Author: Ginger Karrick Kincaid

The X-Ray Mobile Comes to Owingsville

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn Miss Jane's Letters, OwingsvilleLeave a comment

In the summers of the late 1940’s, Mr. Burl, Reuben Kincaid, Henry Ficklin, and R.W. (Reuben’s son) went out west to harvest bluegrass seed.   Don will write more about the harvesting part a bit later, but what I want to share with you are the numerous letters Miss Jane (Mr. Burl’s mother) wrote to them while they were away.  

I love these letters, and I hope you enjoy them as well.  I’ll tag them all with the label “A Letter From Miss Jane,” and that way you can find them easily if you want to share or reread them at some point.  They shed a wonderful light on the Owingsville of that time period. If you want to add anything, please feel free to leave a comment.  We don’t know who everyone is that Miss Jane mentions so we could use your help!

Just a few notes to get started:

  • I’ll transcribe the letters, but also add scans of them. The bolded parts might be of particular interest and if you see an asterisk, I’ll have a note at the end about something.  Footnoting would work better than asterisks, but I need to figure out how to do that on here.
  • I’ll put a _______ instead of a name if I think there is even a chance that something she wrote might cause anyone embarrassment, and I do that in this letter.
Here’s the first letter we’ll share, written on a Thursday morning a long time ago.
 
Dear Son,
          Well, Henry arrived sooner than we expected, got here Tuesday night – and the chicken wasn’t fried – ha!  We were glad to see him.  He had been gone 8 weeks. He was so tired.
          We got your letter of the 20th yesterday.  You had some of the Missouri mud that May has talked about .  Hope you got your car out alright.
           Did you find any more seed?  Will you have more than one car?
           Tuesday and yesterday were very hot days and I believe today will be too.
           We are expecting the copper pipe any day now that Mr. Horton has ordered.  Ernie has promised to put the tub in as soon as the pipe comes.  
           _________ disappointed us in the papering, so Burl engaged George Harris* to come Monday.  I am so anxious to get through.  The porch floor is fresh and bright in its coat of green and the furniture is all out. You painted the chairs last year, I believe.  They look nice and white.  The lawns all through the street have been freshly cut and look so pretty.
          Marguerite** and I had the X-Ray yesterday – you know the X-Ray-mobile is here.  We had letters from Mr. Roschi*** saying this is the teacher’s year for a physical examination.
          There was a very swell wedding in the colored Methodist Church****  yesterday afternoon – a Duncan girl and the groom was from Colorado.
          Ella went back with Dan and Mimi*****, have you heard from her?
          Mr. John Crane is in hospital very ill.  He is up in 80, I believe.
          This is “fishing day” again.  I wish Daddy could have some luck.  Banks****** caught two bass last Thursday.
          We are all alright.
                                                                                                   Lots of love, 
                                                                                                   Mother
 
*George Harris was a prominent resident of Owingsville and a member of the city council (probably the first African-American council member in our town). 
**Marguerite Lester – she lived next door to Miss Jane (the house that burned by us).  Her husband was Dr. Lester.
***Mr. Roschi was the school superintendent.
****I think I wince each time I see the word “colored,” but it was a common term of that time period.  The “colored Methodist Church” she refers to is the A.M.E. church on West High Street by the old water tower.
*****Dan and Mimi Doggett.  Ella is Ella Doggett (Goodpaster).  
******Banks Thompson.  The “Daddy” she refers to is her husband, Burl, Sr. That was what she called him.
 

 

 

 
 

Coon Hunting with Uncle Jim and Uncle John: A Bath County Folktale

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn UncategorizedLeave a comment


Night hunters – this picture is courtesy of Oliver Hartley’s Hunting Dogs,
a book you can read for free at Project Gutenberg. 
Hartley published the book in 1909. 
Several months ago, I shared a folktale that my father-in-law had written down.  In that very short story, “Uncle John” and “Uncle Jim” jump a train to Mt. Sterling and later end up climbing trees to avoid what they believe is a rabid dog.  If you missed that tale, you can read it here.  Well, our protagonists are back once again, and this time they’ve gone coon hunting!

From the journals:

In days past it was a custom for men and boys to hunt with dogs at night.  On those forays through pastures and woods, the dogs would “tree” varmints either in dens or up trees.  The word “varmint” was used to cover most any wild animal found in the county, such as ‘possums, skunks, weasels, minks, coons, and muskrats.  It was a sport that could supply much entertainment and some monetary income.
It was something to look forward to and enjoy.  Some hunters would take a snack with them and maybe even roast some corn over an open fire.  Occasionally the dogs would catch a varmint on the ground and often the animal would be a skunk.
Uncle John and Uncle Jim enjoyed hunting with their dogs at night and spent many enjoyable evenings in quest of varmints.  One night the dogs treed a varmint in a den under a rock ledge.  Uncle John reached back under the ledge and could just barely touch the tail of the animal.  He suggested that Uncle Jim should reach in and get the varmint.  Uncle Jim stretched and could just reach the animal but suddenly jerked his hand back. 
Uncle John questioned, “What’s wrong?”
Uncle Jim retorted, “He swapped ends!”

Hope you enjoyed that little tale.  Hopefully, I’ll be back with much more soon.  We’re still working on the book, but we’ve all had a lot going on, and that’s been put on hold for a while. ~Ginger

You don’t have to go coon hunting to enjoy roasted ears of corn.
 You can use your grill or even the gas burner on your stove.

Old Pictures

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn Craycraft, Darnell, Goodpaster, Kincaid, Old Pictures3 Comments
Some old pictures you might like.  Please feel free to leave a comment, especially if you have information that might be of benefit to others doing historical or genealogical work!
May, Reuben, Sr., Jane, and Burl Sr. (Kincaid family), in front of what is now Marcelle Doggett’s home on East High Street in Owingsville.  You can see U.S. 60 on the far left and the steps and sidewalk in the background are still there.

 

Elliott Darnell, common Bath County ancestor of many.  Don and Bill Kincaid’s great, great grandfather. Born in 1810, married to Sarah Conyers, father of Thomas, Mildred, Josiah, John, Ruth, William, Isaac, Mary, and Martha.

 

Reuben W. Kincaid, Sr. in front of his store in Owingsville, Ky.  This store was located (I think) where the New Hope Clinic is now.  Lots of older folks remember getting ice cream from Uncle Ruby’s store.

 

Doris Darnell (Kincaid) and an unindentified woman in front of what was the old Owingsville school.

 

Jeff, Sallie, Doris, and Donovan Darnell and other women (in the photo on the right) who are unidentified.

 

Helen Craycraft Goodpaster, Ginger Karrick Kincaid (me), and Sherri Spencer Pergrem in Preston, Ky., 1968.

 

Folk Tales (Uncle John & Uncle Jim)

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“The past is not dead.  It’s not even past.” ~ William Faulkner
Jumping a train.
In Mr. Burl’s folk tale below, “Uncle Jim” and “Uncle John” hop a train to Mt. Sterling.

Folk and fairy tales have always been a source of fascination to me.  As a child, I couldn’t get enough of Hansel and Gretel, Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel and all of those beloved classics.  As an adult, I carried that interest with me into some scholastic pursuits, studying, for instance, the history of those age old stories while trying to understand what they mean in our collective consciousness. 

Folk tales  hold an especially important place in local communities.  Children can learn moral lessons from them and they can act to enforce social norms.  But, and perhaps most wonderfully, they work to help us define a sense of place, and we all need that, no matter how far we roam. 

Mr. Burl had a few Bath County folk tales he liked to tell and what follows is one of them.  “Uncle Jim” and “Uncle John” are completely fictitious, by the way. ~Ginger

From the journals:

It is probably true that tales, whether true or not, are told and ever handed down from generation to generation.  The author has heard some local tales many times and with a little different twist each time.

Do you remember the one about the two good old boys who loved to jump the freight train and ride to Mt. Sterling for special events?  On some of their visits they imbibed in a few “snorts.” One day, before hopping the freight to Mt. Sterling, they heard that there was a “mad dog” in the community.*  While in town, they had a few “snorts” and attended a circus.  After leaving the circus, they went down to the tracks to hitch a ride home.  Upon reaching the jump off place which was up a grade, they jumped off and started walking through the woods.  Suddenly they met a dog.  Remembering  the news they had heard prior to leaving home that morning, Uncle John climbed a nice big tree nearby, while Uncle Jim unfortunately scrambled up a sapling..  As he was trying to climb out of reach of the dog the sapling began bending over until Uncle Jim was almost back on the ground.  

Uncle Jim being very frightened called to Uncle John and said, “What do I do now?”  

Uncle John hollered back, “Turn her loose and climb her again!”

*In Mr. Burl’s notes, he mentions “mad dog scares” and writes that he wants to ask Dr. Bobby Byron how rabies was treated before the vaccine.  I don’t guess he ever had that chance, but it sure would have made for interesting reading.  I’m assuming there was no cure, and any treatment would have pretty much been regarded as futile.  

Atticus Finch protects the town from a mad dog in To Kill a Mockingbird, surprising his children with his skill with a gun.   I thought of this scene when I read Mr. Burl’s note on mad dog scares.  
Don’t we all just love Atticus?

“It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived.” ~ Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

May Day

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A May Day float, pulled by a tractor.

Floats were often “pomped” by stuffing tissue paper or dinner napkins in chicken wire.  Evidently, cardboard and glue are used more frequently now.
Last year, I asked my youngest son, Boone, if he was coming in from college for May Day (our annual spring festival here in Bath County, for those of you who aren’t familiar).  He rolled his eyes and said, “No.  I’m staying as far away from Owingsville as I can on that day.”
Well, he made it home just before the parade started.  “I thought you weren’t coming in,” I teased.
“I forgot it was May Day,” he replied, with just a hint of a grin.
He hadn’t forgotten.  We sat down on our front porch and watched the parade together, waving at participants, admiring the floats, pointing out people we knew, and both of us smiling from ear to ear.    
I’m betting Mr. Burl was smiling when he wrote this piece.  We hope it makes you smile, too.  Happy May Day, everybody! ~ Ginger
From the journals:
The courthouse clock strikes 1:00 P.M.  Hundreds of people line Main Street anxiously awaiting the parade that by some fellas is the number one event of the year in Bath County.  Older folks are greeting old friends, making new ones, and generally having a great day.  Children are squirting water guns, often spraying spectators and parade participants.  Camera bugs are all set at vantage positions to make keepsake photos. 
There are concession stands in front and to the sides of the courthouse.  They are broiling steaks and hamburgers out in front.  Parking spaces are gobbled up early and some people are forced to park a half mile distance from the center of town.
May Day!  May Day! – No, these words do not signal an emergency – they signal the parade is approaching!  Color guard, class A and B floats, antique cars, clowns, horses, miniature cars, queen candidates, calliopes, bands, antique hearses, fire trucks, DES vehicles, Boy Scouts, and farm tractors – these are all part of our May Day parade.

In front of what is now Marley Clark’s garage. 



The would-be May Day avoider, Joseph Boone Kincaid (grandson of William Burl Kincaid, Jr.)
His grandfather would approve of the fishing, but not that Dodger’s cap.

Old Photographs and Funeral Notices

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Jefferson Dawson Brother, 1875 – 1975.  Nephew of John William Dawson, below.  He married Elizabeth Prewitt.  We have a letter he wrote while in Germany during WWI that we will share soon.
John W. Dawson 1849-1910.  Son of Jefferson Dawson and Eliza Rice.  Father of Emma, Elbert,  Nancy Jane (WBK, Jr.’s mother),  Ashby, Mary, and Stella.  This image was scanned from a reduced copy of the original, which we have.


Yes, that is Isaac’s hair!

Rube Fields And His Gift

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn Uncategorized4 Comments

Rube Fields, circa unknown.
From the January 12, 1899 issue of the Owingsville Outlook.
Note the fourth paragraph about Rube Fields.
 The third paragraph is interesting too!

Many of you have heard of Rube Fields already, but I hope the excerpt below brings a personal element to his story that might be missing otherwise.  My father-in-law spoke of Mr. Fields often, always with a sense of amazement and respect, never with any hint of derision.  There is a lesson in that for all of us. 
Small town living can be hard and it can even be brutal to those who march to a different drummer, but it has long been my opinion that one thing small towns do best is to take care of those among us who may have what we now call “special needs.” I know this is true of our Bath County towns because I have witnessed it hundreds of times in many different ways.  ~Ginger
From the journals:
“I can’t accept money for taking inventory of your store goods because God might take away my gift.” So spoke one of the most unusual persons that ever lived.  This man was born and reared in Bath County and later made occasional trips to Missouri.  Rube Fields has been a legend in Bath County since the time he became an adult.
Rube grew up in the White Oak community.  A multitude of the stories told about this interesting man were true.  There are many skeptics who do not believe Rube could have worked such magic.  If Mr. Fields lived today, he would probably be referred to as a “walking computer.”  Certainly it was uncanny how he could give you the exact time of day without looking at a watch.   Some fellas were not too sure if Rube could tell time by a watch.  It is a fact, though, that he could – if he would – give you the correct time at any time, without looking at one.  Boys, having heard of his power, would slip up on Rube and ask for the time.  Rube would respond, “It’s time you were at home getting in your mother’s firewood.”  Time telling was only a small part of his gift
Mathematical problems and the solving of them seemed to be the greatest gift that this man had.  Rube would not have been able to solve the problem on paper, but would instantaneously give the answer after the problem had been stated.  You might give him a problem such as this:  How many times would a locomotive wheel turn over between Salt Lick and Preston if the circumference of the wheel is 8’4” and the distance by rail between the two points is seven and three miles?  He could respond immediately with the correct answer.
The town council in Owingsville had a large cistern built alongside the old courthouse.* Old cisterns were usually a cylinder which began to taper in toward the top forming a cone, but the cone is chopped off at the top.  The point made here is that not everyone can figure to the gallon what the capacity of such a cistern would be.  The “town fathers” calculated what they believed to be accurate to the gallon and then called in Rube Fields and gave him the dimensions.  Rube unhesitatingly answered and the councilmen informed him that this was one time that he had missed.  Not being satisfied, however, one of the councilmen took the problem to a mathematician (reputedly a college professor of mathematics) and of course Rube had it to the gallon.
Some of the top circuses in the United States tried to no avail to employ Rube but again he stated, “I can’t accept money because God might take my gift away from me.”
Rube loved to go into a cane field and eat and suck on the cane until he had his fill.  He also used soap differently than most.  Rube would rub dry soap on his face until it became red and slick.
Mr. Fields was a large man with a ruddy complexion.  He was well liked but folks often tested him because they wondered about his gift.
Perhaps you wonder about the author’s source of information.  The author’s father knew Rube Fields.  Other fellas also knew this great man with the unbelievable gift.**
It is understood why most people do not believe the exploits of Rube Fields and the author would be one also had his father not known him.  It is thought by some that knew Rube that he died between 1910 and 1912.
For those of you who saw the movie “Rain Man,” Rube was much like the character played by Dustin Hoffman, except that character had some formal education and Rube was illiterate.  The medical term for such gifted persons is “idiot savant.”***
*My father in law notes in the margins of his writing that the cistern is “still to the west of the courthouse near Main Street,” and it is – see the picture below.  You can see the location of several old cisterns on the 1914 maps of Owingsville that we have linked to.   Some of them have since been filled in, and to give you an idea of how big they are, Don says you could fit two cars inside.

**He also notes in the margins that “Mr. Jeff” knew Rube Fields, Mr. Jeff being Jefferson L. Darnell, Don’s grandfather or Mr. Burl’s father-in-law.  I’m sure he heard stories from him as well.

***The term “idiot savant” has fallen out of favor because not all savants have limited intelligence.  “Autistic savant” was used for a while because quite a few (fifty percent) of savants are autistic.  Not all are, of course, so the term “savant syndrome” is now the preferred one.

The cistern that was the focus of Rube Fields’ calculations.

The cistern is right beside the court house
– you’ve probably walked by it or over it countless times. 

          

On Confederate Markers and Ancestors

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn UncategorizedLeave a comment
Don Lee Kincaid by his great, great uncle’s burial place in the Owingsville Cemetery.   On the ground in front of Don is a Confederate marker.  T.L. (Thomas) was the brother of Isaac, who was the father of Jefferson Lee Darnell, Don’s grandfather.  The names Jefferson and Lee point to what were at one time the family’s Confederate sympathies. 
 In the South, we learn to make peace with our heritage, and that is not always an easy thing to do.

This week, William Burl Kincaid, III (Bill) makes his blogging debut, sharing his thoughts on the Confederate markers in the Owingsville Cemetery: 


                A few steps east of where our parents are buried in the Owingsville Cemetery stands a statue of a Confederate soldier, six feet tall on a seven-foot base and, of course, facing northward. I sometimes wonder if he ever makes eye contact with the Union soldier facing southward that stands atop a massive war memorial in downtown Indianapolis, where my family and I have lived for the last six years.
                The Owingsville monument has stood sentinel since 1907 and I have looked at it dozens of times. Others have too, I know. It’s on the National Register of Historic Places, so it’s probably garnered a good bit of attention over the years.
                Imagine a bright, warm afternoon in the early part of the twentieth century. A parade forms. School lets out early so girls and boys can join the festivities and, in some cases, participate in them by singing songs and reading essays written for the occasion. The parade stops at the center of town for the unveiling and dedication of the monument.
                As we know from Owingsville, sometimes the monument landed elsewhere, like a cemetery. Or, in the case of Kentucky’s largest Confederate memorial, it stands at what is now one of the primary entrances to the University of Louisville campus.
                I don’t know if a parade or other public events accompanied the dedication of the Confederate soldier in Owingsville, but what I have described occurred in towns and cities across the South when the well funded and extremely well organized Daughters of the Confederacy unveiled their monuments.
                Until a couple of years ago, my impression of the Daughters of the Confederacy was that of a genteel group of tea-sipping, hat-wearing Southern belles who gathered occasionally to enjoy each other’s company and to tell stories of another era.
                The Daughters were interested in telling stories alright, but with a particular angle. (I should say “are interested.” Numerous chapters exist today, including several in northern and western states.) And I’m sure they exuded remarkable grace and charm, but make no mistake about it, they were a force to be reckoned with.
                The Daughters believed that their ancestors’ defeat in the Civil War represented a terrible disgrace. Worse, in their view, was that those same ancestors and most people in the South had been completely discredited and even demeaned in the years subsequent to, as the Daughters would have termed it, the War of Northern Aggression. The Daughters made it their mission to revive and preserve Confederate culture. More so than the men in many cases, the Daughters crafted and promoted the Lost Cause myth through an extensive organization and with various efforts.
                The monuments are probably the best known of those efforts today, but the Daughters also distributed Confederate flags, developed curriculum that promoted Southern values for white children in public schools, provided portraits of Jefferson Davis and Robert E. Lee to be hung in those schools, built hospitals and nursing homes, and offered scholarships to college-bound Confederate descendants.
                My reading about the Daughters has been both fascinating and troubling, especially as the Daughters attempted to preserve racial discrimination and exclusion even as many people in the country were working tirelessly to improve race relations. In her book Dixie’s Daughters, Karen Cox contends that the Daughters’ efforts set back the acceptance and inclusion of African-Americans in this country by several decades, even to the point of undermining the work of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s, a full century after the close of the Civil War.
                When I read that I thought of the African-Americans with whom I went to school, grew up and played ball. I also think of the many African-Americans with whom I now work. And even though I find the Owingsville Cemetery one of the dearest and most peaceful places in the world, it now holds a different kind of sadness than it did before. 
  ~Bill Kincaid


Thomas Darnell’s marker is just one of  many markers placed by the Daughters of the Confederacy in the Owingsville Cemetery.  
We’ll post pictures of the rest of the markers in the future.

 He stands facing north – on eternal lookout for Yankees.

High School and the National Guard (William Owen Karrick Story: Part 3)

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn Karrick, Salt Lick, UncategorizedLeave a comment
Salt Lick National Guard, 1927.
Those identified are Captain Corbett Gullett, Corbet Copher, William Karrick,
Jim Fawns, Herndon Dickerson, Hugh Karrick, Clifford Wells,
Roger Karrick, Van Green, Billy Frizzell and Robert Clark. 

 

Salt Lick School, date unknown
 
This week, we continue with our series of excerpts from my great-uncle’s memoirs – hope you’re enjoying them!
From The William Owen Karrick Story:
In the first year of high school our class had nine girls and two boys.  They were Phoebe Seese, Olive Fanning, Rosie Freed, Marjorie Shouse (Marjorie married my brother Travis), Ethel Fawns, Opal Reeves, Sudie Maupin, Sudie Davis, Demory Parsons and me.  Our principal was O.J. Harris.  This professor took us to Lexington and Frankfort on a trip.  We visited Sistrunk, a fruit and vegetable distributor, and the federal prison in Frankfort.  This was a good lesson for those who might go wrong and break the laws.
During my second year in high school, a National Guard was established in Salt Lick, Kentucky.  The commander was Captain Corbett Gullett.  I was only fifteen years old at the time but through the permission of my parents, I joined the Guard.  The rifle company was going to Camp Knox for two weeks in the summertime.  Before the summer the guard had a rifle range where I spent several afternoons shooting at targets with 30/30 rifles.  When camp time came along, I received a preventative typhoid fever shot which caused me to have the fever.  I spent several weeks in bed and missed the Camp Knox trip.  In later years, I made the summer trips.  I was in the Guard for almost three years until it disbanded.  I was rated Corporal.
In the second year of high school, our principal was Mr. Wirick.  During this year, my friend Demory Parsons dropped out of school leaving me the only boy in a class of ten. I wanted to quit school too, so I took all my books home and told my father and mother that I had quit.  “Yeah,” Dad said, “You’ve quit.”
“Yes, “says I, “I’ve quit.
“Yes,” says Dad.  “You’ve quit until in the morning then you will return to school if I have to take a switch to you all the way.  Your mother and I have worked hard to see that all of you children finish high school.”
So back to school I went and am I glad that Dad made me return.  However, I was in the Guard at this time, and I skipped an afternoon class several times, going to the rifle range.  I got an F in that class, lost a credit, and had to go an extra semester in school to make up the work.  I didn’t get to graduate with my regular class of 1929.  I graduated in 1930.  The principal was Mr. Welch.
I entered Morehead State Teacher’s College in the fall and went through the first and second semesters and summer school.  I ended up with thirty-eight college hours and a teacher’s certificate good for two years which I used in teaching in a rural one room school at White Sulpher, Kentucky.  I tried very hard to do justice to the children as all eight grades were in one room.  Looking back, I wonder sometimes if that was possible.  My salary for the 1931-32 school year was $76.50 per month, and for 1932-33 it was $66.50 per month because the county was short of money.  School ended in February – a seven month school year.

 

            And there ends, for the most part, what Uncle Bill wrote regarding his early life in Salt Lick.  I hope you enjoyed his story as much as I did! ~ Ginger

1918 Flu and More (William Owen Karrick Story, Part 2)

On By Ginger Karrick KincaidIn Karrick, Old Newspaper Clippings, Salt LickLeave a comment

The great flu pandemic hit during the last year of WWI.  More
people died from the flu than from the war.

 

 

From the November 21, 1918 edition of the Owingsville Outlook
More from my great uncle’s memoirs this week – in this excerpt, he writes about the Spanish Flu pandemic of 1918.   More than half a million Americans died during the outbreak, and worldwide it is estimated that between twenty and forty million people died.   Children of the time period would skip rope to this little rhyme:  I had a little bird/Its name was Enza/I opened the window/And in-flu-enza.  In my father-in-law’s notes, he refers to the 1918 flu as “La Grippe.”
From the William Owen Karrick Story:
During the cold winter of 1918 our town and many others were afflicted with the flu bug.  All of our family, with the exception of my oldest sister Ethel and me were bedfast.  I remember the cold and the snow.  I would ride our old buggy horse to town and get the mail or maybe something from the drug store.  Didn’t see very many people out and around during these trips.  Several families passed away in Salt Lick that winter.
I had many chores to do, such as feeding the horses and cows, milking, and getting in the firewood.  I had an uncle who would come to my rescue about once each week and a relative, Miss Allie North, would come in occasionally and prepare a big kettle of vegetable soup.  I was seven years old at the time. 
During this year I missed a lot of school.  However, I did get in the second grade the next year.  In the second grade our teacher was Miss Genny Norville.  She was from the old south, and I learned that she had at one time early in her life lived on a plantation.  She never would allow us to sing the song “Marching Through Georgia” during our Monday morning gathering.  She was very strict and would not stop urging us until we had accomplished the goal which she had set for us.
In the third grade, we had the same Miss Genny Norville.  She had us learning our multiplication table from one through twelve.  We had to make a map of the United States and put in the states and capitals.  She kept a switch near her desk and when we got too noisy, she would pick up the switch and come down the seat aisle saying, “I am going to hit east and west to stop the noise.” It worked.
In the fourth grade my teacher was Miss Sewall.  One day a circus parade was going by the school and Miss Sewall had gone out of the room.  All of us in the room went to the window to watch the parade go by.  Miss Sewall returned to the room and when I looked around I was the only one still at the window.  She asked for all who had left their seats to hold up their hands.  I held up my hands.  She came back with a ruler and whipped me in one of my hands.  Was I hurt?  I told her that I wasn’t the only one leaving my seat.  Later she had me stay in at recess and apologized for her action.
Later that year, she promoted me and my best friend Demory Parsons to the fifth grade.  My sister Ethel was the fifth grade teacher.  During this time, I received several switchings from my sister.  Someone would do something and I would get the blame.  When we got home, Ethel would say that she punished me to keep the rest from thinking she wouldn’t because I was her brother. 
The next year in the sixth grade my teacher was Miss Christine Alexander.  Now, she was always nice to me.  I must have behaved well in her class.  She brought a Santa Clause suit and had me be Santa at Christmas.  I was much pleased that she had that much confidence in me.  Later in life she told me that I was one of her prized pupils.  She surely was my most loved teacher.
From the first grade to this time in school our playground activities consisted of town ball, playing tag, seesaw, and the game of marbles when weather permitted.
In the seventh grade my teacher was Miss Snedegar.  Along with other studies she was most interested in us mastering our math.  My brother Hugh was in the eighth grade and he was good in math.  Sometimes our teacher would tell Hugh that his problem solving was wrong and Hugh would go to the blackboard and show her that he was right.
In the eighth grade my teacher was also Miss Snedegar.
By this time we were playing baseball and basketball.  I was only four feet eight inches tall at this time.  My nickname was “Wee Willie.”  In the baseball outfield they could hardly see me.  Would you believe me if I told you that I had grown to five feet eight inches by the time that I finished high school?