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JONESBORO HISTORY
Union County Illinois Genealogy Trails HISTORY OF JONESBORO FIRE ON THE SQUARE newBOYHOOD MEMORIES, Jan 17, 1930 newTHE NEW AND THE OLD, Jan 31, 1930 newMORE BOYHOOD MEMORIES, Feb 7, 1930 newOLD MEMORIES, Feb 14, 1930 newSTILL MORE BOYHOOD MEMORIES, Mar 7, 1930 newDIM PAST AND PRESENT, Mar 14, 1930 newEIGHTY YEARS AGO, Apr 4, 1930 newJUST REMINISCENCES, May 9, 1930 newABOUT OLD TIMES, May 16, 1930 newREMEMBERS THE DROUTH OF 1854, Sep 5, 1930  Transcribed and submitted by Darrel
Dexter
Jonesboro
was made a town in 1818. A
large tribe of Indians was coming into here, and it was a great forest
and they cleared off Grampian Hill.
They then went on and camped down on old Uncle
Florence Green's farm right by my
grandfather's house. They
built a mound in the field, and the mound is standing there yet. They dug through a large
hill to get across. Now
we call it Dug Hill.
The first court house was built in 1818. Once there was a Negro
hung where Mr. Shipley's mill
stands. That is
about the only person hung here.
Davie Buildings in Jonesboro Burned to the
Ground Transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter Fire broke out in the historic old Winstead Davie
building in Jonesboro last Friday evening.
It soon communicated to the old Davie homestead at the north end of same
block and in an hour and a half or less time both buildings had been burned to
the ground. The buildings were insured
for $2,000 and were worth probably two or three times that amount. They were old buildings but in excellent
repair. The store building was
unoccupied and except that Carter & Walter, coal and ice dealers had an
office room there. The other building
was leased by the Fruit Growers' Traction & Power Co. and used for a street
car station. Ed Butler, the company's agent in
Jonesboro for coal and ice, also had his office there. Aside from the buildings the loss was
practically nothing. The fire was discovered at about
5:20 Friday evening and in less than five minutes afterwards the whistles were
sounding a general alarm. The fire
originated on the north side of a large frame structure adjoining the store
building on the north, built several years ago for a feed store. When first discovered it was but a small
blaze, and could access to it have been quickly gained it might have been easily
extinguished with a few buckets of water.
However the few minutes of unavoidable delay was fatal and the whole
interior of the room was blazing and flames bursting through the paper and tar
roof. It is supposed the fire started in
some waste paper or trash of some kind in the room, but how it started of course
unknown. An effort was made to keep the
flames from communicating with the residence building, but this was soon seen to
be useless and attention was then given to the safety of the Sessions buildings
and Masonic hall across the street on the west and the Gazette residence at the
northeast corner of the square on the east.
Scores of willing workers were on the ground by this time with buckets
and ladders and water was plentiful. The
roof of the house was saturated, wet blankets flung across the cornice and the
site of the house drenched with water from the upstairs windows and from the
ground. A close watch was also kept on
the Gazette office building across the alley to the south. The only casualty occurred here. Henry Hileman was working on the kitchen roof
of the Gazette residence when the spikedenn of a ladder dropped from above
penetrated through his foot near the toes.
Fortunately the wound was slight and caused him only some inconvenience
and little pain. On the other side the
workers were protecting the Sessions building and the Masonic hall. Those buildings were discolored quite a bit,
especially the hall, but sustained little real damage. The Gazette residence was only slightly
scorched but the heat was intense on both sides. On behalf of itself and other
property owners on the square the Gazette thanks the gallant fire fighters of
Jonesboro for their good work. They are
always willing to do everything possible to save property and do it promptly and
with a cheerful dash and courage that is good to see. Our people also appreciate the kindness of
the Anna fire department in coming over, arriving too late to be of service, it
is true, but its help might easily have been badly needed. Arrangements ought to be made to notify and
secure the aid of the Anna fire department promptly in case of fire on the
square. It could limit the area of a
fire and save much property. It was fortunate for Jonesboro that
only a slight southerly wind was blowing Friday evening. A northwest wind of considerable velocity
would have swept the east side of the square while a southeast wind would have
carried destruction on the other side. A mass of people assembled on the
square and silently watched the flames.
It was all over in an hour and a half at most and then George Cruse was put on guard over the dying
embers and the people went to their homes. The burned buildings were about
ninety years old as nearly as can be arrived at. Winstead Davie, one of the early merchant
princes of Jonesboro, was their builder.
The residence, or part of it, was built first and here Mr. Davie took his bride, Anna Willard, the only sister of Willis Willard, and it was their home when
they died. Daniel S. Davie, now in his 84th year was born
there and as were his sisters, Mrs. Wiley, Mrs. Walton, Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Perrine. A small log house stood on the corner when
Winstead Davie bought the
block. It gave place to the dwelling
house which finally extended the length of the block from west to east. It had seven fireplaces upstairs and
down. Dan Davie says he used to have to carry
wood to feed 'em when he was a boy.
Winstead Davie kept a tavern
there. When the Indians were moved by
the government from Tennessee and Alabama to the Indian Territory, now Oklahoma,
they were detained here during the winter, some time in the 30's we believe, and
Bushyhead, Ross and other of the chiefs were his guests. They used to ______ Daniel the money they
received from the government stocks and state bank notes not yet cut apart being
printed in sheets of several. Daniel
says he saw a ghost in that old house one night. The hired help were sitting around the
kitchen fireplace regaling each other and the children with stories of "haints"
as they expressed it. Suddenly a rolled
up shawl came rolling down the stairs and out on the floor in their midst where
it heaved and twisted in a terrifying manner.
The company went out of doors and windows with yells and shrieks. Father Davie aroused by the commotion came out
and lifted the shawl upon the end of his crutch when out dropped a great big
snake. Winstead Davie built the store building soon
after building his house. He was in
business there until he founded the town of Anna and named if for the gentle
woman who was his wife. Somewhat
curiously he never lived in the town he founded, but always remained in
Jonesboro. The property was purchased a
number of years ago by Dr. W.C. Lence and is now owned by two of his
children, Dr. Will H. Lence and Mrs.
R.O. Reiss. It is a splendid block of ground. For a town build up with wooden
buildings Jonesboro has been singularly fortunate this being only the third
serious fire on the square in all the years since it was built up. The south side from the Rixleben brick west
burnt in February 1879. The Frick block
across the street on the east burnt in April 1895. The insurance adjuster was here
Tuesday and paid the owners of the burned buildings the full amount of the
insurance, $2,000. (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 13 Jan 1911)
Cairo, Ill., Jan. 10, Jonesboro
Gazette, Jonesboro, Ill. Mr. Editor—I notice in the press
that Jonesboro is to have sewers. This is distressing news to
me. I am grieved that those sacred old hills are to be disturbed
and polluted after all the years they have been able to shake off all
flowage of gentle rain or otherwise, as a duck shakes the water from
its back. Alas, even dear old Jonesboro is falling into modern
ways. It seems she is not willing longer to be dormant and leave
all the city airs to “Annie.”
I was a boy in Jonesboro up to my tenth years, and I love the place. I had hoped it would remain an honest-to-God town lying close to nature, where I could spend my declining years. There was no “cat” burglars in Jonesboro, no any other kind. I had a pair of pants buttoned up behind—you couldn’t tell whether I was going or coming—that hung on the line over night with the family wash. You could hang your overcoat on the front gatepost and it would be there in the morning. A chicken thief was unknown. The people went about their business without being interfered with by a cheap man in an expensive uniform that gave his directions in a snarl and by pointing of a club. There was a town marshal, but he was a neighbor and friend, and except on Saturday you would find him working in his garden or on his farm. He wore no uniform nor did he carry a club. On Saturday he mingled with the boys from the country and warned them not to get too gay, for those were the days when “O, be joyful” was 10 cents a quart. He shook hands with them and they said, “You know us, Uncle Clabe, we won’t make any trouble.” Granny Grear lived just across the road from us. I used to bring her up a bucket of water from the spring, which was set on a shelf in the kitchen and a big gourd put in it to drink out of. The sanitary drinking cup had not yet been born, nor did we see any necessity for it. We all drank out of that gourd, but one day when I leaned over the bucket and let the water drip into it as I drank, Granny gave me a lift from behind that sent the gourd rattling to the floor and my head into the bucket. That was a lesson in sanitation that I have never forgotten. Granny Reed’s was a mystery place. She was not fond of boys and they understood that she did not care for their company. The approach to her house was grown up in a thicket and while the boys had a great curiosity to know what was behind it, they did not dare to enter the place. With all of the curiosity and investigation of my early youth in Nick Tripp’s watermelon patch, Craver’s orchard, and Granny Treese’s orchard, I never saw Granny Reed’s house till I was 75 years old and then the thicket had been cut away. I was fond of horses and when my father wanted me, he couldn’t telephone, he went to Albright’s livery stable for me. I could always be found there. Even at that tender age I held churchmen to close account. Old man Albright was a preacher, if my memory serves me right. One day he was hitching a horse to a buggy and the horse kept picking up strips of hay from the floor. The old man yelled, “hold us,” like they always say in a livery stable, loud and strong. You’d think all horses were deaf! I expected him to swear and refer to the parentage of the horse, but he did not do that but kicked the horse in the nose, which was worse. From that hour I made up my mind that there is something wrong about these pious boys with the discrepancy between their sayings and their doings. If the livery stable boy, who was my boon companion, had kicked a hose in the nose, I would have thought nothing of it. He was a tallow youth, with his cheek bulged out with a chew of tobacco, and a yellow trickle from the corner of his mouth. He looked like he was just up on a vacation from hell and had fallen into this job temporarily. Hous Williams was my idol—worshipped from afar. I would not have dared to approach him. He beat the snare drum in the band. The Grear boys blew the horns, but Hous beat the drum that was my great admiration. Sixty-eight years ago, at a school exhibition at the Masonic hall in Jonesboro, I declaimed from the stage a piece about “Tall trees from little acorns grow.” It was an ovation. Lovely ladies grabbed me up and kissed me. The hall is still there, I wonder where the ladies are. “The milk of human kindness flowed freely in the human breast.” The people were all neighbors, and were universally kind in sickness. I remember once when I was ill, Nance Hileman brought me in an apple dumpling. I use the names of those people in all reverence, but in the familiar way they were spoken of in that time. God knows I revere the memory of those old ladies. They were the sweethearts of my boy infancy. There was a Rotary club and Kiwanis club system with names in vogue. People with long names need not take them to Jonesboro. They would not be used. I was an old man before I knew that Bruno Rix had anything else to his name. Mon, Bill, Chris, Wat, Sid, Dan, Jeff, Doug, Jim, were all well know men in the town, some of them with titles, but they were not used in Jonesboro. Jonesboro was a democracy of neighbors and honest citizens. The march of modernism would not even let the flat place of roof of Judge Hileman’s house remain. It had to be peaked up. It was the ambition of my youth to get up on that roof and run up and down on the flat place, but Nance, while she brought me a dumpling while I was sick, did not allow me about when I was well. I hope old Jonesboro will go no further than sewers. I do not want the taxes to get as high as a cat’s back like they are in Cairo when I go up there to mark time will Gabriel blows his horn. J. S. HACKER (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 17 Jan 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
Editor Gazette, Jonesboro,
Ill.—Dear Sir—I see in your paper a letter from Mr. Hacker
mixing his remembrances of Jonesboro as a boy and as he sees it
today. He seems to be deploring the fact that Jonesboro is
getting some conveniences of life. I was a boy in Jonesboro more
than fifty years ago. My mother moved there soon after the
railroad was built through the town and boarded the men who worked on
the tract at that time. There would be thirty or forty men
working as it was a big job to keep the track in condition for the
trains to get over and especially at the Weaver Hill in the south and
what was then the Tunnel near Kaolin. The banks were continually
washing down and the men had to shovel the mud on a push car and haul
it out. The men were nearly all Irish and good boarders except a
few days about pay day which fortunately in some ways did not come as
often as they do now, for nearly all of them were sure to get drunk
when they got some money. There were three saloons.
Mr. Hacker seems to remember that the marshal did not have much to do, but my memory serves me different. There was a great deal of disturbance allowed then that would not be allowed now. He mentioned the honesty of the people. There were as good people living in Jonesboro as anywhere, but there were also dishonest people there. My mother worked hard and saved a few hundred dollars. A merchant of Jonesboro borrowed it and that was the last of it. She saved up some more and it was stolen from her. I heard Uncle John Grear tell about Caleb Miller’s early life. The gold rush in California came about the time Caleb was grown. He went to California and his parents did not hear from him for several years. Finally he came back and stayed with his father until he decided to sell his farm and move to town. Caleb asked his father how much he wanted for his farm. He told him and to his surprise Caleb brought out the money that he had brought back from California and paid for it. He then bought a farm in the bottoms and was a prosperous farmer. I am mighty glad for the sake of my wife’s brothers and sisters who are living there that Jonesboro has shaken off the old ways and is getting instead some of the conveniences of life. I would say to Mr. Hacker or anyone else not to hesitate to go to Jonesboro to spend your declining years because they are getting water and sewer. While it will cost something it is worth a great deal more than it will cost. I was sorry when I learned that Jonesboro had sold its light plant to a utility company. I live in a town about the size of Jonesboro. We own the water, sewer, and light plant. If it was not too late I would like to give you some figures to show that I think you could have done well to have kept your light plant. I would say to Mr. Hacker, as I often say to older people when they say the young people are so much worse now than whey they were young, that they have just forgotten. Very truly yours, JAMES R. SCURLOCK Piggott, Ark. [Editor’s Note.—Mr. Hacker wrote of a Jonesboro that antedated Mr. Scurlock’s time by several years. Railroad laborers were of course there and elsewhere somewhat ____titous. (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 31 Jan 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter.) Mr. Editor:--As my mind reverts to
the years of my youth up to ten years of age, which were spent in
Jonesboro, I am astonished at the number of things that grew wild in
the woods about Jonesboro, that while they may not be good to eat, they
can be eaten without fear of poison or other discomfort. Boys
roamed the woods like herds of other animals more dependent upon the
things the woods had to give in the way of food. They were
mulberries, blackberries, elderberries, hazelnuts, hickory nuts,
walnuts, beechnuts, chestnuts, sheepsour, ground cherries, red haws,
black haws, persimmons, May apples, slippery elm bark, honey from the
locust pod and from the poplar blossom, and maple sap. Let some
city-bred boy read this list and tell you how many of these things he
knows the taste of.
Of all the boys I ran with upon these expeditions in the woods there is only one that my memory retains and I often wonder what has become of him. His name was Ransy Nimmo. I can see him now with his stiff red hair and freckled face, hickory shirt, cottonade pants rolled up to the knee displaying a small leg covered with red hair. He wore a straw hat with the crown half out and one suspender. He always carried a pair of drumsticks. He had seen Hous Williams bear the drum and had become enchanted with his skill. When we made a half he immediately began to beat on anything that was convenient with his drumsticks. If perchance it was a dry hollow log our march was delayed as Ransy beat and beat and rolled his tongue to the time of an imaginary tune. He was our acknowledged leader. He could climb the tallest tree and get down more grapes than any of us. He had a strain of music in his soul and added to other accomplishments a Jew harp. When there was nothing to beat on, he played the harp. The woods around Jonesboro were beautiful. There were great brakes of wild roses and Honeysuckle Hill was a beautiful sight, being a large hill some distance from town covered with honeysuckle. The swimming hole was down near Honeysuckle Hill. I do not know the name of the creek, but that was where we acquired water blisters on our back. We did not dare to speak of these at home, because mother had forbid us to go swimming. I remember I was carrying a secret two water blisters, each holding about a half pint of burning water, on my back. I was staying about the house in my misery, but did not dare to let my mother know of my suffering. I got into some trouble demanding parental attention and my mother slapped me on the water blisters. They bursted under her hand and gushed through my thin shirt. While it nearly killed me it nearly scared mother to death. Nobody can have any quarrel with Mr. Scurlock about the modern conveniences now developing in old Jonesboro. I remember too well the cold frosty nights I have been called to make a visit to the little white house on the back of the lot, with a lattice in front grown over with a honeysuckle vine, a privet tree at one end and a hollyhock bush at the other, but as to the honesty of the people of the place, I have a letter from Mr. Ed Lee of Tulsa, Okla., under date of Jan. 27th, in which he says, “There never was another town just like Jonesboro. There is a something about it that is truly fascinating. One just naturally imbibes the characteristics you speak of. I recall, while a partner in a store there, that we frequently left our display goods on the sidewalk over night. We never lost a penny’s worth.” I hope the present day citizens of Jonesboro will not take it unkindly that its old citizens of other days long ago, are having their say in its present day affairs. J. S. HACKER (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 7 Feb 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
Kirkland, Wash.,
Feb. 5.—Editor Gazette.—We have been enjoying the letters
from Mr. Hacker and Mrs. James Scurlock. I think I can antedate
both of them. I was born in a log house that stood in the west side of
the farm that is owned by Mr. Karraker, at the time owned by Mr. Willis
Willard, my father. I was born on June 23, 1841. I well remember
Col. Hacker and his wife when they kept a “Tavern” on the
street across from what was later on the Williams Hotel. I
remember when Dr. Henry Hacker married Nancy Dishon, an
“elopement.” They went down to Col.
Bainbridge’s on the road west of the square, to be married.
A friend of theirs came to see my mother next day and told her all
about the circumstances. I was quite a child and was much
interested in the account. My uncle, Watson Webb, married Jane
Hacker. I always enjoyed visiting them in Cairo when I was grown.
I well remember when the surveying was being done for the building of the Illinois Central Railroad. The employees all boarded or lived in Jonesboro. As we had the only piano in town we had a great deal of company from among the different music lovers. Mr. Koenig was one of them that I remember well. The Ashleys were great friends of ours until they moved to Texas after the Civil War. One of the pleasantest dances of my young years was at Dr. Henry Hacker’s in their house beyond the town spring. I remember all those old names. You may have also included my brother,--Charles Willard, as he was about the age of those you mentioned. As for Granny Reed’s thicket, it was of little sweet wild plums. I often went there to buy some. I remember well about the school exhibition at the town hall and you “speaking your piece.” I could write pages of old memories, but old age tires me. I cannot do so, and there are few that would be interested. I also remember Mrs. Scurlock and where she lived, was well acquainted with her. My daughter, Fannie Goodman, says she went to school with James Scurlock. She is a widow now, her name is Gordinier. We have lived in the West, on the Pacific Coast, for over forty years, thirty of them in Southern California. My oldest son died at Riverside. Charlie. My daughter and myself live here just across Lake Washington from Seattle. I like this climate very much except that we have an extra amount of cold this winter so far. MRS. MARY A. GOODMAN (Editor’s Note.—Mrs. Goodman errs in saying that “few would be interested.” On the contrary, these reminiscent letters are read with avid interest by younger generations of Jonesboro folk.)
(Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 14 Feb 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
Mr. Editor.—My first school was in Jonesboro in about 1859.
The schoolhouse was on the corner of the alley between the Dougherty
home and the Simonds place. It was a small, long, one-story
building painted white, that had evidently been built for a
residence. The pupils of all grades were in one room under one
teacher. The teacher was a small, dark completed man with a black
hypnotic eye. I was so interest in so many boys and girls to look
at and such a diversity of subjects, at recitations, to listen to that
I could not apply myself to my ababs. This did not get me in bad
with Mr. French, the teacher, because I was always at the foot of my
class, and by the time it got to me the subject had been gone over so
thoroughly that I knew the lesson, except in spelling. I have not
caught up with that to this day. In my arithmetic and spelling I
was often fixed with French’s hypnotic eye in fear and trembling.
There was a big, awkward, fat boy named Jim Provo in the school. He was a sort of desperado, and had caused the failure of some teachers before French, who was familiar with his reputation. French’s hypnotic eye did not seem to work on him like it did on us little fellows, and he took up his usual course of insubordination. French had his mind made up. One afternoon he dismissed the school except Jim Provo, who he forcibly detained. He made no effort to lecture him or appeal to his moral sense or try to come to an understanding, but looked him up in the schoolhouse, and went across the road to Jake Grear’s cooper shop and had an oak stave fashioned to his nation. He returned and gave Mr. Jim a degree of corporal punishment that would not be tolerated in the present day discipline in our schools, but a survivor of that school told me that it was all coming to Jim. I was too young to understand the merits of the case, and then Jim was the leader of a gang in which I was tolerated when I carried out his orders and brought food and other things he demanded for his feasts in his castle, which was an old foundation of a building east of the courthouse. Jim’s rule in the castle was unquestioned and he often forced his followers into deeds that got them in bad with their parents. Old man Jim Provo sent French word to pack his grip and leave the town. This was not unexpected to French. He went up to the old man’s store on the corner of the square just east of Naill’s store, and covered him with a big gun and explained to him that he had come to Jonesboro to teach that school and would remain till the term expired; that he knew all about him and his boy before he took the job. He told him lots of other things, which must have been convincing, for he did what he said he would and had no further trouble. Mrs. Goodman, speaking of my grandfather’s tavern just off the square, west of Naill’s store, calls to mind a story I often heard. My grandfather settled in Jonesboro in 1818. In 1849 he organized an expedition to drive overland to California in the gold rush of that year. Before he left and while he was at home and in charge, the stove wood for the tavern kitchen was provided on the installment plan as required, and, like installment arrangements, was often in arrears. After his departure the responsibility fell on my grandmother. She immediately acquired a pile of stove wood as large as the smoke house. When my grandfather returned without any gold, he was astonished at the pile of stove wood grandmother had stacked up in the yard. Mrs. Goodman mentions my Aunt Jane, which calls to mind another incident of my childhood in Jonesboro. Early residents of the old place were hard to wean away from it. They always wanted to go back home for one reason and some for another. There may have been some who wanted to go back to show off their sophistication and property in larger fields. I do not know about that. At any rate, Mr. Webb was summering with his family at the big Union hotel at least the family was, while he was having his vacation in Cairo, but he made frequent trips and spent a few days in Jonesboro. On his particular occasion he was in town and I saw him and my aunt drive up to a jewelry store on the square in a spanking rig from Maj. Pender’s livery stable. I ran up to the buggy expecting recognition from my kin folks, which Mr. Webb started to extend to me, but upon a look from my aunt, which he well understood and which I understood, he suppressed it in its beginning. I stood there with my mouth open looking up to my high-toned city kin till the buggy drove away. I was such a ragged and unkempt looking boy that my aunt could not afford to recognize me. And yet everybody in town knew that I was Bill Hacker’s boy and it did not matter how I was dressed or undressed. J. S. HACKER
(Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 7 Mar 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
I have enjoyed reading in the Gazette a number of letters from
subscribers who are now non-resident, and they were quite interesting
to me as it called to my mind things that I had not thought about for a
long time. Among these letters the one that recalled events the
most ancient was the one written by J. S. Hacker a few weeks ago.
In it he mentions characters that I knew, in fact recalled all of them
except possibly the one he called “Granny Reed.” I am
inclined to think that I knew her as “Grandma Mack.”
She was likely married more than once and we always called her by the
name of Mack, as her husband’s name was McIntosh, and if I
remember correctly she had a number of children, one son by the name of
John and another whose name I do not recall. She was also the
mother of Mrs. Provo and Mrs. Nancy Walker Frick. The thicket Mr.
Hacker mentioned was always in the yard I guess, at any rate it was
when I knew the place. It was small plum trees which grew wild,
and extended up a hollow to the west of the house and barn, and they
furnished lots of fruit for the boys in season.
Granny Treese lived west of the Camp Ground which was adjoining the Grandma Mack place. She was the mother of Mrs. Tom Littleton and another daughter also, who was deaf, think she was born so. She also had a son we knew as Doc Treese, who had a pack of foxhounds and who hunted foxes. He was a king hearted fellow, but I knew of nothing that he followed for a living; think he was in the Civil War and lived on a pension about all the time after I was grown. The Albright livery stable was on the corner lot just west of the Mart Ury barn. Ury kept tavern on the southwest corner of the square where Mr. Hehenberger now lives. As told by Mr. Hacker, old man Albright was a Methodist minister. One day he was called to the hotel to marry a couple. The parties were gaily dressed. Rev. Albright performed the ceremony and the groom asked how much he owed him. As usual in such cases he said he made no charge, that whatever was given was all the charge he ever made. The man gave him a crisp one dollar bill. Of course Mr. Albright was somewhat disappointed as from the appearance of the parties he rather expected a five or a ten. The law, as now, allowed $2. But he accepted the $1 and the next day went to Mr. Naill’s store to get some sugar and found that it was counterfeit. I do not remember that occurrence, only remember Mr. Albright and that it was told on him as a joke which was greatly enjoyed by his friends.
I remember the Hacker family, remember very plainly when they moved,
possibly because I had not seen much moving of household goods
before. They lived just across the road from Granny
Grear’s, who was my grandmother. She was also the
grandmother of John W. Brown, south of Jonesboro, and of Wat Brown, who
is now county superintendent of schools. I was at
Grandmother’s the day the Hacker family moved away. I think
the house is still there, possibly a little altered, and is known as
the Rice Sams house. That part of town afterward acquired the
name of “Torment” for the fact that a number of families
lived on the street who seemed to derive some satisfaction in
tormenting others. W. H. Ballard lived where the Hacker family
had lived, and a family by the name of Littleton lived just south on
the same street. A man by the name of Lord Reed lived where
grandmother did, a family by the name of Morris lived where Ernest
Frick does now, and Byrds lived where Mr. Shy lived.
Hous Williams mentioned by Mr. Hacker was an expert snare drummer and I think handled the sticks more expertly than any drummer in the county since. He had lots of natural ability and could improvise one parts, in fact they were much preferred lots of times to the part written by the composer of the piece. He was an uncle of Mrs. Ida Kroger, who was a very fine pianist and who occasionally writes such bright, cheerful letters to the Gazette. I do not remember the official Mr. Hacker calls Clabe, unless it could be Claiborne Williford. I just did not know that he had ever been a peace officer. He was as honest and upright as men ever get to be. If I knew how to say anything more complimentary I’d be glad to say it. I surmise that Mr. Hacker likes to think back about such people and there were others in Jonesboro, then, and possibly the town contained a larger percent than it does now, however I have not resided there in a number of years. Mr. Hacker’s article contained the same sentiment shown in the Negro song, “There’d Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight,” “Whar you knowded every body and dey all knowded you.” He seems to have sentiment, and I admire one with it. His reference to the residence of Nancy Hileman caught my eye as I have not seen it since the flat place on the roof had been changed and did not know that it had been. The “Nance” mentioned was the wife of Judge Thomas Hileman, who was county judge for over forty years. She was also the sister of Lorenzo P. Wilcox of Anna, I think, as I used to hear her speak of him often as “brother.” So she would be the aunt of Addie Wilcox Thorne and Lorenzo Jr. Mrs. Thorne was a very accomplished pianist, one of the best in the county, she shone particularly in her ability when playing with others. It seemed immaterial to her whether the one she was accompanying made errors or not. She accompanied and played it in such a way that it harmonized with the soloist, whether it was a singer or instrumentalist. In the great majority of times if you run across an accompanist like that, the soloist gets the applause but it is due to the ability of the party at the piano who is the real musician of the two. This was frequently the case when Mrs. Thorne was at the piano. The letter from Mr. DuBois entitled “Is Business Fundamentally Sound” was especially good. He called attention to the condition of agriculture prior to the Harding Administration and how the condition came to be changed. This is about the only article I have read that seemed to get down to the real cause. After the Money Power had concluded to “harvest their crop” they had a meeting of the Wall Street bankers
(Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 14 Mar 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
I remember the old brick courthouse in the middle of
the square, which had a door in the middle of three sides (it was
square)—on the other side there was a platform with desk and
benches for the judge, lawyers, and others. There was only a dirt
floor and rough benches for those interested to sit on. There was
no church, and one Sunday I went to the courthouse with father to hear
a preacher who came in town and there was no other place for him to
preach. There was a Baptist church on the south edge of what was
called the graveyard, a log building with a rough floor. For
benches they had split slabs of logs with holes bored in the ends for
legs, which were pieces of limbs cut the proper length and put in for
legs.
The first Methodist church was built on the edge of the hill on the street which runs east one block south of the public square. IT was used until the hill washed away so it was no longer safe. When it was moved to the place near the courthouse but across the street, where I suppose it is now. There were only two wells north of the square. Mr. Davie had the first one dug and Mrs. Smith, Mr. Wilcox’s mother, had dug one. We got our drinking water from there until father had one dug near the old store across from the home. Everyone had troughs made by hollowing out big logs and having them under the caves of the houses to catch water when it rained. My brothers, Henry and Elijah Willard, would take the oxen hitched to a wooden sled with a whiskey barrel on its side on the sled, a couple of the staves cut out on the upper side, with a piece of plank cut to fit and slipped in to keep the water from spilling. They drove out past where Adam Cruse lived to a big spring. Some hauled from the town spring and some days so much was hauled from there it was muddy. Our mail was brought twice a week on horseback from St. Louis and once a week from some place on the Ohio River, part of the time from Caledonia. At one time James Evans carted it from St. Louis. After the Illinois Central railroad was built we had mail every day. Quite an event. Before the Illinois Central railroad was built, all the goods for the stores was hauled out from a landing on the Mississippi river. There was no sugar but wet brown sugar, and it came in large hogsheads. They would saw out the staves on one side and used a big scoop shovel to dig it out, sometimes there would be quite a few lengths of sugar cane in among the sugar, which was quite a treat for the children. In those days there were very few lamps, almost none in Jonesboro, so there was no way of lighting the churches, except with tallow candles. For lighting public buildings they had a strip of bright tin with a plate at one end with a socket that would hold a candle and in the other end a hole to hang it onto the wall over a nail. On the pulpit there would be two tin candlesticks. The hour for evening preaching was given out as “early candle lighting.” So about dusk one would see flickering lights made by those who carried lanterns which were made of tin punched full of holes so a little light would shine out. Very few had hymn books. So the preacher would first read the entire hymn then read the two first lines. Some man would start the tune and they had hearty singing. Mr. Sowers or Mr. Adam Cruse were the ones that attended to that as well as lighting the church. Mrs. Mary A. Willard Goodman R, 2 Box 96, Kirkland, Wash. (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 4 Apr 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
Dear Gazette.—This is
I. Do not get scared and think that I will write a long
letter. I am only trying to help along the followers of Capt.
John S. Hacker in telling of boyhood memories, not that he needs any
help for he certainly knows what he is talking about. He sure has
started something and we who remember, are delighted, and think his
“Memories” are wonderful and true to life. So now
please ask the followers to move over and let me get in on these
memories. I know a few things which may fit right here—some
of my own personal knowledge. While not up to “Boyhood
Memories,” they will being to those who know of the past pleasant
recollections.
As Mr. Claiborne Williford has been spoken of several times, I will take him as my first subject. I never knew him to be an officer of the law, though he may have been, and I not know. I was “right smart” young at that time and would only remember such as hearsay. He and my father came from Tennessee, same town, and were devoted friends. They would sit out in front of the store and whittle and talk about folks, nothing vindictive, only saying what they would do if they were “what’s his name.” No doubt it was good and plenty. Mr. Williford was an undertaker as you know. My dad went with him on long trips at night for company. Pa was glad of the chance, as he was in his store all day. The roads in those days were not as now and quite lonely. He was like all of his profession outwardly serious, out of business hours jolly and a wag, great on nicknames for his children especially, also a few friends which were good and fitted the party. He called my father Gibson, after an old contrary horse Mr. Williford owned, saying he was just like it. He always took the opposite of whatever you talked of, but he was there with his side. “Gibson” stuck to my dad. He did not like the name, but that did not cut any figure with old timers. Mr. Williford sent a man to see him one time about some affairs which he said pa would know. The man went and kept calling for Mr. ”Gibson.” Pa stood it as long as he could and then said, “My name is not Gibson, it is Williams,” emphasizing the Williams. He was angry about it. The man apologized. After he knew who had sent him it was OK. “Claib” did it. My mother always told that on him as a joke, but he never could take a joke. Poor old man, he did not relish ridicule. Who does? My daughter is inclined to be contrary, does not get huffy, likes to argue. Strange how traits crops out in our children. Will Williford was called “Pacer.” He was much liked and missed when he passed on, a good friend to all. I suppose Emmett still answers to the name of “Mike.” His twin brother, Everett was called “Dick.” He was always full of fun and I believe he resembles his father’s most, of all the boys. My dear father was a modest and retiring man, not highly educated. He felt his lack of education, and used contrariness as a make believe, as many do to hide his deficiencies. I never heard him use profane language. Always a gentleman, if I do say it. His business was dry goods, and of course that made him careful of his language. At home he was strict, made me toe the mark as to politeness, etc. His greatest cuss words were “Doggone his hide.” Jonesboro was a town of nicknames. We all knew each other so well it was like one family. Another old gentleman I will mention, but not give his real name. You must guess. His nickname was “For Instance.” For Instance was attached to him because he always began his conversations that way. Mr. Thomas Cozby, I’m sure would remember for he was a young man and no doubt helped along with all pranks. Pardon my digression, but I wish to give my best wishes to Cornetta and Tom. I think of them often. He was one of the “boys” and no doubt has a few pranks up his sleeve yet. Right here I will say that those who are descendants of the pioneers of the old town can be proud of their ancestry. They were not up in the arts, literature, many of them at that day, but were naturally refined and above all had aspirations for their children, and those children have as a rule made good. They can look back and think the Lord for having such ancestors. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been about much and never met a better class of people any place. My thoughts carry me back to the old town and the number of men and women who have contributed in the different walks in life. My for Jonesboro, teeth and toenail or what have you? It amused me greatly when Mr. Hacker called Anna “Annie.” We of the past knew only it by that pronunciation. Habit, Anna comes in on the descendants, for their first merchants started things rolling and were originally from Jonesboro. No doubt they have a warm spot in their hearts for “ye olde towne.” The clubs have shown it. I certainly think it wonderful. Those who write of the good days past, do not forget an old lady who also sits and dreams of bygone days, and wishes to be remembered occasionally. Yours, IDA MAY, ALIAS “DUTCH” Los Angeles, Calif. P. S.—I had forgotten my nickname, but my dear friend, Mrs. Fannie Willard, reminded me of it when she visited Los Angeles. [Editor’s Note.—I guess “For Instance” was Uncle Dan’l Hileman.] (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 9 May 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
ABOUT OLD TIMES I note in the last letter of Mr.
Hacker that he refers to a school on the corner between the Dougherty
house and the Simonds home. The Simonds place was afterwards
occupied by Judge Mulkey and about the year 1868 or 1869 it was altered
and became the home of Judge M. C. Crawford. The narrow street
that runs south from the courthouse is the alley mentioned by Mr.
Hacker and the school was on the southwest corner of the block. I
think that it had been erected for a more advanced school than the one
mentioned by Mr. Hacker as it had a sign painted on it in front,
“Commercial School and College.” I got the impression
that it was built by Willis Willard, the father of Mrs. Goodman, who
has written such intensely interesting letters of early days in
Jonesboro. The property later belonged to Mrs. Goodman or to her
father, at any rate it was the house of the Goodmans and Mrs.
Goodman’s husband, Dr. Goodman, used the old school house for an
office. Mr. Willard also built the “Seminary,” a
large building situated west of the courthouse and occupied ground
between the James Lingle home and that of Miss Elnora K. Davie. I
do not of course remember who the first teachers were, but have heard
that two ladies from the east were brought there for the purpose by Mr.
Willard. (Miss Gannon and Miss Noyes.) J. H. Samson and his
wife taught there, afterwards Alvan Cook. The interest shown and
expense attached always indicated to me that Willis Willard had an
intense interest in education. The Seminary property afterwards
was used as a home, in fact, the last home of Mrs. Goodman, as a
resident of Union County.
Mr. Hacker evidently knew Jim Provo. Jim was not much older than Mr. Hacker as he was born about 1850, I should say. That may not be exact, but it is a close guess, ax he was about the age of my oldest brother, Judson. It was characteristic of Jim to get together some boys younger than himself and be king of the crowd. His father seemed to be very arbitrary, and was killed by some soldiers not so very long after the time mentioned by Mr. Hacker. We lived but across the street from the Provo residence by Alfred Lence. The murder of Provo made a deep impression on me as I was very young and it was the first time I had been taken to see a person in a coffin. I never forgot the sight. Jim Provo Jr. never as far as I could see, changed his disposition from that shown by Mr. Hacker’s letter. He finally died at Anna. His mother was a daughter of “Granny Reed” mentioned along in the ‘70s by Mr. Hacker. At any rate, I remember that Grandma Mack (McIntosh) for a good while lived part of the time with her and I always understood that she was Mrs. Provo’s mother. The major part of her decline was spent with another daughters, Mrs. Paul Frick. Jim Provo seemed to get all of his unlovely traits from his father’s side of the house. I surmise that when the schoolteacher French went to my father’s cooper shop and wanted a stave fixed to used on Jim, he did not have to use much oratory to get father to make it for him. Mrs. Provo had one son by a former husband, by the name of Andrew Pipkin, but Andrew had no use for his stepfather. Andrew Pipkin enjoyed the highest esteem of all the residents of Jonesboro. He had left home when he could not get along with his stepfather and prospered in the north and only came home occasionally, but when he did he met lots of friends. These lines are written only to show that there are some of your subscribers who are very much interested in the incidents recalled by Mr. Hacker, and remember nearly all of them. F. P. GREAR McNairy, Tenn. (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 16 May 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
J. F. Phillips of this city remembers the drouth of 1854, although at the time he was only a chunk of a boy. According to very old timers the drouth of 1854 was comparable to this one of 1930 in duration and severity, but possibly not so widespread. Mr. Phillips' folks were then living in Franklin County, Mo., and there according to his recollection the drouth began in April and there was no rain until sometime in the following September. In February of the following year the family moved to Franklin county, Ill., and Mr. Phillips was old enough before the Civil War was brought to a close the enlist in the 15th Illinois Cavalry. He is not as spry as he was then, but is able to be on the streets almost every day and still finds interest in life. (Jonesboro Gazette, Jonesboro, Illinois, Friday, 5 Sep 1930; transcribed and submitted by Darrel Dexter)
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