of natural causes at age 88. She was 5'4",
> 120 lbs., slender, and always rather frail.
>
> **Gamsjager family.** John Gamsjager (the elder) died in his sixties
> of sugar diabetes. He was probably 5' 8"-9". He was very strong and
> did hard farm work all his life. He had a German authoritarian
> attitude towards family.
>
> Eda Gamsjager died of old age at \~90. She had a decided palsy, and
> her head would shake uncontrollably.

John Gamsjager (the younger) was diagnosed as having diabetes shortly
before he died (in his eighties).

Bill Gallien also contracted diabetes in adulthood; he is the only
descendant of Alma Gallien known at this time to have gotten diabetes.

**Family Cemeteries**

(For those unfamiliar with the back roads in Doddridge and Ritchie
Counties, don't even think of trying to locate these cemeteries without
detailed county maps. The maps are available at the respective
courthouses for a dollar or so.) The cemeteries are listed roughly in
order of newest to oldest graves.

**Wilsons / Adams**

**IOOF Cemetery (Wilsons), Harrisville, WV**

Large cemetery located on the southern edge of Harrisville.

Arden and Mittie Adams Wilson, William Martin and Mary Jane Nay Wilson,
Kermit Wilson, Otis Guy and Helen Vance Wilson, Loe R. Wilson, Mable
Wilson Parsons, Stella Wilson Lambert, Harry Wilson.

**South Fork Cemetery (Adams), Summers, WV**

Located on the dirt road (#52) between Summers and Oxford. From Summers,
travel 0.8 miles west on #52, bear right at the junction, and go 0.9
miles north on #52. Near the top of the hill, take the small road
turning sharply to the right (#52-2) and go about 100 yards to the left.
The South Fork Baptist Church is on the right.

Harry and (Amy Gaston) Smith, Hattie and Morris Gaston, Ferrell and
(Velma Gaston) Gray, Bessie Adams, Nettie Adams, Orly Carson and Mary
Gaston, Grant Pritchard. Amy is still alive (1994).

**Wilson Cemetery (Wilsons), mouth of Beason, WV**

From the junction of U.S. 50 and route 74 near Pennsboro, travel 3 miles
south on route 74. Cross the bridge across the Hughes River. About 100
yards further on the right is the Earl Wilson house, owned now for many
years by Bud and Inez Forrester. Ask for permission to visit the
cemetery. A private gravel road going west just south of the Earl Wilson
house leads to the cemetery. Follow this road across Beason Run, and
bear right at every fork. The cemetery is on the back side of the hill
directly across Beason Run. The road winds to the left (south) and then
angles northeast to the cemetery. The cemetery is rather large and
well-kept; few Wilsons are buried here, in part to maintain their
distance from John Marshall and Hooker.

J. Marsh and Rebecca Wilson, Hooker and Salina Wilson.

**Nay Cemetery (Nays), Nay Farm, Pullman, WV**

From Pullman, go west toward Harrisville from route 74 about 300 yards.
At the junction where the Pullman Ridge road bears right up the hill, go
straight (left) toward Five Forks and Washburn. After almost a mile, the
road crosses the creek (Star Fork); a driveway to the right goes across
the creek, up a hill, and down to Indian Creek, where the Nay house is
located. Joe Neal Nay was renting out the house (\~1991), but it is now
(1994) vacant. Ask any tenants for permission to visit the cemetery.
(Unlike the Wilson Cemetery on Beason, this is a small, neglected family
plot with no right-of-way and essentially no visitors.) The cemetery is
about 300 yards north of the house near the crest of the hill at the
northwest edge of the meadow.

Daniel Nay and his first and second wives Elizabeth and Abagail, Elijah
Nay, Marshall Rodofus Nay. Marshall Rodofus died on Aug. 22, 1867 at age
2 years, 10 months, and 19 days. The inscription on his grave reads
"Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not for such
is the Kingdom of Heaven."

**U.B. Cemetery (Wilsons), Pennsboro, WV**

Located on hill about 1/3 mile east of downtown Pennsboro. From
downtown, drive 1/4 mile east on the old railroad bed to the base of the
hill. Turn left on a steep gravel road up to the church and cemetery.

Archibald J. and Elizabeth Hudkins Wilson

**White Oak Church Cemetery (Clayton), Pullman, WV**

From Pullman go 2 miles east towards Oxford (road #9). Immediately after
crossing the bridge across a branch of the White Oak Fork of the Hughes
River, bear right. The church and cemetery are on the left above the
road at the sharp bend to the left.

Elijah Clayton (and his wife, but we cannot locate her grave)

**Wilson Cemetery (Wilsons), Wardensville, WV**

From the west side of downtown Wardensville, WV, take the Trout Run road
1.2 miles south. The cemetery is located about 300 yards to the right on
high ground next to Trout Run. The family of Mr. Alfred Ludwig at the
Capon Valley Bank in Wardensville now owns the property. Mr. Ludwig has
been very helpful in showing people how to reach the cemetery. The
cemetery can also be reached from the farm north of Mr. Ludwig's.
(Evidently every year or so some Wilson descendant comes to look for the
grave, so the townspeople know about the cemetery.) There are a few
Wilson descendants in Wardensville (e.g. Lucille Sanders).

William and Elizabeth Blackburn Wilson and some relatives (weathered,
poorly marked gravestones).

**Galliens/Gamsjagers**

**Masonic Cemetery (Galliens), West Union, WV**

Follow route 18 north 2-3 miles from the outskirts of West Union. The
cemetery is on a hill on the right.

Okey and Alma Gallien.

**Childers Cemetery (Galliens), New Milton, WV**

Take route 18 south about 5 miles from its junction at U.S. 50 near West
Union. Just before the (second) bridge across Meathouse Fork, #25 goes
southeast (left) to New Milton, Avon, and Big Isaac. Follow #25 for 2.3
miles. Just before a sharp bend to the left, take the dirt road going
almost straight up the hill (or park at the bottom and walk up). The
cemetery is 100 yards up this road on the right.

William T. and Virginia Gallien, James and Henrietta Minear Gallien,
Samuel Gallien, J. C. Gallien, Dennis Gallien, Hezakiah and Mary Meek
Randolph Meek.

On Samuel Gallien's gravestone is inscribed: "Why should we mourn our
father's loss, since death to him is bliss."

**Eddy Cemetery (Meeks), Miletus, WV**

Take #25 about ten miles along Meathouse Fork (see directions for
Childers Cemetery) past the Childers Cemetery and past Avon (bear left)
almost to Big Isaac. Turn left on #48 and go about 3 miles to the end of
#48 at the junction with #15. Miletus is the community centered at this
junction. Straight ahead across #15 is a small store, to the right of
which a dirt road leads steeply up a hill to the cemetery (100 yards).
This is not a church cemetery but a community cemetery, serving upper
Buckeye Creek.

Jacob and Mary Meek and several of their small children (Martha J.,
George Washington, John M. and three unnamed infants).

**Lutheran Cemetery (Gamsjagers, Rastles), St. Clara, WV**

Turn west on #29 from route 18 towards St. Clara near the top of
Redemption Hill, the substantial hill dividing the Middle Island Creek
and Cove Creek watersheds (\~13 miles south of West Union and \~10 miles
north of Troy). Follow #29 two miles, and turn right on #66 past the
community center and Gamsjager (Wysong) house. The Lutheran Church and
cemetery are near the creek a short mile up this dirt road.

Matthias and Theresia Krenn Gamsjager, John and Mary Bender Rastle,
Franz Paul Rastle.

**Evangelische Friedhof (Gamsjager, Krenn), Bad Goisern, Austria**

From Salzburg, travel west 56 kilometers on the highway to Bad Ischl and
then turn south (right) on the small highway to Bad Goisern.

Johann Krenn, Johann Gamsjager

Also, there may be a Lutheran Cemetery in Obertraun, a few kilometers to
the south, where Rastles and Benders are buried.

**Other cemeteries**

Cemetery at Highland, WV, a community about four miles north of
Ellenboro. Barton and Naomi Ingram Hudkins (maternal grandparents of
John Marshall Wilson) and perhaps Mary Warthen are buried here.

Cunningham Cemetery, Baxter (Marion County?), WV (Elisha Clayton)

Old Quaker Cemetery, Philippi, WV (John Wilson). Cross the covered
bridge heading toward Clarksburg, go a half mile, and the cemetery is on
top of the hill. Barr Wilson is certain John Wilson is buried here. He
looked hard (making rubbings of the stones), but was unable to locate
the grave. We looked in the Beverly Cemetery (6 miles south of Elkins)
and also could not find his grave.

A cemetery in Newkirk, OK (John and Edith Rastle Gamsjager).

**Sources of Information on the Wilson and Gallien Families**

**Bibliography**

Most of the following books are out of print, but they may be available
in libraries. Most of the books on this list are taken from Barr
Wilson's History. Information in these books is sometimes unreliable.

A. S. Bosworth, *History of Randolph County*.

Dorothy Davis, *History of Harrison County*.

*Hardesty's Encyclopaedia of Ritchie and Doddridge Counties*, 1883

Haymond, *History of Harrison County*.

Hill, *History of Licking County, Ohio*, 1881.

*The History of Doddridge County, West Virginia*, Taylor Publishing Co.,
Padi, PA and Dallas, TX 1979; LC #79-92226.

*The History of Ritchie County, West Virginia to 1980*, Taylor
Publishing Co., Padi, PA and Dallas, TX 1980; LC #80-53109.

Glen D. Lough, *Now and Long Ago*.

Minnie Kendall Lowther, *History of Ritchie County*.

*Magazine of Randolph County Historical Society*, 1926.

C. J. Maxwell, *Descendants of William Wilson, 1722-1801 and Elizabeth
Blackburn*, Ginn & Co., Dallas, 1943.

Hugh Maxwell, *History of Randolph County*.

Barr Wilson, *Descendants of John Wilson, 1756-1827 (Brother of Colonel
Benjamin)*, McClain Printing Co., Parsons, WV, 1975, LC \# 75-21088.

Chape Wilson, *William Wilson and Elizabeth Blackburn also children*,
ca. 1950.

Roy E. Wilson, *The William Wilson Senior Family, 1722-1851*.

Withers, *Border Warfare*.

Back issues of the Ritchie County Gazette, the West Union Herald, the
Parkersburg News, and the Clarksburg Exponent may also be sources of
information. Minnie Kendall Lowther wrote several articles on early
Wilson history in the Parkersburg News under her pen name Evangeline.
(However, beware that information in newspaper articles is frequently
inaccurate.)

**Additional primary and secondary sources for this History**

**Report on the Joshua Adams Heirs**. In 1987 the CNG Development
Company of Bridgeport, WV made an extensive report of all the heirs of
Joshua Adams in order to establish the title to the mineral rights of
land on which the company wanted to drill for oil or gas. Becky
Kunzelman, who prepared this report (about 20 pages, typed), provided me
with a copy. This is a good source of names and addresses (in 1987) of
Adams descendants. The division of the estates of Joshua Adams' children
gives some insight into each family.

**Adams genealogy.** In 1934 Homer Adams compiled a list of names, dates
of birth, marriage, and death for all the descendants of Joshua Adams.
Malana Adams revised this work in 1950. We have a Xerox copy of the 1950
revision (about 10 pages, handwritten). Amy Gaston Smith has written
eloquently about early life in West Virginia; only a portion of her
writings have been included in this history.

**Meek family genealogy.** Virginia Catherine Meek Gallien (Grandma
Nolan) made a brief family tree of her close relatives. Her nephew, John
J. Meek (son of Martin V. Meek) compiled an extensive list of the
ancestors and descendants of Jacob Gabart Meek. This genealogy (about 10
pages, typewritten) gives dates of birth and death of Jennie Nolan's
brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. As with most
such documents, the spelling of names is not uniform (reflecting 19th
century practice).

**Miscellaneous family letters.** Some letters (Ida Gamsjager Bach to
Norita Tyson, March 20, 1982; John Gamsjager to Alma Gallien, June 8,
1951) are reproduced here. Others (Ida Gamsjager Bach to Norita Tyson,
\~1980) are not.

**James Gallien's Civil War pension file.** This file at the National
Archives contains many letters of testimony from friends and relatives
of James Gallien.

**U.S. Census Records.** As of 1990, Wes Cochran (2515 10th Ave.,
Parkersburg, WV) and Mrs. Owen Crickard (Route 1, Box 28, Beverly, WV
26253) sell typed copies of various census records of West Virginia
Counties from the early 1800s (Mrs. Crickard) and mid to late 1800s (Mr.
Cochran) for \$5-10 per county per census. These records show
approximate ages, birth orders, additional household members, and
information about neighbors (usually adjacent census entries) and either
have a name index or are alphabetized. Occupations are also given, but
these are invariably farmer (male head of household), keep house (wife),
or farm laborer (other adult male members of household). The earlier
records (e.g. 1820) show only the name of the head of household and the
total number of males and females in six age groups. The census taker
generally spelled the names according to his notions of orthography and
his attempts to anglicize foreign names (e.g. Gamsjager becomes
Gamsiager and Krenn becomes Crane). Some information has also been
garbled in the process of deciphering the handwritten census data. By
now, such census information should be available on computer media,
perhaps in genealogical libraries.

**Suggestions for further genealogical research**

Locate the "license to pass beyond the seas" for William Wilson, who
left Ulster for Philadelphia about 1737 with his cousins John and
William White. This license might turn up some interesting information.

Go to a Mormon genealogical research library with names and dates of our
earlier ancestors. There are hundreds (thousands?) of these libraries,
which have access to a computerized genealogical database. Locating one
or more of our ancestors in their database is the goal.

Go to National Archives, a gold mine of genealogical and historical
documents. Census records by county are kept on microfilm. Scanning
thousands of names in an archaic handwriting style is tedious but
rewarding. (Typed copies of some census records are also available from
There is a thick Civil War pension file on James Gallien. Undoubtedly,
there is much more information--my only searching there was done over 20
years ago.

Go to courthouses in West Virginia and look through old records of
births, marriages, deaths, probate of wills, and land deed transactions.
Besides Ritchie and Doddridge Counties, try courthouses in Marion County
(ancestors of Elijah Clayton and Millie Amos), Randolph County (numerous
ancestors of John Marshall Wilson, including John and Mary Warthen
Wilson, Bartons, Ingrams, and Hudkins), and Hampshire County (early
Wilson ancestors, possibly some information in Hardy County Courthouse).

Visit cemeteries. Transcribe the information on the gravestones (be
prepared to make rubbings of badly weathered stones). Locate the
cemeteries at Highland, Baxter, Philippi, and in Newkirk, Oklahoma.

Look at old church records. The Lutheran Church at St. Clara would be
the easiest. The Lutheran Church at Bad Goisern, Austria would be more
challenging.

According to Barr Wilson's history, all the early Wilsons could read and
write. The ones who went from Hardy County to Licking County, Ohio were
good record keepers and kept family information in an old account book.
The descendants of these Wilsons might have some interesting information
about our ancestors.

Donna J. Spracklen (172 E. Vine St., LaRue, Ohio, 614-499-2722) and Otis
Lowell Reed are compiling (in 1992) a Rastle family history.

Locate a copy of Otis Guy Wilson's memoirs ("Fifty Years a Teacher"),
which were published in various county newspapers. The memoirs could be
scanned into a computer and republished for the family's enjoyment
(taking into account copyright restrictions).

Talk with elderly relatives in West Virginia. This is usually
informative and a pleasure for both parties. After an appropriate
introduction, these people are delighted to have an attentive listener.

**Family Trees**

**and**

**Lists of Descendants**

Several family trees are given here. On the first page is a family tree
showing us (Edith and Kester Wilson) in relation to our parents,
grandparents, children, and grandchildren. The ancestors of Arden
Wilson, Mittie Adams (Wilson), Okey Forrest Gallien, and Alma Mae
Gamsjager (Gallien) are tabulated on the following four pages. An
additional tree shows the early ancestors of the Wilson family.

On the top line in each box is given the ancestor's name, rank of birth
and number of siblings. For example, 1/4 means first-born of four
children (an asterisk indicates that children are from two marriages;
children who died are sometimes not included in the number of siblings).
The subsequent lines give the date and place of birth, date and place of
death, and place of burial. Dates of marriage are also given. Before
\~1940, births and deaths almost invariably took place at the family
homestead. The location of these homes are shown on the accompanying
maps in the following section.

The next tree lists siblings of our parents and grandparents along with
their dates of birth and death, names of their spouses, and dates of
marriage.

On the subsequent four pages are summarized the descendants of each set
of Edith's and my grandparents. These charts show our aunts, uncles,
cousins, and children of our cousins. Dates of birth, death, and
marriage are shown wherever possible. A final page shows the descendants
of Joseph Oliver Nay (my grandmother's brother) and his wife, Irene
Loudin.

The following surnames are found in these family trees:

> Wilson branch: Adams, Amos, Anglin, Blackburn, Clayton, Clayton,
> Devault, Hall, Hayhurst, Hudkins, Ingram, Little, Miller, Nay, Petit,
> Porter, Riney, Simpson, Simpson, Slaven, Wathen, Wilson, Winans,
> Woofter, Wright.
>
> Gallien branch: Apsy, Bender, Deubler, Gabart, Gallien, Gamsjager,
> Krenn, Meek, Minear, Pramesberger, Rastle, Swan, Winterauer, Zinn,

Any additions and corrections to these family trees would be most
welcome.

**Index**

Women are listed under their maiden names. Generally middle names are
not given in the index, but this practice is not uniform. The index is
largely complete for relatives through generation XXI. Spelling is
occasionally not uniform (e.g. Absey or Apsy, Warthen or Wathen).
Coverage of place names is not uniform or complete. Other topics listed
are indexed almost completely.

Absey, Mary E., 153, 154

Adams, Bert, 113-114

Adams, Bessie, 111

Adams, Betty, 65

Adams, Emma, 115

Adams, Geneva, 115

Adams, Hattie, 114, 120

Adams, Homer, 75, 111-112, 212

Adams, Jonathan, 108

Adams, Joshua, 23, 108-110, 116, 212

Adams, Joshua family, 25

Adams, Luella (Ella), 116

Adams, Mittie, 16, 18, 20, 21, 22, 60, 65, 67, 72, 73, 75, 80, 81, 83,
120-122, 143, 210

Adams, Nettie, 111

Adams, Orpha, 75, 81, 111, 114, 118-120

Adams, Rosa, 114

Adams, Stella, 114

Adams, William, 108

Amos family, 204-205

Amos, Henry, 6, 45

Amos, Millie, 44

Amos, Stephen, 45

Anderson, Frances, 106

Anglin, Nancy, 43

Apsy, George, 153

Ayres, Agnes, 113

Bach, Bill, 140, 142

Baird, Tom, 64

bald, 64, 69

barefoot, 21, 67, 76

Barker, Roy, 66

Barnes, Harry Marshall, 62

Barr, Louise, 136

bathroom, 19, 21, 22, 24, 54, 77, 79, 92, 95, 143, 156

Bee, Abagail, 123

Bender, Mary, 133

bicycles, 68

births, 23

Black, Bob, 95

Blackburn, Archibald, 28

Blackburn, Elizabeth, 28

breakfast, 77, 92, 138, 143, 148, 161, 206

Brown, Mary Eleanor, 128

Bruffy, Margaret, 87

Cain, Wirt, 60

card games, 17, 18, 46, 65, 133, 135, 142, 156, 190

cars, 12, 14, 16, 57, 63, 66, 70, 73, 74, 75, 87, 91, 94, 95, 97, 100,
105-106, 130, 134, 138, 144, 164, 166, 171, 178, 180, 182, 192

cataracts, 125, 210, 211

Cedar Creek, 28

Charley Tate, 70

Childers Cemetery, 216

cistern, 20, 75

Clark, Friend E., 94

Clayton family, 44-45, 202-204

Clayton, Bill, 47

Clayton, Bud, 47, 48

Clayton, David, 5, 44

Clayton, Earl, 129

Clayton, Elijah, 5, 8, 44, 45, 46, 151

Clayton, Elisha, 44

Clayton, Emory, 82

Clayton, Rebecca Jane, 45, 46, 47, 51, 189, 210

clothes, 16, 71, 79, 95, 116, 120, 140, 143, 154, 158, 162, 164, 177,
178, 190

clothes, washing, 20, 21

contraceptives, 109

Cooper, Malana, 111

Corder, Woody, 94

Courtney, Lea, 144

Cox, Harley, 69

Cross, Hattie, 49

dancing, 88, 133, 181

Dean Van Horn, 88, 89, 91

Detweiler, Sam, 94

Deubler, Anna Maria, 131

Devault, Phebe, 123

Diss Debar, Joseph Hubert, 8,132

Dixon, Chester, 86

dogs, 38, 57, 64, 69, 70, 126, 139, 140

drinking, 16, 53, 57, 69, 88, 156, 168

Duckworth, Kathleen, 52

Early, Fred, 93

Eddy Cemetery, 216

Elder, Becky, 48

eyes, 48, 57, 71, 125, 152, 177, 210, 211, 213

false teeth, 22, 54, 158

fence building, 84, 127

fiddle, 61, 69, 72

filth, 1, 2, 16, 56, 64, 79, 84, 168

Flesher, Oliver, 75, 81, 83, 88, 119

Flesher, Ruth, 81, 83

flooding, 2, 23

Foreman's Defeat, 34, 35, 37

Forrester, Bud and Inez, 48

Fout, Joan Fout, 62

Frances McGuire, 64

Frederick County, Virginia, 28

funerals, 23

Gabart, Susan, 153

Gallien, Bill, 19, 25, 106, 159, 213

Gallien, Bobby, 106

Gallien, Delphia, 145, 153, 155-157

Gallien, Edith, 57, 67, 100, 103, 107, 144, 150, 155, 157, 159, 165

Gallien, Hazel, 105, 142, 157

Gallien, James, 151-152

Gallien, Lucille, 134

Gallien, Norita, 104, 107, 135, 138, 143, 157

Gallien, Okey, 12, 14, 16, 19, 21, 22, 23, 104, 117, 139, 142, 144, 145,
150, 153, 155, 157-165, 212

Gallien, Okey family, 9, 10, 11, 12, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25

Gallien, Okey Jr., 9, 15, 104

Gallien, Samuel, 151

Gallien, William Thomas, 152, 154, 213

Games, 17, 78, 133, 139

Gamsjager, Alma, 17, 19, 22, 23, 139, 142, 146, 150, 157, 213

Gamsjager, Charles, 135, 136, 139

Gamsjager, Frank, 138

Gamsjager, Henry, 25, 134, 149

Gamsjager, Ida, 138-142, 145, 146, 148, 150

Gamsjager, Johann, 131

Gamsjager, John, 132, 133, 135, 139, 147, 149, 157, 213

Gamsjager, John (Jr.), 135, 136-138, 139, 140

Gamsjager, John family, 8, 25

Gamsjager, Kate, 150

Gamsjager, Matthias, 131, 132, 146, 147

Garrett, Bob, 88

Gaston, Alpha, 116

Gaston, Amy, iii, 14, 60, 66, 109, 117, 118, 157, 161

Gaston, Gail, 118

Gaston, Marion, 116, 118

Gaston, Morris, 114

Gaston, Orly Carson, 118

Gaston, Velma, 116, 118

Gillespie, John, 100

Gillespie, William Edward, 100

grace, 133, 139, 143

gravedigging, 23

Gray, Ferrell, 116, 118

Gray, Rex, 93

Griffeth, Elizabeth, 61

groundhog house, 49

Grove, Alden, 115

guns, 34, 37, 47, 61, 82, 109, 117

hair color, 64, 118, 126, 212

haircutting, 21-22, 69

Hall, Ann Gibson, 64

Hall, Dorcas, 45

Hall, Emma, 112

Hall, Geneva, 65

Hamilton, John, 87

Harlan, Burns, 105

Hayhurst, David, 123

Hayhurst, Elizabeth, 123

haystacks, 9, 10, 84, 148, 160

hearing, 72, 125, 210

heart disease, 66, 81, 113, 130, 136, 152, 170, 211, 212

high school, 104

Hinter, Joe, 8, 148

Hodge, Howard, 50, 70, 86

Holt, Rush, 90

homework, 79, 159, 161, 162

horse, 85

Hospitals, 50, 66, 80, 81, 115, 129, 136, 138, 144, 152, 157, 163, 171,
196, 198, 201, 211

House, Almira E., 154

Hudkins family, 43-44

Hudkins, Barton, 7, 42, 43, 44

Hudkins, Bennett, 7, 43

Hudkins, Elizabeth, 42, 43, 184

Indian Creek, 53

Indians, 33, 34, 37, 38

Ingram, Abraham, 44

Ingram, Naomi, 43, 44

IOOF Cemetery, 214

Japanese beetle, 81

kitchen, 19, 31, 76, 77, 79, 143, 149, 169, 182, 187, 190

Knight, Luther, 88

Krenn, Johann, 131

Krenn, Mary Theresia, 131

Lambert, Dow, 57, 58, 59

left-handed, 213

Little Kanawha River, 33

Little, Elizabeth, 44

Lowther, Minnie Kendall, 112

Lutheran Cemetery, 216

Lynch, Thomas, 96

Masonic Cemetery, 215

Maxwell, C. J., 30

Meek, Guy, 153

Meek, Jacob Gabart, 153, 154, 165

Meek, Jacob Henry, 154

Meek, John, 153

Meek, John J., 154

Meek, Martin V., 154

Meek, Montecue Allen, 153

Meek, Samuel, 153

Meek, Thomas, 153

Meek, Virginia Catherine, 7, 22, 60, 143, 153-155, 213

Methodist-Protestant Church, 80

milking, 47, 71, 160, 165

Miller, Elizabeth, 45

Minear, Henrietta, 151

Minear, Samuel B., 151

Moore, Patricia (Pat), 141

Moore, Ray, 141

Morris, Everett, 156

Morris, James, 156

Morris, John Wesley, 156

Morris, Neal, 64

Morris, Robert, 156

Morris, Virginia M., 156

Mt. Jackson, 28

Mt. Pisgah Church, 49, 50

Mullen, Ernestine, 163, 164

Nay Cemetery, 214

Nay, Babe, 127, 130

Nay, Clairmont, 128

Nay, Cooster, 82

Nay, Daniel, 123, 151

Nay, Everett, 129

Nay, Irene Loudin, 127, 129

Nay, Jacob, 123

Nay, Joseph Oliver, 126

Nay, Joseph Otis, 128

Nay, Marshall Roldolphus, 124

Nay, Mary Jane, 48, 53, 56, 58, 59, 70, 76, 82, 94, 123, 124-126, 127,
194, 210, 212

Nay, Osra, 129

Nay, Rosswell Proctor, 129

Nay, Stella, 128

Nay, William Walker, 124

Nevelle, Doy, 91

Nolan, Edward, 154

Nuzum, Dessie, 66

O'Neal, Duane, 74

Old Meetinghouse Graveyard, 30

Parsons, John, 62

Patton School, 56, 64, 76, 124

Patton, Bob, 74

Philadelphia, 28

Pierpont, John, 96

President Bond, 88, 89, 90

Primm, Jim, 66, 69, 126

Pritchard, Grant, 18, 68, 120

Prunty, Anna, 61

Randall Strother, 90

Randolph, Elmo, 93

Ranger, Albert, 48

Rastle, Eda Frances, 133, 135, 137, 148, 213

Rastle, Frank, 133, 135

Rastle, Franz Paul, 133

Rastle, John, 133, 135

Rastle, Mary, 133

reading, 18, 79, 84, 139, 141, 147

revival meetings, 16, 17, 61, 80, 169

Rhodes, Elizabeth, 62

Riney, Henrietta, 42

Rockcamp School, 80

Ruppert, John, 150

Sakamoto, Anna Christine, 100

Sakamoto, Kazuhiro, 100

Sakamoto, Toji, 76, 100

Salem College, 15, 51, 52, 63, 87, 88-92, 95, 99, 113, 125, 137, 162,
165, 197, 201

sales, 72, 118, 138, 149, 158, 201

Schulte, Ada, 137

serenade, 67, 117

Seventh-Day Baptists, 53, 88, 89

Sharpe, Hazel, 74

Sigler, Silas, 151

Simpson, Jane, 111

Simpson, John, 111

singing, 17, 70, 90

Slaven, Elizabeth, 44

Slaven, John, 44

slaves, v, 6, 15, 29, 43

smallpox, 65, 67, 76, 81, 210

Smith, Harry, 14, 117

Smith, Tracy, 134

Smith, Violet, 74

snake, 78, 116, 154

Snodgrass, Juanita, 78

Sommerville, Mary, 49, 72, 201

South Fork Cemetery, 214

spelling bees, 56, 80

spitting, 16, 58, 60

Spurgeon, Clarence, 116

Starkey, Ardie, 69

stomach trouble, 51, 56, 70, 152, 210

stoves, 12, 20, 54, 75, 77, 79, 80, 121, 134, 139, 143, 195

Strother, Randall, 91, 92

Stuart, Elizabeth, 44

stubborn, 46, 49, 65, 74, 210, 211, 212

sulfur water, 70

Swan, Mary S., 153

Tate, Arza, 66, 81

Taylor, Mildred, 51

teaching, 91, 96

teeth, brushing, 22

teeth, extraction, 22, 110

Telephones, 18, 19, 66, 68, 72, 137, 160, 177

Tibbs, Shirley (Alma), 75, 78, 79, 80

toilet paper, 24

toilets, 19, 24, 161

tonsils, 83

toothpaste, 22

trains, 8, 13, 14, 52, 55, 57, 58, 81, 85, 145, 146, 149, 158, 163, 190

Trout Run, 28, 29, 30

Tujague, Arthur, 115

Tully, Nelson, 95

Tyson, John, 104, 135, 136, 143

Tyson, Susie, 104

U.B. Cemetery, 215

Ulbrick, Al, 90

Ulster, 27, 28

Vance, Helen, 55, 63, 74

vindictive, 46, 49, 111, 113

Walkup, Homer, 95

Wamsley, Ina, 87

Warthen family, 41-42, 43

Warthen, Mary, 40, 41, 42

washing clothes, 72, 144, 149, 211

washing dishes, 20, 148

Wathen, Ignatius, 41

Wathen, John, 41, 42

Wathen, Mary, 42

Weaver, Mable, 67

wells, gas or oil, 11, 12, 13, 124, 146, 207

Wells, Salina, 51

wells, water, 2, 19, 20, 67, 82, 149, 152, 167, 213

Westfall, Joel, 32, 37, 38

Westfall, Mary, 37, 38, 40

White Oak Church, 46, 47

White Oak Church Cemetery, 215

White, Elizabeth, 32

White, Enoch, 114

White, John, 32, 33

White, William, 32, 33, 34, 38

wild game, 11

William and Elizabeth Wilson Memorial Association, Inc., 30

Williams, Jim, 95

Wilson Cemetery, 48, 214, 215

Wilson family, 18

Wilson History, 52

Wilson, Sally, 64

Wilson, Alph, 48, 56

Wilson, Archibald J., 6, 42-43, 44, 183-189

Wilson, Arden, iii, 12, 16, 18, 21, 23, 48, 49, 51, 53, 60, 61, 64-72,
73, 75, 80, 81, 200-202

Wilson, Arden family, 10, 11, 12, 15, 18, 19, 20, 21, 24

Wilson, Barr, iv, 41, 52

Wilson, Barr, History, iv, v, 7, 27, 41, 43, 44, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51,
52, 53, 183, 218

Wilson, Ben, 52, 80

Wilson, Benjamin, 29, 31, 32, 34

Wilson, Bill, 59, 60, 100

Wilson, Bill Guy, 55, 58, 60, 61, 63, 64, 87, 199

Wilson, Brenda, 46, 59, 60, 100, 142, 155

Wilson, Clifton, 52

Wilson, Creed, 51

Wilson, David, 27, 28

Wilson, David Davis, vi, 27

Wilson, Dump, 57

Wilson, Earl, 48

Wilson, Earl Jr., 48

Wilson, Elizabeth, 28, 29, 54, 64

Wilson, Frances, 59, 64

Wilson, Harry, 61, 124

Wilson, Henry Morgan (Morgie), 49

Wilson, Hooker, 46, 50, 51

Wilson, Ingabee, 51

Wilson, James Alpus (Jimmy), 13, 49-50

Wilson, John, 6, 29, 31, 34, 38-41, 43, 44

Wilson, John Marshall, 16, 45-46, 47, 51, 189-194, 210

Wilson, Josephine, 51

Wilson, Kermit, 14, 21, 23, 48, 51, 53, 56, 64, 65, 67, 72-75, 76, 77,
80, 81, 82, 211

Wilson, Leman, 48

Wilson, Lincoln, 13, 49

Wilson, Loe, 55, 61-62, 124, 200, 211

Wilson, Mable, 61, 62, 124

Wilson, Mary Virginia, 59, 100, 154

Wilson, Otis Guy, 45, 55, 58, 61, 62, 63, 64, 68, 69, 74, 75, 96, 124,
125, 126, 196-199, 211

Wilson, Paula, 64

Wilson, Pearl, 48

Wilson, Robin, 64

Wilson, Ruby, 69

Wilson, Stella, 14, 55, 56-60, 61, 64, 73, 75, 82, 124, 196, 211

Wilson, Vance, 54, 55, 57, 59, 60, 64, 199

Wilson, Vance Nay, 63

Wilson, William, 28, 29, 30

Wilson, William Kester, 14, 75-107, 211

Wilson, William Martin, 19, 45, 48, 50, 53-56, 57, 61, 62, 67, 74, 75,
76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 96, 124, 126, 194-196, 210

Wilson,Arden, 4, 10, 12, 22, 25, 75, 81, 82, 84, 85, 86, 88, 94, 100,
102, 105, 112, 117, 119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128,
129, 130, 143, 158, 194, 195, 196, 210, 212, 214, 222

Wilsons of Inverness, 27

Winans, Jeannette, 110

Winterauer, Maria, 131

Woofter, Andrew, 110

Woofter, John, 111

Woofter, Johnathan, 110

Woofter, Sarah Elizabeth, 23, 108, 109, 110-111, 212

wool, buying, 51, 68, 85-86, 201

Wright, Lucinda, 108

Wysong, Bill, 105

Zickefoose, Ed, 68

Zickfoose, Lenore, 74

Zinn, Bill, 72

Zinn, Olive, 151

**List of Figures**

to be completed

**censored stuff**

The following plain (not boldface) text, which might be offensive or
humiliating to certain relatives and acquaintances, has been expurgated
from the version of the history for general distribution. The censored
text might also be harmful to these people and their descendants, who
have no way to defend themselves against such innuendo. This text is
retained in the uncensored edition with the understanding that only the
censored edition be distributed outside our immediate family.

Hooker Wilson

**As we were driving home, Granddad was silent for a long time.** Then
he said, "Hooker was not an honest man. Had it not been for Hooker, I
would have had about \$10,000 more than I have."

Replaced by: \[Granddad was silent for a long time. Then he told me how
he and Hooker disagreed about their inheritance. Had things turned out
differently, he would have had about \$10,000 more.\]

guineas

**This is most unfortunate, as many of them**, such as Gail Gaston's
wife, **were very intelligent and capable**.

Lincoln Wilson

**not as friendly with Uncle Lincoln as they otherwise would have
been.** I remember Uncle Lincoln as one of the least smart of John
Marshall's children. **I seldom saw him although he lived very close by.
There weren't any children my age.**

Hooker Wilson

**and I visited her a few months later and picked up the pictures. She
has a house and large outbuilding completely full of antiques.** In
college she had dated a roommate of mine named Silas Smith. She
indicated that she had provided some experience for Silas. She didn't
define "experience."

Creed Wilson

**little tired and showed it. Uncle Creed remarked that I didn't have
the energy the older Wilsons had.** I thought about saying (but
diplomatically didn't), that perhaps it was better that I didn't have
some of the energy of the older Wilsons. **Dad and I visited Uncle Creed
a few months before he died. One of**

Otis Guy Wilson

**learned this from visiting them. Aunt Helen was a great professional
asset to Uncle Guy. She was quite active in the Women's Club, and at one
time was the state president.** Uncle Guy was perfectly willing for Dad
to do most of the work on Granddad's farm, but he liked to reserve
policy making and higher decisions to himself. **Uncle Guy was very good
always to visit Granddad and**

Arden Wilson

**So Harley Cox knew that Dad had killed his dog, but Dad hadn't
admitted it, so Harley left in a huff.** However, Harley's granddaughter
is getting even with us. She and her husband and family are renting the
house and are paying very little rent. Dad must be squirming in his
grave.

William Kester Wilson-College Years

**Fred had had mechanical drawing and projective geometry.** Fred was
not very handsome, and his lips protruded. There was a rather plain,
**shy girl named Geraldine Martin, in whom Fred became interested when
he was a**

Grandma Gallien's recollections

**Lafe clerked in a store at Leopold and had a reputation for**
cheating. **Kate Kreynebuhl bought some things one time, and on the way
home decided that she had been cheated \$2. When she got home, she and
Silas figured that this**

Uncle Bert Adams

**While in Harrisville, he married Agnes Ayres (XX, -- 1978), who was a
very bright woman.** Rumors suggest that Aunt Agnes was having an affair
in Harrisville and that Uncle Bert was told that he had better move out
of town to save his marriage. (Anyone who knew Aunt Agnes well might
conclude that fidelity was not her strong suit.) So when Uncle Bert
found a job with Columbia Gas, they moved to Charleston. **Uncle Bert
was an excellent breadwinner, and during the depression years, he was
making over \$400 per month.**

Alma Gallien

**When Okey, Jr. and Lea were married, Lea and Ma Gallien got along very
well.** However, **their temperaments were very much alike.** One
evening, they got into a screaming match with each other and stopped
only after Mrs. Stutler interceded. As far as I know, this was an
isolated incident.

***TO BE ADDED***

[can be done after proofs sent out]{.underline}

make maps

add space for photographs and captions

[questions]{.underline}

Arden Wilson's diaries

**things to remember in assembling final document**

number the indexes after numbering the descendants pages

number the table of contents

print MacDraw stuff from System 6

enhance index entries e.g. women's married names, see also, etc.

use archival paper