Bearing Much Fruit

When you are sent by God on a mission, your work will not be in vain, but bear much fruit. Maude E. Callen (1898-1990) is a medical guru, in my opinion, because she took on the task of sharing and instilling her skills as a midwife with the indigent people of South Carolina. Through her self- sacrificing and time consuming work, she has left an imprint on the medical field that will be remembered. I am sure that some days Maude E. Callen did not want to go deliver babies or tend to the sick. However this was her mission and her passion. She fought against these feelings and pushed forward. Maude’s perseverance was exceptional because even as a child orphaned at 6 years old, she did not let this abandonment by her biological parents stop her future pursuits. Nor did she let the environmental situations (muddy, impassable roads, variable weather conditions) stop her from getting to pregnant mothers or ill clients. Not only was she a nurse and midwife, but she was also a community worker and leader, operating a community clinic in her home because the hospitals were miles away. She also delivered between six hundred and eight hundred babies and tended to ill clients in her community through in home services. As I stated before, getting to these homes was not an easy mission. The location of her in- homes services were in Berkley County, South Carolina which was at the end of “Hell Hole Swamp”. These homes were still lit by oil lamps and had no telephones. People traveled by wagon or buggy to get to town. Nurse Maude even offered vaccinations and examinations to school children in the community. Furthermore, as a Health Information Professional I can glean from Maude Callen’s life and work ethics to:

• ·        always persevere no matter what
• ·        be dedicated to the task at hand
• ·        commit to the patients and clients
• ·        be nondiscriminatory- fair
• ·        maintain high standards of excellence
• ·        don't let personal life interfere with work assignments
• ·        be selfless- putting the needs of others first
• ·        take the  initiative to solve problems
• ·        take knowledge and professional skills learned into the community
• ·        exhibit fortitude
• ·        go the extra mile in delivering quality service to others

As you can see Maude Callen lived and worked out her philosophy of assisting at deliveries and improving the expertise of midwives. This philosophy can function in any profession when serving others.

Maude is an admirable and outstanding example of Proverb 18:16 that says “A man’s gift makes room for him, And brings him before great men.”

Craig's Unforgettable Memory: Cross Burning In Yard

Could you imagine seeing a cross burning in your front yard? If you said no, that is exactly how my mother’s brother, Craig Allen felt, until it happened to him. This is the story that he remembers as it happened one night in a neighborhood in Buckstown, Jefferson County Parish, Louisiana.

Craig’s story begins like this in his own words:

 In the early 90s, I was offered to live in a house by a gentleman named Sealey. This man wanted me to rehab the interior and exterior of his property. Upon arriving at the house the grass on the property was three to four feet high and the homes surrounding the property were very well kept. When I entered the home I could see that it had been used as a party house. Furniture was turned over and broken, kitchen appliances were dirty, leftover food was in the refrigerator, piles of clothes were thrown everywhere in both bedrooms, and the bathrooms were horrible. It needed a full restoration. After analyzing the situation, I started on the inside since I was going to be living there. After three days of going back and forth and cleaning, I was able to stay there to finish the restoration. Once the inside was livable, I began working on the outside. This included mowing the lawn, pulling weeds, and cutting bushes. While doing this exterior work, I met some of the neighbors. I received great reviews from them, saying they were so glad that something was being done.

Buckstown, LA is a shrimping community consisting of  95% white population and the headquarters of the Grand Marshall of the Ku Klux Klan, David Duke. I was unaware of this fact at the time, not really being aware that I saw no faces that looked like mine in the community.  The people were very friendly though. After a month of living there, one evening, I got a knock at the door. As I opened the door, entering without invitation, were six men in wet slicker suits, the attire worn by shrimpers, which led me to believe that they were coming straight off the water from their boats. With some apprehension I offered them a beer. A couple of the men took me up on it, but the others declined because they were more interested in where the owner of the house was. I explained to them that I was there to rehab the house with a rent to own option per a verbal agreement with the owner. I told them Sealey was in the city and he was paying me for the work that I was doing. He was getting the paperwork together for a rent to own option. The intruders explained to me that the Sealey family was one of the oldest families in the area. The men showed me a picture of the house  before any other houses were built around it. Sealey’s family was one of the  founding families of Buckstown. Sure enough there was a picture that I had removed from the wall to paint, that showed that it was, in fact, the original house. Now there are houses all around. After telling me the story, the intruders finally left with a message for me to tell Sealey to contact a man named Bobby Jo. I didn’t question the request, not really realizing the gravity of the situation I was in.  I thought nothing of it because everyone was so nice and this was some prime real estate. Two weeks later, Sealey came by to see what had been done and paid me the last installment for the work. He had not yet gotten the paperwork together, but had no problem with me staying there until the paperwork was finalized the next week. Two days later I got up to go to the store to get some more groceries. I left out from the back door of the house. Upon returning to the house, I could see the front lawn and to my amazement there was a ten foot wooden cross that was smoldering in smoke. I stopped, looked around and saw that the lawn had been trampled on by many people. How could this have happened? I hadn’t heard or seen or heard anything. No wailing of fire sirens, no blaring police lights, and no concerned neighbor knocking at the door warning me of a racial ritual being played out on the front lawn of the house I was sound asleep in. The legend was true, the Klan comes as ghosts in the night. I had been visited by a live not dead apparition. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I thought of what might have happened if I had ran out of the house or had been pulled out of the house by these terrorists. Flashes of my forefathers being burned, lynched, disfigured and torn away from their families in the black of night brightened the corners of my mind. I immediately ran in the house and called the police because I could not believe that crosses were still being burned and used to intimidate and instill fear upon innocent black people in the 90s!! The police and news stations came. I was told that this was the Grand Duke’s territory. I asked what my legal rights were against this crime, but I was told that I was not welcomed even with legal documentation. I immediately packed and vacated the premises.  I was angry and confused!!! HOW COULD SOMETHING LIKE THIS STILL BE HAPPENING IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA??

This was yet another experience I had with racism and prejudice in the United States in the 1990s. AND THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES.

Footnote: In doing research for my uncle’s story I could not find any record or evidence of this story even though my uncle’s interview was broadcast on several local television stations. COVER UP??? EVIDENCE DESTROYED???? Who knows, it has happen before.

Horrors of Racism

Strange Fruit   by Billie Holiday
Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant south
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop

Horrors of Racism in the south or anywhere can be the number one contributing factor as to why people refuse to return to their homes and migrate to other cities. The fear caused by racism can be soul shaking. These eye opening experiences can cause one to resolve never to expose themselves or their families to this terror ever again.
My maternal grandfather, Clyde Allen, was raised in Sopchoppy, FL, a little southern town not too far from Tallahassee. After WWII he relocated to St. Louis, Missouri and never returned to his hometown. So, I began to ask myself  Why?. 
He never spoke about his childhood with his family. Although, an early experience in his life may glean some light on why he never spoke about his upbringing. In early January of 1919, the Allen family experienced a horrific fire that destroyed their home. It is not known what started the fire. Who knows the fire could have been set by the Klu Klux Clan for racial reasons. Oral history is that Wesley, my grandfather’s father, went back into the fire to rescue his family.   Later that month, he died of pneumonia. As a result, Clyde, his mother Rebecca, his brothers Peter and D.W. and his sister Beatrice went to live with Rebecca’s father, Berry Williams. 
Because of this unfortunate house fire and probably racism experienced in Sopchoppy, FL, my grandfather never returned to his southern roots. 
My grandfather was just one of the thousands of African Americans that left the south and migrated north in the Great Migration. This mass exodus could have been cause by…
• The fear of being lynched in the night by the Klan
• The fear of your loved ones being kidnapped and never returning home
• The fear of women and children being raped at anytime
• The fear of being beat savagely and tortured
• The fear of being targeted for harm because of your skin color

The unspoken memories of our ancestors are because of terrorism, racism, and other terrible isms that were felt, seen, and experienced in the South. They could not bring their mouths to speak and their minds to recall the trauma they endured and experienced.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
 Maya Angelou

Wesley Allen ( 1893-1919) Great Grandfather

Clyde Allen (1915-1970) Grandfather

 Rebecca Williams Allen (1891-1937) Great Grandmother

Tragedy With A Sprinkle of Happiness

Oral history, in my paternal family, is that the slave master’s son had relations with his slave. The slave’s name was Melviney Newell Poole and she is my Great Great Grandmother. As a result of the rape between the master’s son and Melviney was birthed my Great Grandfather, Richard Poole on February 4, 1875.

 Now Richard Poole’s life is kind of like a rollercoaster. There were some high points in his life that were celebrated and everything was good, but there were also low points when things weren’t so good. Some of the high points of his life were his marriage to my Great Grandmother, Georgia Ann Wilks around 1905 and the birth of his seven children ( Freeman, Minnie, Ornell, Frank, Lillie, Rubye, and Raymond).

Unfortunately, life can’t be all sunny days, but there are some dark days mixed in. These moments of my great grandfather’s life were grieved by not only him but also his entire family. The first event that brought sadness and heart ache to my great grandfather was the murder of his second  son, Frank. Frank was killed by two men that were hired by this old lady who was jealous. According to my Grandmother, Rubye’s memoirs, her father attended the trial set for the murder, but did not press any charges against the murderers because “it would not bring Frank back”. Not only was my great grandfather saddened by this death, but the whole family was devastated and grieved for quite a while. The second low point in my great grandfather’s life was his death on April 13, 1941 in LaGrange, GA. He died because of a fire in the attic of his house and was burned beyond recognition, according to his death certificate. In my grandma’s memoirs she says, “I went to the shop early but he hadn’t open. I came back home and the phone rang to tell me that my Dad was burned to death and they would have a graveside funeral at 1:00 p.m. that day.”

My great grandfather’s life is like so many of the lives of our ancestors. YES, THE STRUGGLE TO SURVIVE WAS REAL AND STILL IS. Our ancestors’ lives can be described as “sometimes you win some and sometimes you loose some”. More often, in the African American case, we lost. However, it can be said that through our ancestors’ lives we have learned to keep living because the sun will shine again.

Finding my R.O.O.T.S at M.A.A.G.I

One of the definitions for passion is a strong fondness, enthusiasm or desire for something. In my case that “something” is genealogy. My passion began as a very small ember in my heart to learn more about my family. This tiny ember was set ablaze through my attendance at MAAGI (Midwest African American Genealogical Institute)  for the past four years. When I first started my genealogical journey, I didn’t know how or where to begin. I needed to learn how to research and learn the various resources that were available to me. MAAGI was my teacher. MAAGI helped me in finding my R.O.O.T.S.

            The R in R.O.O.T.S stands for research. MAAGI has definitely taught me the strategies and tools to conduct a successful and thorough search for my ancestors and others. Now that I know the correct way to research, I can look at a document and begin to question certain facts. In order to find answers to my questions, I have to DIG DEEPER to find the answers that I am seeking. DIGGING DEEPER, during research, makes the facts richer and gives credence to the those family “oral” histories.

            The O’s in R.O.O.T.S stand for opportunities and optimal exposure. MAAGI has given me many opportunities to meet and network with other genealogists and professionals in the field. I have gained great knowledge and insight from listening to the various speakers and interacting with my peers at the institute. In addition to opportunities, MAAGI have given me optimal exposure to put what I have learned into practice. For instance, the first year that I attended MAAGI, I took the Professional Genealogy track. In this track, one of the class activities was to create, plan, and execute a Blog Talk Radio Show. My fellow classmates and I created a show called “Why Genealogy”. This experience of creating and being a part of a live radio show, gave me a better appreciation of all the work that goes on behind the scenes of programs like this. It also showed me that genealogy is not just researching, but sharing your findings and experiences with other through Blog Talk Radio Shows and other platforms. The opportunities and optimal exposure that I have received at MAAGI have given me a broader mind concerning the field of genealogy.

            The T is R.O.O.T.S stands for techniques. From the teachings at MAAGI, I have learned numerous ways of searching for ancestors. One of the techniques that I use often is to make a timeline for a  particular ancestor. Timelines give me a better picture of the facts I have and the facts that I need to find.

Finally, S in R.O.O.T.S stands for support. From the instructors to my peers, I definitely get support and help with any questions or genealogical brick walls. This support has been invaluable. Attending MAAGI has been an excellent experience that is a treasure, igniting that small ember, that I began with, into a blazing wildfire.

Children of the Dust

Dust is often thought of as unwanted, of no value, and often thrown aside because it has no purpose.

“Children of the Dust” are the unwanted children of American servicemen and Vietnamese women born during the war. Such children were left behind to face discrimination, poverty, and the shame of the communist government all alone. The mothers of these children were often not present in their lives because they were either in prison, killed, or raped, losing everything. They were shunned along with their children. In all of this devastation, the poor children were left motherless, directionless, and without much hope. HEARTBREAKING, isn’t it!!!!!

Oh, but there is hope. Through the work and dedication of volunteers of Humanitarian organizations worldwide, these children can get help finding their paternal relatives. How??? Through a wonderful and powerful tool called DNA. I took an Ancestry DNA test in 2013 and just a few days ago was contacted stating that I was matched with a man in Vietnam as a second cousin. He was born during the Vietnam War and his father may be my maternal great uncle. Although my great uncle never spoke about this child with his family, it might be that he had no knowledge of the birth of this child. Thus my DNA journey began. Although I am not directly related to him, I knew who to contact. Now it is up to the family to decide to take a DNA test for varification to prove the parentage of this “child of the dust”.

Furthermore, it is very important and with a sense of urgency that I write about this matter because families need to understand how needful it is for these children to find their families. Hopefully, embracing the newly found relatives will bring healing to their broken hearts. 

Unlocking Doors

My grandfather's key

Picture of website

   My genealogical goal for this year is to find my paternal great grandfather. I have been researching and looking for Edwin/ Edward Johnson for six years. Family members have very little information to contribute to my search because he left his family when my grandfather was only ten years old.

So, when I get a clue to the identity of my great grandfather, I am over-the-top excited! You ask, “What clue did you find?” Well, as I was researching on the computer for information about “Railroads in the 1920s”, I hit the mother lode. As I was reading about working and riding on the railroads, I came to a picture that looked very familiar. I remembered that my mother had a key that my paternal grandfather, Charles Johnson, had. I compared the key with the picture and it was a MATCH!!!!! I had an O.M.G moment. Could this be the clue that I needed to unlock the mystery to my great grandfather? I was looking at “railroads in the 1920s” because there might have been a possibility that Edwin was a Pullman Porter. Some of the places he and his family lived in (according to census records) were accessible by train.

 This particular key that I am referring to is a Pullman Porter’s key. They used these keys to open up the berth (beds) for the riders in the sleeping car compartments. On the key were the words L&N Railroad ( Louisville & Nashville Railroad).  Most likely Edwin Johnson was a Pullman Porter for this railroad. BINGO, clue number one.

The other story is that my grandpa might have used this key when he took the mail from the Post Office to the train station to open the mail car. This car on the train was always locked because it not only held mail, but also money.

 So I have two mysteries to further investigate..

#1 – Did this key belong to Edwin, and was it the only memento his son, Charles, kept of his father?

#2- Did this key belong to my grandpa when he worked at the Post Office?

Although I am still researching about this key, I have an optimistic outlook of the possibilities it could lead to. This key will definitely UNLOCK  DOORS in my search.

I May Be Bound, But I Survived: Lannie's Story

The mystery and questions surrounding my third great grandmother, Lannie Cheatham’s life are slowly but surely unraveling into a very interesting and complex story.

Lannie was born in Stewart County, Tennessee in 1828 during slavery. Through oral history from her granddaughter, Katie Shemwell, we know that she was a cook, servant, and took care of the children in the big house on the slave plantation. I am still searching for her slaveholder’s name, which would give me her maiden name.

According to the 1870 census (first census taken after slavery) Lannie is living in Roaring Springs, Kentucky with Henry Pinner and his five sons ( Samuel, John, Stephen, Lewis, William) and one daughter, Narcissus. Henry and Lannie were not married, according to this census. However, it makes sense that Lannie is taking care of Henry and his children because she had gotten into the habit of caring for children during slavery.  

Within the next five years, between 1870 and 1875, Henry must have died because Delena (Lannie) Pinner (widow) married Kit Cheatham (widower) on December 4, 1875 in Trigg County, Kentucky according to the Trigg County, KY Marriage License and Bond Book 1873-1887.

According to my cousin, Janet Cheatham Bell’s biography, The Time And Place That Gave Me Life on page 28, it says that Lannie bought into the marriage two sons and Kit bought in two sons. Lannie’s sons possibly were Aaron Pinner (stepson) and Noel Cheatum (son). Kit’s two sons were Frank and Sam Cheatham. Although Lannie and Kit had children from previous relationships, together they had seven more children- five boys (John, Stephen, Thomas, Jimie, and Dac) and two girls ( Frances and Lizzie). Kit had other children before and during their marriage including two boys Green R. Cheatham ( 1882-1955) ,Will Cheatham (1885) and two girls Mattie Cheatham (1860-1957) , Carrie Greenway (1888-1937).

Later in life, Lannie was noted in the 1910 census as being blind. This fact was also verified by her granddaughter, Katie Cheatham Shemwell.

In 1920, as Lannie’s health started declining she went to live with son, Thomas and his family in Bumpus Mills, Stewart County, Tennessee. Sadly, on August 6, 1928 she died of senility at the ripe age of 100.

I do not know if Lannie had any happy times in her life, but what I do know is that her life was hard, in constant transition, and filled with taking care of others. Lannie went from being a slave to being free to taking care of seventeen children and two men throughout her lifetime. NO WONDER SHE DIED FROM SENILITY, SHE WAS TIRED!!!!

A Mother's Love

A little act of kindness, leaves a lot of thankfulness in the heart of the receiver.

Ellistine Cheatham Allen was my maternal grandmother who had a heart of gold and would give anything to someone in need. My grandmother had two children Cathleen and Craig. When her brother’s son and daughter were left motherless, she stepped up and extended her love to take them into her home, raising them as her own. Her love for her children was limitless and she would do anything for them. My grandmother was selfless, loving, giving, and caring. She was and still is loved beyond measure. Following is a cherished memory by one of her dear friends, Ms. Lucille Lynch:
As a young bride, Mrs. Lynch and her husband lived upstairs from Ellistine’s mother, Princess. Mrs. Lynch remembers that she nor Ellistine had too much money. She could remember Ellistine giving her a box of Lifesavers for Christmas. She also remembers when she was in the hospital giving birth to her first child, there was a rotary pay phone by her bed. Ellistine gave her ten dimes for the pay phone. Ellistine told her to call her to talk about the baby.
Ellistine’s love certainly did extend beyond her family. She celebrated all of her loved one’s accomplishments, new beginnings, and births. She absolutely loved children.

My grandmother's legacy of love still lives on through her children and grandchildren.

Military Man & Family Man

The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country.

George S. Patton Jr.

Frank Ewing Cheatham, my great uncle, was born in St. Louis, Missouri on July 27, 1931. During World War II, he was one of many African Americans that enlisted in the army. Uncle Frank could have enlisted as a way of escape from the racial tensions that were rising in St. Louis. Instead of staying home and enduring the hatred and discrimination of the times, my great uncle decided to go serve his country at a time of war, both here at home and abroad. Not only did he just serve in WWII, but he made the military his career. He served until his death in 1979. Although, Great Uncle Frank was a military man, taking care of his country, he also took time out for his family. Following are some cherished memories from his nieces Cathleen Allen Johnson and Lynn McFarland Kenney:  

Uncle Frank and his family were stationed in Monteray, California. My mom and her sisters took me and my brother and cousins on an adventurous train ride from St. Louis to California. It was three days of wonder and jaw dropping experiences. We all had a ball on the train. This was in the late 1950s. As children we knew nothing of segregation, Jim Crow, or racism. We were on a train heading to beautiful California to see our uncle. We had to ride a ferry, after the train ride. Another new adventure. We were so excited to see our cousins Andrea, Princess, and baby Kirk. Aunt Verna made huge banana-nut cakes and cleaned her sand-filled backyard, not dirt-sand. We went to the beach and the rodeo. With cowboy hats to prove it. We had so much fun. I couldn’t believe that every day was sunny and humid free. My hair did not “go back” the whole time!!! I I just remember the big smile on Uncle Frank’s face. While he was stationed at Fort Campbell in Kentucky, we visited he and his family there, while we visited Famma’s sister’s farm in Hopkinsville. Famma was what I called my grandmother, Princess.  Fun, fun, fun on the farm. Cathleen Allen Johnson (niece).

My fondest memory of Uncle Frank was when he would come to St. Louis. He always drove his Cadillac and we knew we were going to have fun. He called us “Pep”. When I lived with him every Saturday in the summers were lawn day. That is why today I know how to take care of my lawn. Lynn McFarland Kenney ( niece)

Teaching: The Music of Marceline's Heart

Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.

Nelson Mandela

My great aunt Marceline Jeanne` Cheatham Thomas was an excellent educator and fabulous person. She had a heart for young people and showed it throughout her life.

Born in St. Louis, MO in 1929, Marceline was the middle child of her five siblings. She was educated and taught in the St. Louis Public Schools. Her teaching career began at Benton Elementary School on Kingshighway in the early 1950s.  Now she was just not a regular run of the mill teacher, but extraordinary. What made her extraordinary? She was no non-sense, did not smile that often, very professional, stern, and had very high standards for her students and herself. She was all business in the classroom and took educating her eighth grade students very seriously. She absolutely loved all of her students and her coworkers. She not only taught eighth grade at Benton, but also at Hickey Elementary school. Moreover, Marceline was also deeply involved in her church, St. Peters A.M.E church on Shreve and Margaretta in St. Louis, MO. She was the Director of the Youth Chorale, a member of the Steward Board, and Secretary to the Quarterly Conference. In addition to all this, she served as an usher, Sunday School Superintendent, Sunday School Teacher, and Church Secretary. Marceline was serious about  God, church, family, and the education of her students.

Even though Marceline was serious about what she did, she did take time out to enjoy life. She loved sports and was a season ticket holder for the St. Louis Rams football team. She also played volleyball.  In the 70s, Marceline was one of the chorus singers in the stage production of Purlie Victorious by Ossie Davis in St. Louis, MO. Not only was she dedicated  in all she did, but she was a very talented lady.

Following is a cherished memory of her niece, Cathleen Allen Johnson, about her dear aunt.

My aunt was beautiful, intelligent, no non-sense, and an educator extraordinaire! My brother and I would love it when we would be walking home to Greer from Simmons and Turner Middle and Auntie Marceline would be cruising down the street in her red convertible and pick us up. Boy, we thought we were somebody! I remember how beautiful my mom and her sisters looked on Sunday mornings for church. They were dressed to the nines with their big legs and hour glass figures. They always wore the latest fashions. My freshman year in high school Auntie Marceline gave me her Spiegel Catalog and told me I could pick out $200.00 worth of clothes. Boy, I wore that catalog out. You talking about mixing and matching stuff! When those boxes came, well it was like Christmas in August. I still remember one of the outfits- grey wool box pleated skirt, with a matching short red jacket with gold military buttons. The collar and down the front of the jacket was trimmed in gray. I even had red flats. Boy, I was clean!!!

She passed in 1983, but her legacy of love for educating children lives on through the lives of her nieces, nephews, and students. Teaching and being an inspiration to young people was the goal of Marceline’s life. I would say that she accomplished that goal to the highest.

Everything's Copacetic

Have you ever met someone that was seemingly cool and nothing bothered him or her? Well that was my great Uncle James Cheatham. I never met him because he died before I was born.  However, I feel like I know him through pictures and the fond memories of his wife, Mariah, daughter Melanie (from retold stories), and his nieces and nephews.

According to his nieces and nephews, Uncle James was the coolest, smoothest, most handsome, and most fun uncle of them all. Yes child, he was tall, dark, and handsome. He had a sideways grin that, I understand, GOT THE GIRLS EVERYTIME! Baby, let’s talk about his swag. He had the cool, slow, not in a rush to get there walk. Whatever it was would be there when he arrived.

Everyone called him “Cheat”, but in my mom’s eighth grade autograph book he signed his name “Pretty Cheat”. ENOUGH SAID!!!! My mother remembers Uncle James picking up all his nieces and nephews in his new gold Cadillac. Ohhhh weee, what a treat that it was to ride in a brand, spanking new car. No not just a car, but a Cadillac at that. Only thing was that their feet could not touch the gold medallion crested car mats. Yes, Uncle James had his nieces and nephews riding with their feet suspended in the air the entire trip.

Oh and he could dance. Dancing on a dime was his thing. Whenever the Madison was playing, you would see Uncle James snapping his fingers and moving his feet. My mom said that when the music was playing he would come down the Madison line saying “Here comes Pretty Cheat”. Dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

Uncle James Lived, Love, and had fun because

EVERYTHING WAS COPACETIC!!!!

"That's My Story And I'm Sticking To It"

My maternal great aunt, Marilyn Cheatham Darby, always would end her stories by saying “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!”

Marilyn Rochelle Cheatham was born to her loving parents, Wilton and Princess Cheatham, on August 4, 1933. She was the baby girl of her five siblings- Ellistine, Wilton, Marceline, Frank, and James. Marilyn was always a curious and out spoken child. She did not like anybody bullying her or her family. For example, Marilyn’s Cousin Irene came to live with them in St. Louis for a while and attended the same elementary school as the Cheatham kids. Aunt Irene remembers that her father, Jodie Cheatham, had given her a ring and had told her not to take it to school. If she lost it, she was going to get a whipping when she got home! Well, she did wear it to school, and don’t you know one of the girls saw it and took it, bully that she was. Well, Aunt Irene ran to get her big cousin Marilyn because she knew that if she went home without it, she would be in a lot of trouble and if anyone could get the ring back Marilyn could. Marilyn found the girl after school and told her she better give the ring back and beat her down. Irene got the ring back and was not in trouble anymore.  Aunt Irene said that Marilyn could beat the shit out of a rock!!!  

Another story that Auntie told was that at Dunbar Elementary School in the early 50s, her teacher would stand at the door and clap her hands. All students would have to be in their seats before she stopped clapping. Well, Auntie Marilyn did not make it to her seat in time and the teacher slapped her across the face. Well, Auntie says she was shocked and taken aback. When she got home from school her mother asked her what was that red hand print on her face was and Auntie told her what had happened. Now I understand that my great grandmother, Princess, was a sweet, kind, humble lady, but she told her daughter “NOT TO LET ANYBODY EVER SLAP HER”!!  Well the next day, bless Jesus (Auntie’s words),  she couldn’t wait to get to school. When the bell rang and the teacher was stationed at the door clapping her hands, Auntie got in the back of the line, letting everyone in front of her. She walked slowly, determined and did a little jig. Just as she got to the door the teacher stopped clapping again. IT WAS ON NOW BABY!! Everybody in the class was frozen in anticipation of what was going to happen next. Well my Auntie did not disappoint. The teacher raised her hand to slap her again, and to her utter surprise, Auntie grabbed her hand and with her other hand slapped her across her face as hard as she could, grabbed her in the chest, and tore her blouse off of her, exposing her to the class. The story goes that they had to get the principle to get Auntie up off of the teacher. Needless to say that was the last day that teacher ever clapped again. These are just a few examples of many about how Marilyn defended herself and stood up for those being treated wrong.  She was definitely a no non-sense, no foolishness, and no crazy kind of person. She could “read” a person too. You were not going to fool her nor get anything by her! If you were any of the before mentioned, you were sure to be on her list and subject to be “cussed out”. I know that these early signs of Auntie defending the weak and not taking anything off of anyone, led her to become a Federal Investigator later in life. When talking to my mom and her cousins, they all told me that their one ambition in life was to grow up and cuss like auntie.

In addition to Marilyn being tough, Auntie loved family and loved telling stories. She was a fabulous storyteller and could mesmerize you with her words. My mother remembers Auntie telling her the story of her mother, Princess, sending her to her first day at Sumner High School, in St. Louis, attired in a dress with a big sash in the back and high top shoes. LOL!!!! That was my Aunt, she could tell the best stories with a lot of embellishments. True or not, her stories were very comical and memorable. Even though she could get you told, she was all CLASS. Dressing and carrying herself in a lady like manner.

It was her stories that got me started on this genealogical journey to find my family and help others find their families. Just listening to Auntie tell her stories of the family, the people she remembered, and their lives was enough for me to want to know more. As I began to research family members on Ancestry and Familysearch, I would call her to share what I had found. She would be so excited and tell me to keep searching. About five years before Auntie passed, I made her up a Family History binder and sent it to her. She absolutely cherished it, reading each page carefully and calling me to tell me more funny stories to add to the information. In 2013, she died, but her legacy of storytelling and her love for family will live on through those she touched with her life.

THAT’S HER STORY AND SHE ALWAYS STUCK TO IT!!!!!

Law and Order of a Matriarch

Have you ever been in a courtroom with a judge that delivers his/ her verdict with a resounding bang on the desk with a gavel? That’s how I think of my great aunt, Marilyn Cheatham-Darby. Not only was she the matriarch of my family, but she was also a counselor, advisor, comedian, and Get-The-Job done person. She definitely took care of business. As a child, every summer was spent in California with Auntie and her family. We would have so much fun laughing, going places, and just enjoying family. Auntie Marilyn was like the family switchboard lady at the telephone company. She had every family member’s number and kept in contact with them. She also introduced us to relatives that we had not known.

She was definitely the glue that held our family together.

The Conundrum of Edwin Johnson

According to Winston dictionary, a conundrum is a riddle or puzzle.

My paternal family has always had questions about our ancestor Edwin Johnson. Now, Edwin is the elusive father of my grandfather, Charles Johnson. You see grandpa didn’t have fond memories of his father because Edwin fled from Kinloch, Missouri when my grandpa was just ten years old in 1925 or around that time. Victoria, Edwin’s wife, was left to raise five children by herself.

Edwin Johnson was born between 1877 and 1879, according to census records. He married Victoria Leonard in Ashley County, Arkansas on December 23, 1914. In 1915 their first son Charles was born and in 1918 their first daughter Eddie Mae was born.

In 1918 in Arkansas the Elaine Race Riots were going on. This was a very violent event with hundreds of blacks being killed. It could During this time, Edwin and his pregnant wife move the family to El Centro, California. It could be a possibility that Edwin and his family fled from Arkansas because of these race riots It was in El Centro, CA that Victoria gave birth to Lloyd in 1920.

The Johnson family did not stay long in California because by 1921 they were living in Tulsa, Oklahoma. According to the city directory , Edwin and his family lived at 109 North Maybell Avenue. Victoria was a stenographer and Edwin was a barber.  My grandfather, Charles, remembers there being an earthquake that split the sidewalk in Tulsa. In 1921, Victoria gave birth to another son, Jules. Unfortunately, in 1921 in Tulsa there were race riots, so maybe Edwin and Victoria moved their family back to California for safety. In 1922 in Blythe, CA, their fourth son, Abraham was born.

 A year after the move to California, Edwin and Victoria moved the family to Kinloch, Missouri. In Kinloch, Victoria had another daughter named Sallie in 1924.  A year later, Victoria and Edwin divorced. After the divorce, Edwin left his family in Kinloch, MO and went to an unknown location. Here is where the mystery of Edwin gets interesting.

There are three stories circulating in the family as to why Edwin fled Kinloch, MO:

#1- Edwin got into a bar fight and thought he killed a white man. So he ran.

#2- Edwin and two other guys from Kinloch made a deal that they were going to leave their families and start a business in another state. Well, the other two guys backed out of the deal at the last minute, leaving Edwin. I guess he was pretty determined to leave because HE DID.

#3- Edwin got into an argument with another man over a woman. He got his pistol and shot the man in anger. Then he ran.

All three stories bring up the question: Where did he run to?

Some family members think he might have gone back home to Arkansas and others think San Francisco or Imperial, California.

EDWIN JOHNSON IS JUST A GENEALOGICAL CONUNDRUM AND  BRICKWALL!!!!! WHAT A RIDDLE!!!

Struggling to Win

SAY IT LOUD….

When you think of fighting to survive, you may think of struggling, persevering or striving for a better life. This is why we celebrate Black History Month. In remembrance of all the African Americans who have fought throughout their lifetimes to overcome the obstacles placed in their way. Not just overcoming, but breaking down racial walls, injustices, and inequality. Being the victor and not the victim. Living a life well deserved and thriving no matter what the circumstances were. Yes, this is our history and we proudly honor those that have gone before us and are still living.

I’M BLACK AND I’M PROUD!!!!!

From Crinolines to Pearls

Allie Tuck was my second great grandmother and was born in Big Rock, Tennessee in 1873 to William and Mariah Hester Tuck. Allie had four brothers ( William, Charles, Mackey, Hillery) and three sisters ( Mary, Bettie, Daily).

 In this photograph, Allie is standing in the middle, her sister Daily is on the left, and her brother Mackey is on the right. She and her sister wore crinolines or hoop skirts under their skirts to make them appear  fuller.  

When Allie Tuck was 18 years old, she married Woodson Ellis on November 10, 1891 in Stewart County, Tennessee. Together, my second great grandparents, had six children ( Lottie, Vassie, Carl, Hilary, Hettie Mae, Princess Irene,  Wilton). Unfortunately, Allie died of cancer in 1908 in Tennessee. Although, she did not live to see her offspring grow into adults, Allie left them with a lasting legacy of love, family, and helping others through missions.

Reflecting on the characteristics and attributes of Allie’s daughters and granddaughters, you can get a better picture of who she was. My great grandmother, Princess and her daughter, Ellistine were wonderful mothers to their children, gave of themselves to others, loved their family, and were both on the missionary society at church. Filled with love, compassion for others, and hearts of gold, my grandmother and great grandmother, reflected the heart of their grandmother and mother.

Furthermore, pearls are a timeless piece of jewelry worn by not only my female ancestors, but many others. Pearls are the embodiment of years of suffering and hardship. My ancestor’s lives and thousands of others who came to this country were wrought with hardships, disappointments, failures, and sadness but, as the pearl, they endured, developing into precious jewels of great value. Whenever I wear pearls, I am reminded of the legacy that the women who came before me left. I wear my pearls as a badge of honor and respect in remembrance of the strength, courage, kindness, and sacrificial love my ancestors represent. 

Memories of Christmas Past

Christmas was always celebrated as a time for family, food, and fun in Wilton and Princess Cheatham’s household. During the years of the Great Depression (1929-1939), even though times were hard, Wilton and Princess made what they did have work for their family.

My maternal grandmother, Ellistine, was the eldest of her six siblings. She remembers that on Christmas morning, she would wake up and have a peppermint stick and either an apple or an orange laying at the foot of her bed. Under the Christmas tree were homemade gifts lovingly sewn by her mother. On Christmas Eve, while her children were sleeping, Princess would decorate the Christmas tree. What a wonderful surprise for her children to wake up to see a beautifully decorated tree with homemade gifts underneath. My grandmother said that she and her siblings would suck on their peppermint sticks all day long!

Even though the Cheatham family did not have much, the cherished time spent together was more important than all the expensive gifts in the world.

It seems like Christmas back then meant more because they had less and all they had was their family. Versus Christmas today, where all we want are gifts and lots of them. Let’s get back to the basics and make Christmas not be about the gifts we get, but the gift of family, love, cherished memories, and serving others.

Thanksgiving LOL

One of my all time favorite stories told at Thanksgiving is the one told by my paternal grandfather, Charles Johnson. For posterity sake, my mother recorded my grandpa telling his famous story in 1992.

In WWII, November 1945, my grandfather and his fellow African American servicemen were sailing near Spain on a ship in the Atlantic Ocean. Grandpa said that many men volunteered for duty in the galley (kitchen) which he was one of. The men were asked to take out turkeys from the icebox (freezer) and put them out on tables in the cutting room, so that they could thaw out for Thanksgiving dinner. The next morning, the men went down to the galley, opened up the door, and were met with an awful odor. Everybody cleared the room to get away from the smell. Grandpa said that none of them had gas masks!! However, grandpa, being curious, wet his handkerchief to put over his nostrils and bravely went into the cutting room to investigate the cause of the nauseating odor. He looked at the tag on the turkey’s leg and was shocked to see that the date was 1926!!!! Oh my, the turkeys had been in the freezer for 19 years or more!!! To get rid of all the turkeys, the crew threw them overboard into the ocean. Grandpa said that he cleaned up and went back to see if the turkeys were gone, but all he could see were boxes of frozen turkeys floating down the Atlantic Ocean. No fish were seen. The fish didn’t even want those “stinking turkeys”!!!

It is a LOL ( Laugh out Loud) and ROTF (Rolling on the floor) moment each year when Grandpa’s stinking turkey story is told. Even though he has been gone for thirteen years, his gift of storytelling and his voice can still be remembered and heard.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING GRANDPA

The Reason Why I Sing

This morning at 3:04 a.m. I was woken up to the song Why We Sing by Kirk Franklin.

Someone asked the question
Why do we sing?
When we lift our hands to Jesus
What do we really mean?

Someone may be wondering
When we sing our song
At times we maybe crying.
And nothings even wrong

I sing because I'm happy
I sing because I'm free
His eye is on the sparrow
That's the reason why I sing

Glory
Hallelujah
You're the reason why I sing

So, you ask, why do I sing? I sing because God has brought me a mighty long way. November 28, 2016, will be 25 years since I was involved in a horrific accident.

This is how it all happened.

 On November 28, 1991 in St. Louis, Missouri my mom and I were at my grandparent’s house visiting. Their house is on Lee Avenue in the city. On the television, there were warnings of an ice storm. So, my mother and I got in the car and started to make our trek home, in North County, before the impending storm came. SO WE THOUGT!!!! As we were driving on the highway, the car hit some black ice and collided with the wall. By now the ice was really coming down. So instead of staying in the car, we got out to go to the other side of the highway. We did not want any other cars to hit the black ice and hit our car causing us more damage because our car was facing the opposite direction. My mom was in front and I was holding her hand, slightly behind her. I almost cleared our car when another car hit our car, hitting me. I screamed Mommy and then it was lights out.

I needed to be air lifted to the nearest hospital, which was DePaul, but weather conditions were so bad we had to travel by ambulance on the icy roads. DePaul didn’t have a pediatric neurosurgeon, so I had to be transported to Cardinal Glennon.  All I remember was the hospital experience after that. All of the nurses and doctors were very friendly to me and my family. When word got out that I was in an accident and it did not look good, family, friends, and other churches prayed fervently for me and my family. I was in a comma for a month. Christmas that year was horrible for my family and friends.  On New Year’s Eve, my mom and dad got the call from the hospital that I had woken up out of the comma. I did not know what was going on, but I heard a nurse say “ She is going to die”. I became fearful and started to cry. However, in a childlike way I knew to pray. Every night, as I lay in my hospital bed I would pray. I suffered multiple skull fractures and had to undergo multiple surgeries.

My mother taught school in the daytime, but would come to see me after work. While my mom was at work, my paternal grandfather would come every day to sit with me in my hospital room. I remember him sitting in a rocking chair reading his newspaper. He would talk to the nurses and doctors as they would come in to check on me. He fondly called one of my female doctors “Doctor Shug” because she was so sweet to my family. The doctors eventually moved me up to the rehab floor because I was my prognosis was getting better and better. Through much physical, occupational, and speech therapy, I became stronger.  I had to learn to walk, eat, speak, and write all over again. When my elementary school found out I was in the hospital, the principal, Mr. French and my second grade teacher, Mrs. English went the extra mile for me and my family. Mr. French told all the teachers about my accident and they supported me and my family during this ordeal. Mrs. English and her family would come up to visit me. She would read to me and do grade level activities with me. The entire elementary school sent me cards to show how much they loved and missed me. The doctors thought I was going to be a vegetable and be in the Special School District. But my God said no. To the amazement of the nurses and doctors, God performed a miracle on my behalf. On March 19, 1992, I was released from the hospital and came home. I was able to return to  Armstrong Elementary school and continue with my second grade class. All of my classmates were very happy that I was back. With much occupation and physical therapy during school and after school, I was getting better and better. I never failed a grade and continued in school, never missing a beat. I graduated and went on to college. Today, I am 33 years old and doing great.

So, you see this is the reason why I sing, praise God, and lift up my hands in worship at church on Sundays and all during the week.  God did a miracle in my life and I am forever grateful to him. There were a lot of tears and prayers for me that God saw and heard. He came to my rescue and now I can tell my story. I thank God for his sovereignty that surrounded me and my family during this frightening time in our lives. God is a magnificent God!!!!!!