William Henry Harrison Carpenter

William Henry Harrison Carpenter
Mr. and Mrs. William Henry Harrison Carpenter

 William Henry was about six years old when his parents moved to Tennessee and was about twenty-two when his parents moved to Texas in 1868.  This was also about the date William Henry married Hannah Elizabeth Jeffries.  Frye Carpenter made W.H.H.C. executor of his will.  In closing the estate of Frye Carpenter, J. W. Paschal and L. P. Carpenter owed the estate a total of $4,986.24.  J. W. Paschal had obtained 134 acres, more or less, from a Samuel Paschal valued at $9140.18.  Since J. W. Paschal could not pay the debt, Chancery Court settled the case by ruling the property be sold at public auction. 
W. H. H. C. bought the land at the auction
for $2,512.50.  This was March 21, 1870.¹

     From accounts told me by my father and my Aunt Lucy Stevens, William Henry was very outspoken and determined; one might describe as a hardheaded individual.  He was a very active person throughout his near 90 years.  William Henry owned and operated New Middleton Stock Farm, where he bred and sold registered Berkshire hogs, Jersey cows, Southdown sheep, jacks and jennets, Bronze Turkeys, Barred Plymouth Rock, and Rhode Island Red Chickens. This livestock program continued until the great depression when the registration of the livestock cost more than was gained from the sale of the livestock.  Understandably the stock they kept was registered.  Records were kept and apparently after the depression, the registrations were brought up to date, as the sheep and cow operation resumed after the depression had ended.

     Prior to the depression, William Henry was financially well off.  As word spread that banks might go under, several of his friends tried desperately to get William Henry to draw his money out, but he would not agree to do so and in turn lost his money.  By the time of his death in 1930, William Henry’s estate consisted of his farm and livestock and many debts.

William Henry in front of the home place in New Middleton in 1929
Furniture from William Henry’s home

     As advertisement, William Henry showed his livestock at fairs.  I have been told of events when the livestock were driven on foot to fairs.  Later on, the trains were used to transport the livestock.  One newspaper ad, that I have, indicates shows attended and the awards that they received at the Tennessee State Fair, Memphis-Tri State Fair, Chattanooga District Fair and East Tennessee Division Fair.  Even though no date is on the ad, the address is Brush Creek, Tennessee.  It most likely dates to the early 1900’s.  In the early 1900’s, the owners are shown as W. H. Carpenter and Son.  The son was Joe Carpenter (my father).

      Many of the breeding stock were, even by today’s standards, very highly bred.  One Southdown ram, named Real Type, came from the Queen of England’s flock.  The wool from this ram was spun and woven into a blanket that I still have.  One jack used for breeding was imported from Spain.  Later on, my dad imported his sheep breeding stock from Canada.

William Henry with seven of his grown children:  Joe, Lucy, Hugh, George, Albert, Fannie, and Emory

     From some of the stories I have been told, it is apparent that William Henry didn’t think any of his children’s spouses were good enough for them.  Some in-laws he finally adjusted to, and some he never adjusted to.

     I cannot find where William Henry owned slaves.  He did; however, hire at least one Black girl from some type of home in Nashville to come and do housework.  I was told that someone came to summons William Henry to be a witness in a court and he didn’t want to go.  He told the girl to tell the person that he wasn’t at home.  The girl went to the door and told the person, “Mr. Will said to tell you that he ain’t home.”  I don’t know if he went to court or not.  I do know that I was never told anything else about the girl.  This led me to believe that girl didn’t stay long.

     Prior to World War II, a big event in the fall was to invite neighbors in and have a hickory nut hunt.  In a good year there were many nuts to be found.  On the family farm many Scaly Bark Hickory trees were on the hill.  One exceptionally tall hickory stood about 100 yards behind the barn.  My dad told me that William Henry, after he was in his 80’s, climbed the tree to shake the nuts off.  My dad always called the tree “Pa’s Tree.”  I never saw the day that I could climb that tree.

     William Henry was a religious man and tried hard to pass this on to his children.  My dad (Joe) and Powell considered themselves as expert marble shooters.  They were caught shooting marbles on a Sunday and received punishment from William Henry.
William Henry was extremely proud of his large family.  At one time, he was at a house some distance from his home.  A woman there asked him how many children he had.  William Henry replied that he had six sons and that they each had six sisters.  The woman jumped up and said, “My God, thirty-six!”

Tomb of William Henry and Hannah Elizabeth Carpenter

     At some point in time, William Henry decided that he would help his sons get established in farming.  He would buy and give each son a farm.  I cannot find where he bought any of his daughters a farm.  As might be expected, a couple of sons took advantage of the situation.  Uncle George got him to buy farms.  He would live on a farm, sell and keep the proceeds and get his father to buy him another.  Uncle Powell got two farms this way.  Neither of these offered to help after William Henry lost his money in the depression, nor after he died.  When William Henry died,² my father and Aunt Fanny were still living on the old home place and were given the farm and left to settle the estate.  Apparently, the times were very hard.

The following is a letter from Fannie Carpenter to Lady Carpenter regarding the death and funeral of their father, William H. H. Carpenter on August 16, 1930 at 3:30 a.m.

Dear Lady,      Will write you a line this morn.  Wish you could have been with us.  I know how you felt & all.  Tho’ you used good judgment.  All were here but you and Em.      Everything was done that we could do, and the funeral & burial was just like he would have had it.  The funeral was at the Baptist Church at 3:30.  The crowd was estimated from 1200 to 1500, the biggest crowd that ever attended a funeral at N. Mid.  Bro. Srygley & Bro. Will Oakley made splendid talks, & Judge Gardenhire made a good talk.  He used as his basis, “Fear God & keep his commandments for this the whole duty of man” and “a good name is far greater than wealth.”  He made a statement rather unusual.  Said he had been connected with judgeship for 35 years & the name “Carpenter” had never come before him.  The casket was a gray metallic—the best we could get here, & his suit was gray.  We embalmed him, & he did look so natural.  The flowers were beautiful.  He got a pall & there were several other designs.  Yours were so pretty & the church gave a beautiful one.  Em sent one too.  Three of Hugh’s neighbors sent pretty ones.      It’s so sad to give him up.  To me it’s like giving up a baby.  I don’t want to grieve for him for I don’t think it would be right, but my heart is broken.  I know that no one misses him as I do.  The night he died Mae & Lige & Charlie Gill, Kate & I sat up in the 1st part of the night.  Not a word was spoken above a whisper.  Not a sound could be heard not even a snore from the ones sleeping could be heard.  At 1:00 we called the ones to sit up later—Fate Gill and Joe.  I lay down on the bed in the room.  He was a little restless most all night, suffered some, & at 1:40 I suggested we give him a hypo, & we did.  He never fully got under influence & died at 3:30, peacefully, not a struggle.  The quietness of the night made us think of his prayer for a “quiet & peaceful hour in which to die.”  Sally is staying with me a few days.  Also Sister Lucy & Jake—(torn off) folks will be here a few days longer.  I’m sending you some of the flowers.      Write me, Love, Fannie

 

Memories of William H. H. Carpenter By Elizabeth Carpenter Lewis, Granddaughter of W.H.H. Carpenter, Daughter of Joe W. Carpenter

     I suppose my earliest memories are when my Daddy (Joe W. Carpenter) and my Mother (Mary Burford Ford Carpenter) and I lived in what was known as the old Davis house.  This was just across the road from Grandpa’s (William H.H. Carpenter).  My Grandmother had died many years previously (even before my parents were married.)  He and my Aunt Fannie Carpenter lived there at that time.

     I saw Grandpa almost every day.  I loved to sit in his lap and he would play games with me.  Apparently he liked it too because I never remember him correcting me in any way.  I was the youngest granddaughter that lived near enough for him to visit very often.

     Grandpa was a very religious man and on warm summer days, he would often take his Bible outside under a shade tree to read.  Of course, after reading for a while, he would quite often fall asleep.  One of these times, my Daddy’s dog got the Bible and just about chewed it up.  I have the remains.

     Grandpa was also very strict in his beliefs. Once, I remember Aunt Fannie got her hair cut and a permanent wave like all of the young ladies were doing.  She knew that he would be so angry about it that she wore a dust cap for days so that he would not know what she had done.

     Grandpa died before I was old enough to start to school.

     After Grandpa died, my family moved in with Aunt Fannie.   All of us lived there in the same house until she married Berry Trice.

     When Daddy’s brothers and sisters came home, they always came to the old home place, so I was lucky enough to get to know each of them.  

Memories of William H. H. Carpenter’s Children By Joseph F. Carpenter, Grandson of W.H.H. Carpenter, Son of Joe W. Carpenter

     The best way that I know to give my thoughts on my uncles, aunts, and cousins is to start with the oldest and work my way down.

Uncle George
      I can only remember seeing him twice.  Once, when I was probably five or six, we went to see him in Cottontown, Tennessee.  It was a gloomy day with rain and the fall of the year.  The house was a two story on a hill.  Going up the driveway, all I saw were old trees that, to me, were scary.  Once in the house, it was dark and had about 12 foot ceilings.  Aunt Mary was in bed sick.  Uncle George’s son, William, his wife and two sons came to the house.  William’s wife was of dark complexion and was wearing very colorful clothing.  Uncle George called his grandsons to him and told me that he wanted to show me his two “little Indians”.  I thought for years that they really were Indians.

     The other time I remember seeing Uncle George was when Aunt Mary was in the hospital.  It was warm weather and Uncle George, Dad, and I sat outdoors.  I enjoyed that visit.

     When Uncle George bought the farm in Cottontown, he was getting old and, due to his age, he could not get a loan.  He paid the money down on the place and bought it in William’s name.  Kate and Maggie lived in the house with Uncle George until his death.  William and his family lived in the “tenant house”.  When George died, Kate and Maggie moved out.  I can’t recall any of our family having anything to do with William after that.

     I can’t recall much about Andrew.  He lived in Hendersonville, Tennessee and was a lawyer.

     Kate was a lovely lady.  She was married to Billy Bridgewater.  He was an auto mechanic.  He wore some kind of a patented belt buckle, and while working on a car, he caught his pants on fire.  They couldn’t open his belt to get his pants off and, he died from the severe burns.  Kate, alone, raised their two children.

     Maggie was an “old maid” schoolteacher.  She was great.  I realized after her death that I should have asked her all those questions I had about our genealogy. 

     Sue was different from her siblings; she only saw the humorous side of things.  Her husband, William Fisher, was bedfast for years.

Aunt Lucy

Lucy Carpenter Stevens in front of her home in New Middleton. Home now owned by her granddaughter, Elsie Minchey

     Since our farms joined, I knew Aunt Lucy better than any of my uncles and aunts.  Aunt Lucy was a large framed woman, afraid of nothing, and the type person that told you like it was.  She had a mind of her own.  I learned a lot from Aunt Lucy and always felt very close to her.

     By the time that I came along, Willie and her husband had divorced, and Willie had to raise the children.  She had a very hard life.

     Next to Jake, Coleman was my favorite first cousin.  Coleman and Lois did not have children, and it is a pity.  He would have been a picture book daddy.  Coleman worked for Rock City Ice Cream Company.  Whenever anyone from Gordonsville went to Nashville to FFA Convention (We wore jackets with Gordonsville on the back.), Coleman passed out ice cream to everyone.  He did everything in his power for Aunt Lucy and came to see her two or more times a month.  Everybody who knew Coleman, all but worshiped him.

     I never knew George.  He and his family lived up north and seldom came back.

     Dallas lived in California, and I can’t recall seeing him come back but a couple of times.

     Jake — now I could write books of my adventures with Jake and Johnnie.  I practically stayed at their house.  Jake was an accomplished carpenter by trade.  Jake always had some type project going.   That was right down my alley.  Aunt Lucy always told us that we were the only ones that had inherited anything from the Jeffries, because we liked to “tinker”.  The only Jeffries that we knew always “tinkered” with little projects.  Most of my woodworking experience came from Jake.  Jake had diabetes and eventually lost his eyesight.  I still feel like a big brother to Jake’s children.

Jake and Johnnie Stevens’ tomb in Brush Creek, TN cemetery

Uncle Albert
     I never knew Uncle Albert.  I knew his sons:  Will Frank and Louis.  Will Frank was a big time lawyer in Nashville and came up several times each year.  Will Frank took me to see the Ryman Auditorium my first time.  Roy Acuff was running for Governor of Tennessee at the time, and “Acuff for Governor” signs were posted around the stage.  Will Frank is the one who got me interested in our genealogy.

     Louis lived in Knoxville and was in charge of FFA in East Tennessee.  When I went to the University of Tennessee, Louis got me a part-time job at the school and occasionally came and took me home with him for Sunday dinner.  I really enjoyed knowing Louis.

Aunt Etta

Henry Etta (Henrietta) Carpenter Thomas’s tomb in New Middleton, TN

     I never knew Aunt Etta.  I knew Henry and Sally Mae.  My dad always was proud of, and also, felt sorry for, Henry.  As you can imagine, there were no jobs, except farming in New Middleton, and Henry wanted a job.  Dad told Henry that if he would learn how to milk a cow, he would get him a job.  Henry learned, and dad got

     Uncle Powell to hire Henry.  Uncle Powell was the herdsman at Fortland Farms in Nashville (where Cornelia Fort Airport is now).  Henry worked for Uncle Powell and went from there to become known world wide as the Guernsey cow expert.  Every time Henry was hired to judge Guernsey cows at the Tennessee State Fair, my dad always took me to see Henry.

     I got to know and love Sally Mae in her later years when she came for a visit.  She was fun to be with and had a great personality.

Uncle Hugh

Hugh Carpenter

     I am going to be short on my recollections and let Kathleen write the rest.  Uncle Hugh lived in New Mexico and wrote my dad, but never phoned until after he had arrived at his brother-in-law’s, Dan Seay.  He would call and say, “Joe, I’m at Dan’s, come and get me.”  His first day at our house was always the same:  go to the country store and buy a box of each brand of chewing tobacco, bring it home and line the boxes up on the mantel.  Whenever Uncle Hugh and dad went anywhere together, I went along.  As we rode along, Uncle Hugh would always tell me that he had a little girl at home that was just my age and would tell me about her.  It was a long time before I really knew Kathleen.  We have the same birthday, January 29, 1934.  We were about thirty-five years old when we first met, and for my part, she seems much closer than a cousin.

     Once, when I was four or five, Uncle Hugh came in and we were returning home after picking him up.  As we approached the community of Grant at a place called “Gun Barrel”, a group of men stopped our car and wanted Uncle Hugh to go over and see if a man was dead.  Of course, I followed.  As it turned out, a Black man had been “shot while squirrel hunting”.

     When dad sold the farm, most of his brothers and possibly sisters had stored trunks in the attic.  Uncle Hugh phoned and gave dad some instructions about his trunk.  It was very secret.  I finally got a chance to look and saw a white cloth article and an old sword.  I told Aunt Lucy about it, and she told me that Uncle Hugh had been a Ku Klux.

     Every time after Uncle Hugh got home, he would send me a package.  Once he sent a pair of jeans and put something in each pocket.  I highly prized it.

     Joe is the only one of the children that I ever got to know.  We have corresponded for years.

Aunt Sarah

Frank Chapman

     I never knew her and only got to know her son, Frank.  Frank came to visit this area for the first time about 25 years ago.  Frank looked more like the Carpenters that I had known than any of my other cousins.  The first thing that I noticed about Frank was the way he sat in a chair.  He sat like a Carpenter.  I have never seen a Carpenter sit all the way back in a seat.  Frank is very interesting, and I took to him at once.

My Dad Joe

	My parents, Joe and Mary   Carpenter

     My dad was named Joe.  When he went to Nashville Bible College, he was constantly being asked what his middle name or initial was.  So, he picked the letter “W”.  From that time on, he was known as   Joe W.  Joe worked on William Henry’s farm with his father raising and showing registered livestock and general farming.  My dad continued the tradition of farming and raising Southdown sheep and Jersey cows after his father died.

     My dad had asthma and in the winter always had either bronchitis or pneumonia.

     My Mother, Mary Ford Carpenter, was schooled at Middle Tenn. State Teachers College, now called MTSU in Murfreesboro, Tenn.  Upon finishing high school and after finishing college, she taught school for several years.

     My Father met my mother while she was teaching school, and they married on 8-8-1921.

     My mother was born a “blue baby”.  In those days, this was fatal.  There was a woman living in the neighborhood who had just received her RN.  She came to my grandmother’s house and somehow saved my mother’s life.

     Mother and Dad had a daughter still born in 1922.  Then in 1923, my sister Elizabeth was born.  On December 8, 1929, Mother and Dad had another daughter still born.  In 1934, I was born.

     Mother did not teach again until 1944, when she taught in Grant for two years.

     Dad continued farming and raising livestock until 1941, when he was elected Smith County Trustee for one two-year term.  He then went back to his livestock and farming operation.

     Mother was installed as New Middleton Postmaster in 1954.  She remained in this position until she retired in 1964.

     My sister, Elizabeth, went to Tennessee Tech University for two years.  Then she went to Oak Ridge and worked in the Accounting Department.  She later married Cecil Lewis, who was a soldier stationed in Crossville, Tennessee with the Prisoner of War Camp there.  After Cecil’s discharge from service, they moved back and ran a grocery store in Gordonsville for a while.  They then moved to Nashville where Cecil was a salesman and later worked for the Postal Service.  After her children were grown, she worked as a bookkeeper for John T. Benson Publishing Company and later Office Manager for Dury’s.

     My dad was 50 years old when I was born.  My sister, Elizabeth, was ten, and we lived close to a mile away from the nearest child my age.  I was four or five before we had a tenant farmer that had children or anyone to play little boy games with.  During this time, I learned to sew (on the treadle sewing machine when my mother’s back was turned), tat, and crochet by watching my mother.  The first tenant farmer (Black) to move in with children was “Red” Manning.  He had a son, Alvin, who was about two years older.  His mother was named “Bossie”.  Back then; when a meal was over, it was covered with a cloth.  I have fond memories of going to Alvin’s and getting biscuits from under the cloth and going to the garden where we would pull up onions and eat with our cold biscuits.  Alvin gave me an education no school could provide.  To this day, we are still good friends.  Until I was probably ten, most of the local children I had to play with were Black sharecropper children.  I was daddy’s little boy, and everywhere he went, I went.  Since Dad ran for county trustee twice, I went along as he “lectioneered” throughout the county.  My dad knew every person in the county.  Every winter, we would go through a couple of rituals.  One was when the sheep would lamb.  Sheep always gave birth late at night and on the coldest nights.  Dad would go and make sure everything was going right.  Then, quite often, the ewe would not want to “own” the lamb, and dad would usually trick her to take the lamb.  If he was unsuccessful, we had a “pet lamb” to raise.  The other ritual occurred in winter also.  Dad would often have pneumonia or bronchitis.  Then, mother and I would have to look after the livestock.  Feeding was all right, but when it came to milking, we had a problem.  I could only milk with my right hand.  I stripped with my left hand and that took too long.  Often, the cow would step in the milk bucket.  That, of course, ruined the milk and the bucket had to be cleaned.  Then, the last of March or first of April, the sheep had to be sheared.  The sheep shears then consisted of a gear devise on a stand that was turned by hand.  A shaft with a couple of bendable joints ran down to the cutters.  If the shaft was ever straightened out, it would lock the gearbox you were turning and would bring you up off the floor.  Also, the gearbox would be hard to turn if the shear head needed oiling.  The way the ordeal worked was like this:  Dad would shear the sheep and me and “another Negro boy” would turn the gearbox.  The one that was not turning had to catch the next sheep.  Sheep enjoyed being sheared just like a little boy enjoys his first haircut.

     By early June, the sheep show flock had to be washed, kept clean until dry.  (This took a couple of weeks.)  And then, we blocked and trimmed the fleece.  The blocking and trimming of the entire show flock was an every day event.  This usually took place in the hallway of the barn with me holding the sheep’s head still, and Dad working on the fleece.  Now you must realize that by this time of the year, you were in the peak of fly season, the sheep were not used to being held in place for long periods of time, and they were getting nervous.  About this time, the fly that had been circling around your head got tired and landed on your nose.  You slapped the fly, the sheep jumped, and Dad made a gap in the cut he was making.  The old swimming hole was calling… and you can understand why I am not fond of sheep.

     The Jerseys were not so bad.  You just had a few things to watch out for.  If there were cockleburs in the pasture when you milked, you tucked the cow’s switch in the crook of your leg or experienced severe pain on your face when she swished her tail.  Next when you were breaking a cow to lead by halter, you kept your feet out of her way.  When a 600-pound cow stepped on your foot, she transferred all 600 pounds to that foot.  Then, when you were showing a cow, you didn’t daydream and allow the cow to quickly turn her head and let her horns broadside you in the chest.  It did smart.  And of course, when you were a slow milker, you watched her right, rear foot.  Jerseys were enjoyable animals.  They had personalities, and every Jersey’s personality was different.

     When I went to college at the University of Tennessee, four Jersey cows’ milk, along with my part time job, paid my way.

Tombstone of Mary F. and Joe W. Carpenter, Brush Creek TN Cemetery

     At the end of my second year of college, I managed to convince my parents that if I joined the Air Force, I could go back to college on the GI Bill.  I never had any intention of going back.  Dad insisted that I major in animal husbandry, and I wanted to major in agricultural engineering.

	Anna and Powell Carpenter

     Uncle Powell was a dairy herdsman for years.  He was the dairy herdsman at Fortland Farms in Nashville and at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  In the early 1940’s, he managed an herb farm in Wildwood, Georgia.  The herb farm was owned by The Chattanooga Medicine Company, and the herbs were used in the manufacturing of Cardui and Blackdraught.  He stayed there until the company imported the herbs and closed the farm.  Uncle Powell put me on a tractor and let me drive.  This was the first tractor I was ever on.

     After the herb farm closed, Uncle Powell bought a farm in Ringgold, Georgia, and raised broiler chickens.

     Uncle Powell had one child, Orleana.  For the last few years of her life, I was her closest and nearest relative.  We visited each other as often as we could.  Orleana willed me Uncle Powell’s quilt that his grandmother had made for him.

Aunt Allene
     Needless to say, I never knew her, but I did know her husband,
Charlie Gill.  He was an extremely nice man and very well liked by everyone.
     To the best of my knowledge, I only saw Ben once and that was for a very short time.
     Charles Allen, I knew very well.  Prior to World War II, Charles was an auctioneer.  My dad thought that Charles was the best auctioneer that he had ever witnessed.  Charles was raised by Joe Gill (I think an uncle) and his wife Grace in Grant, Tennessee.  Joe and Grace had one child, Jackie, who was about my age.  Charles was a handsome gentleman and could charm a child and always took the time to notice, and had the patience to answer, all the questions a child could ask.  Charles came back from Germany at the end of the World War II and introduced me to the world of Boxer dogs.   Charles was a person who everyone who knew him, looked up to.

Aunt Fannie
     Unfortunately, by the time I knew Aunt Fannie, she was sick. She had cancer and was bedfast for several years.  I remember Aunt Fannie as a large framed woman and was always happy to see us.  A local schoolteacher introduced her to Berry Trice.  My thoughts of him are not good.  I am sure that came from my dad.  When Aunt Fannie married and moved away, Berry moved things that were not to be moved.  Dad was not fond of him.

Aunt Lady
     Aunt Lady married Arnold Neal, who was raised about two miles west of New Middleton in the Grant Community.  They moved west to New Mexico and later settled in Pearsal, TX.  Aunt Lady and Uncle Arnold had ten children and operated a large farm.

     Every year or so, they returned to middle Tennessee for a visit with their relatives.  Since travel by car would have been impractical, they traveled by truck, with the children riding in the back.  The truck bed would be matted down with straw and covered with a tarpaulin.  All the way from Texas­­­—now that was some hayride!  These trips usually occurred after they had sold their crops in late summer.
Since they lived so far away from us, it was somewhat difficult to form close ties with the children as they were growing up.  In recent years many of the children have returned as adults and we have formed close relationships.

Uncle Emory
     As I read some of the exploits of the original Conrad Carpenter, all I could think of was Uncle Emory.  I don’t think he came back but two or three times during my life.  He was my hero.  From the tales that I have been told of him, Emory first married Frances Fuller from the New Middleton area.  None of the family cared for her.  I do not know why or what ever happened to her.  At any rate, they divorced.  Later in life, he married Goldie Ross.  Uncle Emory gave my dad fits.  He and a friend of his, “Bowser” Gwaltney, went with my dad on the fair circuit.  They went by train.  Uncle Emory and “Bowser” learned to swing on the train and run atop the cars as the train was in motion.  My dad didn’t believe he would be able to get them home alive—let alone in one piece.  Robert Arnold Neal told me at the reunion how Uncle Emory would drive his old car out on the oil fields and fill the car with “well gas”.  This was when he was an adult and short of money.

Two Infant Children
     Tombstones of two infant children of William Henry and Lizzie Carpenter are in the New Middleton Cemetery in New Middleton, TN.

     Well, I realize that I have probably aired a few pieces of dirty linen, but this is the way I recall my uncles, aunts, and cousins.  I apologize to those who read this and take offence to anything I have written.  I didn’t try to locate any horse thieves, bootleggers, moon shiners or criminals.  As large as this family is, and if you dig deep enough, you never know what you might find.  Just remember, I wrote my thoughts; and if you don’t agree, you are most welcome to write your thoughts.  

Memories of Martha Sue Carpenter Collins Coty
 Daughter of Hugh Carpenter
 Written 2-10-2002

     I start by telling you the beginning and tell you the things as I remember them and have been told.  Mother was born on a farm close to Lebanon, TN.  Her father died before she was born—he took flu or pneumonia when he was going home from fighting in the war.    This was in 1876.  Everyone thought she would be sad and have a bad attitude since this had happened—a poor child born after her father died.

     Mother was born Nov. 23, 1876.  Grandmother had a difficult delivery and Uncle Elijah, her mother’s brother, delivered her.  I am told that Uncle Lidge did not expect Grandmother to live and if she died, I (Mattie?) probably would too so he did not register my (Mattie) birth.  Guess he thought he’d need a death certificate for Grandmother and register Mother’s birth at the same time.  Grandmother recovered well, but Mother was a small sickly child and caught every germ that came along.  But she was bright, cheerful, and seemed to make their fears untrue.  I am told she saw everything with happiness and accepted her poor health as just something that happens.  Early in life she had German measles which left her weak and in very poor health.  She developed asthma.  She went to church one day and met H. F. Carpenter.  He, at the time, was engaged to be married to Willie (Fitzgerald?).  When he met Mother he broke his engagement to Willie, and Mother and Dad started their romance.  I am told that Dr. L did not think Mother should get married since she was sick.  She and Dad waited 10 years before Uncle Elijah gave his consent for their marriage only if they would not have children.  So Mother and Dad said they didn’t plan on children, and they were married in Grandmother Seay’s parlor.  They moved to a farmhouse near Grandpa Carpenter as Dad had a Country Store near there.  As Dad said, he sold horseshoes to tat lace, and his store was a meeting place for everyone; mostly men came in daily to visit, play dominoes, etc.—a truly country store.

     Exactly nine months to the day of their wedding, my brother, Bill, was born.   They named him William Seay, and he was called Seay until he was about thirty years of age.  Mother’s health improved.  About three years later, Joe was born; about three years later my brother, Dan, was born.  Mother’s health improved.  They named him Daniel Elijah.  He was small.  I think Mother said he weighed four pounds.  Approximately two years later, my sister, Ann, was born.  They named her Ann Elizabeth.  Mother’s health improved

     Then about two or three years later, I was born, but Mother’s health broke—her asthma returned.  She was listless and they diagnosed her with TB.  Uncle Elijah told Dad he had to move to a high dry climate or Mother would not live.  Dad immediately made plans to move west.  They first thought of Asheville, NC, but he was told that it was too damp there so west it would have to be.  He sold everything he had to get money for the journey.  He left Bill, Joe, Dan, and Ann with relatives, and he took Mother and me on the train heading west.  He said he didn’t know where, but he knew he would find a place where Mother would get well.  When they got to Clovis, NM, he had to stop long enough to get a job to pay for their travels.  He put Mother and I in the Clovis Hotel, and he looked for a job.  He got a job working on the highway.  He’d work, go home and check on Mother and I and go back to work.  One morning, one of the men working with him called him a SOB, and Dad said he would not work with anyone like that so he quit his job and went back to check on Mother and me.  I guess we were all right because he went to the lobby of the hotel and told his sad story.  There was a man in the lobby who told him he knew of a place where Mother would get well.  He said he was going to Roswell, NM, the next day, and he offered to help with Mother and me, and he knew Dad would be able to find work there.  So Dad said we were ready to leave the next morning.  He met Shine, and Dad said he was a friend indeed.  He put mother and I in the Roswell Hotel.  The next day, Sunday, Dad went to church and told the people at the church his tale of woe.  Roswell was a small town; everyone knew everyone and helped everyone in need.  Then a Mrs. Brown offered her home to us, saying she would take care of Mother and me, and he would have time then to find a job.  So we moved in with “Grandma Brown”.

     Dad could not find work, and he said he had never been in such a situation.  He met, at the church, a Mrs. Randall, who said she had a large pear orchard, and no one to help her.  She said her husband had gone crazy over religion.  She offered Dad a job to work in the orchard.  Mr. Randall could be found preaching on every corner, and he learned from the church people that Mr. Randall had “an order from God” to kill his wife.  Dad offered to help any way he could.  Dad had a reputation of getting along with the insane.  He went to Mr. Randall and convinced him to not kill his wife, etc., etc.  It was later that Mr. Randall was sent to New Mexico State Insane Asylum.  Mrs. Randall talked to Dad, and offered to sell her house and property to Dad if he would see that she and her children were cared for.  Dad said he would buy her home, but she’d have to give him time to earn the money.  So we moved to the Parker Carl Place—a showplace of Roswell with the Mrs. Randall and family.  She had three children, two boys and a girl.  The youngest boy was Ann’s age.  Dad sent for the children in TN.  Incidentally, Lowell, the youngest Randall, later worked for Dr. Goddard, the Father of Space, and you’ll find him written up in the history of the space in Roswell.  The children and we were all together again.

     The first year was a good year.  Dad was pleased to see so many pears for sale, and he said it looked like life was going to be good to him.  Then the next year, a freeze froze all the pear trees, and he was left with tree stumps and fertile land.  He didn’t know what to do, but someone advised him to plant watermelons; and that year he made so much money he was able to make a big payment to Mrs. Randall, and get her a place for her family, and he felt things were working out for him.  He continued to care for the Randall family until they were able to take care of themselves.  The Randalls were lifelong friends.  We actually felt like family, he said.

     Dad was a natural trader, and he used this talent to make his way.  After the watermelon year, he thought if he could raise watermelons, he certainly could raise other things to he started planting vegetables—to a huge success.  Bill and Joe were old enough then to be a great help—Dan, too, when he got old enough.  To make a long story short his vegetables were very successful.  He had a reputation of having the finest vegetables around.  His tomatoes were outstanding.  He perfected the onion to hamburger size and his celery was known all over Pecos Valley.  No one ever tasted better cantaloupe than Dad’s, and, to this day, Pecos Valley cantaloupes are a prize.  The boys worked in the fields.  Mother was sick but getting better.  She lived on one side of the house—we on the other.  She spent most of her time on the screen porch, and they always said she was cured by fresh air and sunshine.  When the Dr. found she was no longer TB, they burned all her clothes and bedding.  I think I remember that, but then again, it could be I heard the story so many times I felt like I was there.

     Mother said that when the children came from Tenn., Bill took over my care.  He was the only one I depended on.  He taught me love, feeling for others and as far back as I can remember, I heard him brag on me.  I was the prettiest, smartest little girl in the world.  I had beautiful hair.  My legs were beautiful, and he loved me because I was his darling baby sister.  So its no wonder I have held Bill so much above anyone else.  He would fight my battles for me.  No one was allowed to belittle his baby sister.  He never went anywhere that he didn’t bring something to us at home.  He was so good to Mother and, I’m sure to Ann, but I can’t remember too much about Ann and Bill.  All I can remember is harmony in their relationship.  Ann always wanted harmony between all of us.

     Bill and Joe were just the ages when they were small to play together and get into mischief.  Mother told the story that when they were naughty or fighting instead of playing, she would make the one causing the trouble go to bed and the other would sit on the porch.  One day she sent one of them to bed and the other was sitting on the porch.  The one in bed would call out.  “If (Kate?) passes, let me know.”  This was before too many cars were on the road, and it was a rare treat to see an automobile go by.  That was the excitement of the day.

     Then there was a time that they went to church—Bill on one side of the pew and Joe on the other.  They tipped the front seat back and the whole section fell like dominoes.

     One time they did a bad thing.  When the adults were in prayer meeting, these boys switched babies who were sleeping in their buggies.  When church let out, everyone went to his buggy and found the baby in the buggy wasn’t theirs, and all proceeded to find their own baby.  It took them awhile to get them all back together again.  This time Bill and Joe were put in the smoke house for punishment.  The smoke house was a building where Dad cured Tenn. smoked honey hams.  Mother would go down to check and see if the boys were okay, and she could see four brown eyes peeking under the smoke house door.  One would say, “Now I’ve yelled awhile—you yell.”  This continued until they served their time in the smoke house.       

     Aunt Henrietta lived close by, and Sally Mae, her daughter, and Bill went to school together.  Bill insisted on playing on the girls’ side during recess.  The teacher said, “Bill, you can’t play over here; you go back to the boy’s side.  If you insist on playing with the girls, you have to dress like a girl.”  So the next day, Sally brought an extra dress, which Bill proudly put on and went to the girls’ side to play.  Sally said he was the cutest girl she ever saw.  She said Bill was not the least bit embarrassed.

     Bill was not a student.  He learned what he had to learn and forgot all about studying.  Joe, on the other hand, studied everything he read.  He insisted on getting the best grades.  He had to study hard to do what he wanted to do.  He worked on the farm as did Bill; but somehow Joe was known as the genius of the family, and he was in charge of the rest of the family.  Mother and Dad saw to it that we all respected and obeyed Joe—even if he was wrong.

     Joe was quite critical of everyone—especially me.  He seemed to take special pleasure in teasing me.  Joe did a lot of good things.  He liked things nice, and one year he added beautiful blue carpet to the hardwood floors in the living room and hall.  We were so proud.  I think we were the first to have such a luxury.  He gave Mother a set of china.  She used it daily.  When she died, Dorothy got it and used it every day.  Dorothy gave it to me.  It was worn, but none was broken.  I gave it to Joyce when I lived in Chelmsford, and Joyce said it was still intact (no broken pieces), but it all showed signs of wear.  Can you imagine that?  He also gave Mother some hobnail crystal that was lost in the move from Denver.  There were just a few pieces left, but oh, what memories!

     When Kathleen came to see Joe and me in Denver, she brought Mother’s silver butter dish.  Someone in the family had given it to her, and she thought I should have it.  Joe had it re-silvered, but it was pitted and only good for a keepsake.  Joe said, “I wish I had the butter knife that goes with it.”  I had it in my silver chest so we put it back together. 

     Joe was good to get necessities for Ann and me and always Mother.  He had pride in seeing us look nice.  One time he gave Dad some doeskin gloves for Christmas and Dad wore them to church.  He told Joe everyone at communion bragged on his gloves.  Joe said, “You didn’t wear them to serve communion?”  Dad jokingly said, “I sure did.  How else would anyone know that I had new gloves?”  Joe was furious that Dad didn’t know any better and told him he should never wear gloves like that, and Dad convinced him that he would always wear them to show everyone how proud he was to have them.  Joe believed him.  We went to church with a Dr. Neeley who was a braggart.  He did a lot of good things but he always did it when everybody knew about it.  He always had a long prayer every Sunday and Dad, Mother, Dan, Ann, and counted his “good mornings”.  At the table after church, we would compare our “good mornings”.  His prayers were “We thank thee this morning for our church this morning, for our beautiful sunrise this morning, and for our health this morning, etc., etc.,”

Mr. & Mrs. William Seay Carpenter	William Seay, Joe, & Dan

     There was a church close to us who spoke in unknown tongues, and we could hear the loud praying, etc. at our house two blocks away.  We’d go by and watch them from the car.  Dad said not to do that anymore.  Making fun of anyone’s religion was a definite “No, No!”  So we talked him into going with us.  He agreed to go if we would not laugh or make fun of them.  We all went and went inside.  Mother, Dan, Ann and I went in first and took seats.  Dad had to take the only seat left, which was in the choir.  We were in the back trying not to laugh.  When we came home, Dad vowed never to go with us anywhere again.  He was a good sport about it though.  Many weeks later, Mother took us in the car so we could watch them.  Dad had put a “Sweet Adeline” horn on our car.  Everyone knew when we were coming.  As she was backing out of the parking space she accidentally touched the “Sweet Adeline” horn.  She was so embarrassed, she didn’t tell Dad about it. That was our secret.  Dad had a wonderful sense of humor.  I can see his eyes twinkle now.

Memories of Kathleen Carpenter Griffin,
Granddaughter of Hugh Carpenter,
 Daughter of W.S. Carpenter

     His family revered the Hugh Carpenter I remember, as seen through the eyes of a child who was eleven when her grandfather died.  He was a hard worker who was proud of the fruits of his labor.  My grandfather took great pride in his family, in the fact that he was a Carpenter, and in his home state of Tennessee.  He was, I think, quite opinionated and inordinately concerned with the opinions of others, but was so gentle and sweet, always so loving and respectful of his wife, my grandmother Mattie.

     The family story is that the young Hugh Carpenter was engaged to a young woman in his home community of New Middleton, Tennessee, when he met Mattie Seay.  Apparently, Hugh and Mattie fell in love almost immediately.  Hugh broke his engagement to the first young woman.  Mattie had asthma and was in very poor health so she and Hugh waited several years before Mattie's doctor felt that she was well enough to marry.  Hugh was twenty-nine and Mattie was thirty-three when they married on November 5, 1908.

     Mattie remained in good health until about 1919, after the birth of their fifth child, when they were told that Mattie must go to another climate in order to survive.  They were given the choice of going to Asheville, North Carolina, or to the Southwest.  They decided to go to New Mexico, sold everything they had, left their older four children with Tennessee relatives--and with their infant daughter, rode the train to New Mexico, to a new life and health for Mattie.  I honor my grandfather for his total devotion to the woman he loved so intensely--and for the enormous courage he demonstrated by making this move across the country to an unknown place, in order to save her life.

     My mother told of when she first met her future in-laws and Granddaddy talked about his family back in Tennessee.  Mother listened to Granddaddy's story after story about Carpenters, and really wanted to tell him a little about her family, but did not get that opportunity-at least on her first few visits to 3rd & Orchard Street in Roswell, New Mexico.

     My family lived 120 miles from Roswell in Hobbs, NM.  My mother had been an only child, reared by her grandparents since her mother's death, when she was thirteen years old.  My father's family took Mother in as one of their own, treating her like a daughter and a sister.  There was frequent communication between my parents and my grandparents, usually through letters written by the women.  Infrequently, my father and my grandparents exchanged important news via long-distance telephone.  Both my father and my grandfather shouted loudly enough on those calls to have been heard those 120 miles--without benefit of Ma Bell.

     We visited back and forth several times a year, but our grandparents never visited us for longer than half a day.  When I was about four years old, Grandmother and Granddaddy visited us in Hobbs and I was allowed to go back with my grandparents for a visit.  I remember that Grandmother taught me to sing "Mammy's Little Baby Loves Shortnin' Bread" on the trip back to Roswell.  I have a letter from my grandmother reviewing that visit, describing our adventures, and her measures to relieve the homesickness of a little girl on her first visit away from home.

    My Granddaddy was a tall man, erect, sturdy, but never overweight, with tousled white hair and a firm jaw line.  He was tall and handsome, even in the khaki work clothes he wore every day of the week--except on Sunday.  Every evening after supper, he--and my father and my uncles, when they were around--would go outside to sit in the lawn chairs under the cottonwood trees to smoke.  They didn't smoke around my grandmother because of her asthma, but didn't notice how she would become short of breath and have to retreat to her bedroom for medicine after they smoked and she smelled the smoke on their clothes when they came back inside. 

     When Granddaddy laughed, he would throw his head back and laugh aloud-such a hearty laugh.  He had wonderful laugh lines at the corner of his very blue eyes, but when his face was in repose, he sometimes seemed to be quite sad.  He may have been lonely for his Tennessee home and family, but I think now that he was worried.  After all, this time was during the Depression, soon followed by a World War.  Money was short and he had two sons in the service on active duty overseas.  There was a lot to be worried about in those times.

     Granddaddy's forehead was white near his hairline because of the hat he wore constantly while out of doors in that New Mexico sun.  He chewed tobacco and had a brass spittoon, which I still think is one of the nastiest contraptions known to man.  He was very much the Head of the Household and, in the evenings, always sat in his special big rocking chair, which was in the corner of the large dining room of the family home.  He was not the kind of man with whom a little girl would begin a conversation.   After all, "Little girls should be seen and not heard".

     Granddaddy had a truck farm.  I remember the smell of the celery and other vegetables sitting in the big vat in which they were washed before being taken to one of several "Carpenter's Garden" stands.  He raised prize-winning registered Duroc hogs and he was very proud of them.  My sister, Patty, remembers that Granddaddy put his blue ribbons on the Christmas tree each year.  On very rare occasions, Patty and I were allowed to go with him to the pigpen when he "slopped" the hogs.  He was very stern as he warned us of the dangers of these humongous animals that stayed in mud holes and smelled so awful. 

     Patty and I visited in Roswell for a week each summer, besides the trips we made with our parents.  When my mother's grandmother, who lived with us, died in January, 1940, and, later that year, when my brother Bill was born, Patty and I went to Roswell together, but usually, we went for our visits alone; two little girls might have been too much trouble for our grandparents.

     Hugh and Mattie were generous and compassionate.  They made friends with the Bowman family, Lew and Mildred and their little girl, Mildred Lew.  Mr. Bowman had tuberculosis and was not able to work.  My grandparents furnished them with fresh vegetables and often cared for Mildred Lew, who was the same age as my sister, Patty, and about a year younger than me.  Grandmother and Granddaddy cautioned Patty and me to play gently with Mildred Lew, who was considered to be a frail child.  I have to say that this was probably my first experience with the demon called jealousy. 

     My mother told about how much help our grandparents gave our family by sharing produce, canned goods, chickens, during those hard times of the Depression. 

     My grandmother Mattie died in 1942 and everything was different after that.  My uncles were in the service and we were all worried about them.  My Aunty Sue, my father's younger sister, kept house for Granddaddy and later, after she married, she and Uncle Jack continued to live in the house to care for her father.  We continued to have our summer visits in Roswell, thanks to Aunty Sue.  I guess Granddaddy was very lonely during those days after he had lost the love of his life.

     In the summer of 1943, when Aunty Sue and Uncle Jack went on a week's vacation, it was determined that I, at age nine, should become Granddaddy's interim housekeeper.  I knew how to dust, make a bed and make toast, and my mother gave me a quick cooking class in hoecake making.  I felt pretty important and things went well for several days.  My Grandfather decided the kitchen floor was dirty, needed to be mopped-and told me to mop it.  I did not know how to mop a floor, and really was not interested in learning-so I did nothing.  On Sunday morning, after we were both ready to go to the First Christian Church in Roswell for Sunday school and Church, my grandfather, dressed in his suit and wearing a hat, took out the mop and mop bucket and proceeded to mop the kitchen floor.  Miserable and ashamed, I watched him silently and have remembered that humiliation for more than fifty years.

     I have other memories of that week.  One night after I was asleep, he came into the bedroom, shook me awake, and made me promise that I would never smoke.  He said he would rather see me in my casket than with a cigarette in my mouth.  I promised fervently, he said, "Good", and I went back to sleep.  Nothing more was ever said about that.

     At the end of the week my parents came to Roswell to take me home.  On the way back, I was told that earlier in the week, Granddaddy had called them long distance, to tell them what a good job I was doing and how proud he was of me.  This surely is one of the greatest compliments I could have received.

     Granddaddy died when I was eleven.  I remember his funeral service.  It was the second time I had seen grown-ups cry.

     I honor my heritage.  I appreciate the examples set by my parents and grandparents-for a strong work ethic, devotion to God, and for the sacredness of their love for their life partners and their children.

Old letters of mine

July 26th, 1943 Dearest Mother & Daddy,      I have been having a swell time, though at night I get sort of homesick.  I sure do wish you all were here.      Tell Patty, Joyce & Billy, “Hello”.  Give them each a hug & kiss from me, and you write me, and tell Patty & Virginia, too.      How is everything over there and how are you all.  I am fine and so are Uncle Jack, Auntie Sue and Granddaddy.      Staying home so close cramps my style.      I went to see Cousin Ethel yesterday for the second time. The first time she gave Patty and my quilts to me.  They sure are pretty.  Auntie Sue is making pickles today.  The bread and butter pickles sure turned out nicely.      Auntie Sue, Uncle Jack and Granddaddy sure are nice to me and heap compliments on me like any-thing.      Well, here is a word from Auntie Sue. Your loving daughter, Kathleen Hello Dorothy -      We are all enjoying K's visit so much.  She is getting homesick now.  I think staying home so close doesn't seem so exciting. I am hoping next time she comes over she won't have to stay so close.  I hope you all can come over for Dad's birthday.  I'm having his lunch at noon because Jack & I have a show date with another couple Thurs. nite.  Sunday we plan to go to the mountains with this couple if nothing happens.      I have been canning all week, and K. is quite the helper-      Let me know if you are coming.                               Martha

The Family Home
  By Sue Ann Carpenter
 Granddaughter of Hugh Carpenter,
Daughter of Daniel E. Carpenter

This is about the house in Roswell, NM, where Hugh and Mattie raised their children and where their son, Dan, lived briefly with his family in the late 1940’s.

     It moved me to tears when I think of the history that has gone into the land that we will have to sell.  The nursery still stands as when you saw it last time.  However, since you were here, it has become more run down. It was empty, barren, sign chipped, when I drove by last night as I do several times a week to be sure there is no vandalism.  The area is not the same as it was when our grandparents came "out west".  My heart ached when I read about the family home – the nine rooms with lights and nine rich acres. I have dreams often of that old house and the memories of living there the 1st 10 years of my life.

     My dream is that it still stands with the old concrete side walk that jetted out from the back kitchen door where it came to an abrupt end at the dirt circular drive way. The dirt had corroded away from the concrete making a ledge, a perfect seat for two.  I remember sitting on that ledge many nights with my little friends, resting from hard play, telling secrets and laughing.  And on evenings after supper mother, and I used to sit on that ledge sharing our day under the old trees on warm summer nights. I can still feel the breeze, and smell the air. And I can hear her soothing voice. All the old trees still stand, as I am sure you remember when you were here.  I visualize that old house and the playhouse where I spent so many hours playing with my dolls and having tea parties.  Sometimes Mother would join us all at the little table I "set" for her rare and special visits. Still there, is the old stump with the honeysuckle that lined the side of the house outside the "sun room" as mother used to call their bedroom.   Remember that room?  And all those push up windows that lined the back part of the house.

     I have memories--so many of that land and that old house, and the early days when Uncle Joe used to live with us. I wish Uncle Joe could have come here one more time before he lost his memory.  Or even now, I think it would bring back many memories to him.  I am sure when Uncle Joe comes to Roswell it will be to rest--same with Aunt Martha.  The years go by so fast.

Memories of Patty Carpenter Brandt,
Granddaughter of Hugh Carpenter
 Daughter of W. S. Carpenter

 About an Incident that Happened Around 1943

     We were seated on bar stools at the Chuck Wagon, an all night diner on Turner Street in Hobbs, New Mexico.  It was about five o’clock in the morning and Daddy and I were on our way to the barn to do the milking.

     What’s the matter, honey?” Daddy wanted to know.  “My cocoa burned my tongue,” I said.  A most sympathetic look came over his face and he said, “Aw, honey, that’s too bad…. Let’s get a scoop of ice cream in there to cool it off.”  Right away, he turned to the waitress and ordered ice cream for my cocoa.  “One scoop of vanilla ice cream coming up,” she repeated in a rhythmic voice.  The ice cream floated like a mountain of snow in my cup of chocolate.

     That’s the way Daddy was—a doer, I would say.  As a child, I thought he could fix anything and he usually did.  Wearing khaki work shirt and pants, he kept his hat on as we sat at the counter in that café.  Daddy, and his cup of black coffee with three heaping teaspoons of sugar, and me with my cup of cocoa—We sat side by side.  The way I felt—I might as well have been sitting next to a king!

Memories of Joyce Carpenter Malley
Granddaughter of Hugh Carpenter,
Daughter of W. S. Carpenter

     Here is a memory I have about Daddy.  It is about something that Daddy did.  I used to go with him on milk deliveries to the restaurants and when lunchtime came, he would say, well "Honey, I guess you must be pretty hungry now after all that work."  I would reply, "Yes, I guess I am."  He would say, "I know just the thing."  Then he would proceed to take me to Winslow's cafe.  He introduced me to fried oysters and the most wonderful beef stew I ever ate.  I really think it tasted better because I was with Daddy.