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Chapter I - Family Beginnings The Apostle Paul would have been very proud to claim my Dad, Clement Adkisson Sydnor, as a pupil and follower of his teachings. In re-reading the Epistles to the Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, etc., one can see how earnestly Dad tried to pattern his life by Paul's standards. Dad was a fundamentalist who believed the Bible word for word. He tried hard to pass along his knowledge of the Bible and beliefs to his children of which there were twelve. His was a Baptist-Presbyterian background. His mother, Rebecca Pleasant Royster, was a Baptist, but when she married the farmer-land owner Giles Sydnor and came to live in Halifax County, Virginia, she joined the Presbyterian Church with her husband. She taught her children well in a day before schools were available, and definitely the Bible stories were included in her curriculum. Dad was reared on a farm in Halifax County, Virginia. His family, like most southern families, was left very poor after the Civil War, so that an uncle took the little fellow, not yet twelve, to rear. Dad wrote of the desolate feeling he had when he told his mother goodbye, not knowing when he'd see her again. Living with this uncle was no picnic for Dad. It turned out to be very cheap child labor. Dad opened the store at 5 o'clock a. m. and got the fire started in the stove, went to school, and returned to work after school. In the evening he would curl up on the bags of grain while the farmers sat around the stove, spinning yarns and spitting tobacco juice at a spittoon. Then this frightened little boy had to make his way home between ten and eleven p. m., feeling that something might grab him in the dark at any moment. One day Uncle Granville, one of Dad's older brothers who was by then a teacher at Hampden Sydney College, came by for a visit and saw what was happening. Dad wrote in his notes that he would be eternally grateful to Uncle Granville, for if it weren't for him insisting that Dad go to college, and arranging for him to be privately coached by a friend, Mr. George Denny, and paying his expenses, Dad would have been doomed to a life of clerking in that little country store. As it worked out, Dad enrolled in Hampden Sydney College, and they continued his help until he graduated that school in 1895. While at Hampden Sydney, he majored in Greek and Latin. He studied the Bible diligently. He held many positions in life as headmaster, principal, teacher in many different cities and towns. I know he taught Latin in many schools but I don't know how he used his Greek except to help him interpret the Bible. In 1898 and 1899 he was registered in the post-graduate school at the University of South Carolina. At the same time, he was principal of the Columbia Presbyterian Seminary. I'm sure his knowledge of Greek would have been an asset in that position. All of this was to explain some of his background which made him what he was. It was imperative to him that we accept the Word of God just as he did, and I honestly believe if one of us lived to be as old as Methuselah and still lived under Dad's roof, it would always have been so. Anyone who believed in the scientific explanation of evolution and doubted the Virgin Birth was un-Christian and out rightly denying the power of the Almighty to create man in His own image. I mention this particularly because after I was grown and a full time church worker, I mentioned to Dad some of the views on evolution which the new preacher had expressed; I was told in no uncertain terms that I had to think as he did and believe in the Bible version of man's creation or get out of the house. My poor mother! She was sitting there with her needlework, unwittingly caught between loyalty to her husband and compassion for a berated daughter. Dad was angry when he spoke. He couldn't allow one of his children to doubt the Bible version for one instant. I am certain he regretted his harsh words, and as Paul admonished his flock to never let the sun set on one's anger Dad complied, but I lay awake that night definitely planning to leave home and trying to decide where to go. I had a good job so I wasn't worried about that but I was worried about the hurt and humiliation that Mother would suffer when I left. Sometimes I think I was chicken but somehow by morning the air had cleared a little and the hours had taken the edge off of the incident and I didn't leave. Needless to say, I never broached that subject again. Don't judge Dad too harshly by this outburst. He did have a temper and we all have our bad days and this must have been one of his. Perhaps another time he would have sat down and calmly talked to me but I'll guarantee one thing, he would never have swerved in his convictions. Most of the time Dad was tender hearted, loving, kind, generous and sympathetic. With ten sons, he felt he had to be, and in fact was, a very strict disciplinarian. There again, following Paul's advice, he didn't spare the rod. However, we all agreed that the cruelest but most effective punishment he administered was to make us "kiss and make up" when we were so angry we would rather have murdered one another. It was so humiliating! We always seemed to wind up laughing. It worked wonders. Dad was generous to a fault. He gave his coat, the only one he had, to a half-frozen tramp because he thought the poor fellow needed it more than he did. I'm sure he needed it many times after that, but at the time he gave it away, he was warm and comfortable and the beggar was cold. Also on one occasion, he received a letter asking for a loan from one of his brothers who was a happy go lucky sort of guy who happened to be down on his luck at the moment. Dad really had to sacrifice to send him some money and Mother reproached him for doing so because she felt every penny which they could rake or scrape was badly needed at home, but Dad replied, "Now Mother, don't worry. The Lord will take care of us." Sure enough, the following week a letter and check arrived from a man in South Carolina who 35 years before in 1898, had bought some old furniture from him. This was a real windfall for Dad, who had long since given up any idea of ever getting paid for it. Truly, the Lord works in mysterious ways! Dad believed firmly the Bible quotation, "Seek ye first the Kingdom of Heaven and all these things will be added unto you." We were a family poor in material wealth but rich in heritage, love, and the real art of living. Dad died in 1949, and a colleague wrote a tribute to him. I would like to copy it here because it expresses so beautifully Dad's qualifications. Here the tribute from J. Heath Lewis, in Lynchburg, Virginia.
Mr. Heath Lewis didn't mention that Dad was domineering, a trait that has unhappily been passed on to all of us. In fact, my sister Rochet made the remark "she was glad she was a Sydnor, and didn't marry one!" All this put together made a marvelous man. My earliest childhood memories are more of Dad than Mother. I think this was because Mother always seemed to be in the "hatching" or "weaning" stage and, adding to that the duties of being a housewife, stayed pretty much indoors. Dad would get out and do things with us, take us on walks in the woods. When the little ones would tire or the sands were too hot for our bare feet, he would carry one or two of us at a time. The best thing that ever happened to Dad was marrying Mother. She was Rochette (pronounced Roch-ay) Venable Raine, daughter of Charles Anderson and Betty Oliver Raine of Danville, Virginia. Mother was a tall beautiful auburn haired alto who sang in the Presbyterian Church choir. Dad, who came to Danville as Headmaster of Danville Military Institute, sang bass in that same choir. It was a handsome couple who walked down the aisle on December 22, 1903 and spoke their vows which bound them together "until death do us part". I remember Dad as a very handsome young man who would let me sit on his lap and try to pull the "splinters" (whiskers) out of his face. I remember Mother sitting at the piano and teaching me to sing Pony Boy. I was three years old and she promised me a pair of red slippers if I would sing it in the annual school minstrel show. I also remember how she loved to have me comb her long red hair and style and re-style it just to have me stick the hairpins in which would make chills run up and down her spine. She was a beautiful woman and she loved the simple things of life, and loved her babies. I remember the time Dad and Mother took Giles, the twins and me to Savannah, GA, to see the big ships. It was a 70 mile trip which we made by train. The dark water seen through the cracks of the pier was so frightening to me I was almost paralyzed with fear. This was the time Mother had to take my hand because Dad was carrying the twins. Dad was a teacher, and for an increase of a few dollars in salary, we moved many times. From Danville, Virginia, we moved to Blackshear, GA to Jefferson, GA, to Williamsburg, VA, and back to Vidalia, GA. in a rather short amount of time. They were all small towns where school and church activities accounted for 95% of the social life of the community. Dad was always the principal for the schools, one white and one colored, and an elder in the Presbyterian Church, so we were considered top brass socially but economically we were pretty low on the totem pole. We moved to Lynchburg, VA, when I was eleven, and the family never moved from that town again. That is where most of our family grew up, and many married and stayed to rear families of their own. I believe the memories most vivid in my mind were our Sundays. They were pretty routine- Sunday School, and Church, then a good dinner, partially prepared on Saturday. Then after the kitchen was cleaned up we gathered around while Dad read "The Christian Observer" and "Onward" which bored us all to death. Dad read all the church news and everything else that interested him before he got to the children's page. Then he would delight us with a good Bible story like "Joseph and His Coat of Many Colors", or "Daniel in the Lion's Den", or "David and Goliath". There was no end to his knowledge of Bible stories, we thought. There is one story I must mention because I believe Dad made it up. It was the story of a little boy who went fishing on a Sunday, and caught a horrible looking fish with eyes all over it. It was the kind of story that ends with a "Boo!" and we knew we would never go fishing on a Sunday. After this the older ones were required to learn some catechism and a few verses from the Bible. We all knew Psalms 1, 8, 15, 19, 23, 24, and 100. We knew the 13th Chapter of Corinthians and the 2nd Chapter of Luke as well as Ruth and Naomi's parting speech. We knew all the books of the Bible. After that, we were allowed to go out to play or go for a walk in the woods under Dad's supervision. This was a highlight because he seemed to know so much about everything that grew in the woods, the birds and small animals, etc. I wasn't allowed to play with my dolls on Sunday. We could read, but Dad chose our Sunday reading matter. He didn't allow us to read the funnies or the newspaper. One time he allowed me to read a book called, "The Little Minister". It sounded innocent enough, and I never told him that the Little Minister got involved with a "scarlet woman". We liked the Bible stories and the walks but we hated the other things. It's a shame that we haven't carried on the tradition of telling these Bible stories to our children and our grandchildren. As I mentioned before, there were 12 children in our family, ten boys and two girls. They are, in order of birth: Giles, Beth, Clem and Raine (twins), Fabian, Lavelon, Kendall, Malcolm, Walker, Brantley, Rochet, and Bill. I guess all of this rigid Bible training paid off, because with all those brothers and a sister, I am proud of every one of them. Mother was almost ten years younger than Dad, and he gave orders to her as well as to us, oft times treated her as if she were a child. Dad was strict and Mother frequently found herself in the middle of a mess because she'd try to shield one of us from Dad's wrath. Mother loved practical jokes but Dad didn't. Mother loved a good story, maybe even a little off-color, but Dad gave one the impression that only milk and honey dripped from his mouth. I found out in later years that he enjoyed a good story, too. Dad was domineering and impatient with our shortcomings, but Mother was inclined to overlook a great deal just to keep peace. Strange as it may seem, Mother was satisfied with her role in life. She allowed Dad to make all the decisions, and any protests she might have were generally mild ones. I was only eight years old when Dad came into the bedroom on a Sunday and found me sitting in bed playing with my paper dolls. He made me put them away. Mother questioned his decision about that but he explained that I could play with my dolls every day of the week but Sunday would be different. Our friends could go places, play games, go swimming, play ball, cards, or anything else on Sunday, but not the Sydnors. We had to "remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy." If we were given the funnies we were not allowed to read them until Monday. Dad didn't subscribe to the Sunday paper because "someone had to work on Sunday to get that paper to us". Is it any wonder in later years that I sneaked a good book to bed on Sunday afternoon on the pretext of taking a nap? I kept the Christian Observer handy so I could switch reading matter at the sound of a footstep. I don't believe I could ever be so strict with my children. As the younger children were growing up Dad had mellowed quite a bit and he insisted they should learn to dance and play bridge but when Giles and I were coming along, we weren't allowed to have a deck of real playing cards in the house because "they were gambling cards and instruments of the devil." We all, including Dad and Mother who loved to play games, played Rook, Flinch, Old Maids, and other such card games. Dad was amazed when he found out we were playing the new game of auction bridge with Rook cards. He later relinquished this rule, allowed us to have bridge cards and he even tried to learn how to play the game. Some of the children who came along later didn't realize how strict Dad had been. A funny incident I'd like to relate here. The game of Chinese checkers became popular, especially for older people and Mother and Dad played it every night. Once when I came home on a visit and found they were no longer playing the game I said, "What happened to the Chinese Checkers?" mother said, "Well, I'll tell you. I got to the point that every time I'd go to church, I'd pick out a certain hat in the congregation and jump it all the way to the pulpit, so I decided I'd have to give up playing." I recall with horror being made to go to a dance which was given by some distant relative in honor of her daughter's "coming out" party. Neither Giles nor I had ever learned to dance so I spent the evening on the sidelines pretending I was having a good time but Giles felt it his duty to dance with the hostess. He explained to his friend, Macon Miller, that he couldn't dance and asked Macon to "Break in" as soon as he started. However, some other boys decided to play a trick on Giles so they held Macon. Giles was stuck, or rather, the girl was stuck but Giles rose to the occasion by saying, "I'm sorry but I just washed my feet and can't do a thing with them." Later, I told Mother how miserable I had been at the dance so she talked Dad into allowing us to learn to dance. "Tuesday's child is full of grace." So, I'm a Tuesday child. No wonder I didn't arrive in this old world on time! I much have been waiting for someone to do something about this ungraceful body of mine but nothing happened, so we'll forget this definition and settle for another one, namely, the "free and unmerited favor and love of God". And I'd say that's something to be desired. (It must be true, though, because I do have some God-given talents which have helped me get along in this world.) Dad had to make a business trip to Lynchburg, VA, a city about 65 miles north of Danville, a two hour trip by train, but he kept putting it off, waiting for my arrival. Finally, early on the morning of March 13, 1906, he decided his business could wait no longer, so he caught the early train to Lynchburg. Mother had a sister Mary, (Mrs. Walker Pettyjohn) living in Lynchburg, so it was decided that Dad was to keep in touch with her and in that way Mother could reach him if necessary. Of course, this was the day I chose to make my entry into this old world! Dad's train had hardly left the Danville Station when Mother felt her first labor pain. Grandmother Raine called Doctor John Harvey, the family doctor, and sent for the colored mammy who was to live in the room with Mother for the next three weeks, sleeping on a cot which was already prepared with fresh white linen. It would be her duty to care for Mother and the baby, keep the room straight and see that Mother's meals were served to her on time, careful to not that no cabbage, sweet potatoes, beans, onions, chocolate or gas-forming vegetables were served. After all, Mothers nursed their babies and foods like this would give the baby colic. Little did they know that milk which was fed to mothers by the quart was one of the worst culprits. Grandmother called Aunt Mary by long distance and when Dad arrived in Lynchburg, he was met at the station by Aunt Mary who told him the news of the birth. He caught the first train back to Danville, but I was there first. He looked in the crib to see an 11 1/4 pound baby girl born at ten o'clock that morning. They named me Elizabeth Caldwell Sydnor after my grandmother Raine who was Elizabeth Caldwell Oliver of Halifax County before her marriage to Charles Anderson Raine of Danville, Virginia. I was duly christened in the First Presbyterian Church of Danville by Dr. Laird. Mother often told me that I was kept on my back most
of the time because I was so fat my cheeks made the corners of my
mouth droop. In other words, I was not pretty but I was a girl with
all my faculties, so they accepted me and dressed me up in all the
lovely hand made clothes Mother had made expressively for me and proudly
showed me to my brother, Giles, 17 months older than I, and to his
friends. Chapter II, Blackshear, Georgia In the meantime, Dad accepted the position of Principal of Presbyterian Institute in Blackshear, Georgia from first grade through the high school grades. The high school section was made up of local youngsters as well as students from the surrounding counties who could afford to pay room and board. The boys lived in a barracks a couple of blocks away from the school and were under military discipline. The girls lived in the same dormitory in which we lived. I remember lots of things vaguely about this dormitory where we lived for the first five years of my life. I remember the big girls combing and curling my hair and tickling my back. I loved it. I remember the long covered walk between the dorm and the dining room, the boys marching in formation to their meals and everyone standing at the tables until Dad had given thanks. Mother had a little twelve year old colored girl named "Creasy" who helped look after Sarah and me, so when we moved to Georgia, Creasy's mother allowed her to go with us but admonished Dad to look after her and treat her like his own. (Creasy tells me today that he did just that.) One day Creasy wanted to go to her church picnic so Dad told her she could go but she had to be home by nine o'clock that night. Well, they were having a good time and Creasy lost track of the time. Daddy went after her with a switch and Creasy said that when she saw him standing there, she knew he meant business. She ran all the way home with him walking behind her. He was really treating her like one of his own! Twenty eight months later Mother gave birth to twin boys, Clement named after my father and Raine, Mother's maiden name. (Someone quipped that when we named the twins, "you named one Clement and you couldn't name the other one inclement because it meant bad weather so you named him Raine, instead.") The twins were identical and without stretching one's imagination too far, one can think of many funny and baffling situations which can result throughout the school years and also later on in life. Well, the twins have played this to the hilt. They have pulled every one in the book and then some and through it all they have remained the very best of pals. The female teachers often gathered in Mother's room for chatting and a cup of tea. It was a very large apartment-like room. I remember Mother playing the piano and teaching me two songs, "Baby's Boat's The Silver Moon" and "Pony Boy". I've mentioned "Pony Boy" before, as it is a strong memory. I was to sing these two songs at the school minstrel show. Mother promised me a pair of red slippers if I would sing them well. Nowadays, knowing how much ham I have in me, I doubt if I needed to be bribed. Anyway, I remember singing it on stage and in the same show with my secret love, Walter Paine. Walter must have been 18 or 19 years old, and I was three. He sang, "Walk Right In, Sit Right Down, Make Yourself at Home". I also remember an Easter egg hunt planned for my fourth birthday. Eggs were hidden everywhere but there was one nest of eggs with a golden egg in it, the special prize egg. Somehow the pigs got out that day and rooted around and ate nearly all of the eggs, including the golden egg. I was sad but the hunt went on just the same for the remaining eggs and we had a good time. I had a doll house with furniture that I loved to play in which I must have gotten one Christmas, but I don't remember Christmas at home until we moved into the little cottage when I was five. My brother Giles had a Billy goat and wagon which he must have gotten the year I got the doll house. We used to have lots of fun with it. We were allowed to drive the goat up and down the nice wide unpaved street which let into town, a matter of about four blocks. One day while riding, Giles hit the goat, he lunged forward and I tumbled off backward. I cried but I don't believe it really hurt that much. Someone came out and dusted me off and said a few kind words. There was a stream behind the school which had a large conduit going under the road. It was usually very shallow. We were allowed to play in the stream sometimes because it was shallow, clean, and had a smooth sandy bottom. One clear day while we were playing in the water, I lost a little ring which Uncle William Raine had brought me on one of his trips from Mississippi. I loved the ring and hated to lose it, but it had just slipped off my finger and when it reached to pick it up, it disappeared into the sand. One day after a very hard rain, Giles and I sneaked off down there where some larger boys were playing in the stream which was terribly swollen. It must have been three feet deep, because it came up to my shoulders. The boys either persuaded Giles to come in or pushed him in, I don't know which, but at any rate they were having so much fun that I decided to go in too. I jumped in right where the water was swirling through this huge underground terra cotta pipe and immediately disappeared into the dark tunnel. I remember raising my head to get a breath and hitting my head on the top of the pipe. In the meantime Creasy had missed us and was out looking for us. She saw Giles and those other boys run across the road but no Beth, so she joined in and came running. She got there just in time to see me come washing through to the other side. I realized I had created a great stir and was the center of attention for awhile, so I offered to do it over again if they wanted me to! What a ham! I remember going to school when I was only five. I wasn't supposed to start until I was six, but Miss Nell Kreischbaum, the first grade teacher, lived in the dorm with us. She allowed me to come and sit in her first grade class, more to help Mother out than anything else, I'm sure, because by now there were five children. Another brother, Fabian, had arrived on the scene and Mother really had her hands more than full. When the school year ended, I was promoted to second grade along with the rest of the class. Miss K. Said I had done all the work and should not have to repeat the grade. The first Christmas that I remember was held in the home of a Mr. John Brantley. Santa Claus arrived with a Ho Ho Ho and a pack on his back and gave out toys to all the children of the Presbyterian Church. I know now that Mr. Ben Brantley was Santa, but at the time I thought Santa was the real thing. Santa pronounced Giles' name "Gillis Snyder" and called me "Beeth Snyder". I remember two such Christmases. One year I got a big doll that I named Anna Camp after Mrs. Brantley. Another year I got a doll and little brass doll bed which I loved. I played alone hours on end with my dolls and mud pies. I remember when I was about four years old, I swallowed a pin. I was running home up the middle of the street screaming. Mrs. Pomeroy heard me and came out to see what the matter was. I thought I was going to die because I'd been warned about putting pins in my mouth. She went back in the house and brought out four of the biggest, doughiest old biscuits I've ever seen and told me to eat them, that they would keep the pin from sticking a hole in my insides. I kept gagging, but I finally got them down. The friend I remember best in Blackshear was Anne Rankin, a couple of year older than I. She really knew how to play paper dolls! They had a scuppernong vine in their yard, and to top it all off Mrs. Rankin liked children. She was nice to us. There was not much money in teaching so Dad decided to try another medium. The local newspaper was for sale, so Dad bought it. This meant we had to move from the school to make way for the new principal, so Dad rented a small cottage no too far from the school. This little cottage had windows in the living room that reached from the ceiling to the floor. One night Mother thought she heard a noise and woke Daddy up. He listened but heard nothing so they went back to sleep. The next morning Daddy couldn't find his trousers and we were all helping him hunt for them. Why I looked in the living room, I'll never know but one of the windows was open and there on the front porch lay Dad's pants. The gold watch and fob which had been given him for settling his father's estate, plus a small amount of money were gone. They were never recovered. We were living in this cottage when Creasy who was now 15 told Mother she was pregnant. She wasn't, but said it so that Mother and Dad would give her consent to marriage to John King. It worked! Mother made Creasy a white dress and veil and made arrangements for her to have a church wedding. The big day came and Mother helped Creasy get dressed. I sat by watching. She looked lovely. Creasy really pulled a fast one, because she has never had a baby to this day. Dad would allow Giles and me to come down to the newspaper office to help him. We thought we were indispensable but I realize now that Dad must have been doing a baby-sitting job. The newspaper was not very lucrative either and something had to be done because by now there was another baby on the way. Dad accepted a position in Jefferson, GA as Superintendent of Schools, one white and one colored. Mother and Dad loved Blackshear and they had made many friends there, some destined to be life long friends, but they had to go to find greener fields. Miss Helen Crichton, a Canadian, taught violin at Presbyterian
Institute and was one of Mother's special friends. Miss Helen Sexton,
the piano teacher, was another. Miss Sexton later married E. Lee Trinkle
who became governor of Virginia in 1932. When we left Blackshear,
Miss Helen Crichton said to Mother, "I'd love to have a little
namesake down here in the south." So a few months later when
Lavelon was born in Jefferson, GA, he was named Lavelon Crichton.
The name Lavelon was made up, a male version of another friend of
Mother's, Lavelette Morton, and of course the Crichton part was after
Miss Helen. (She is now Mrs. Arthur Grant living in Bradenton, Florida.)
The doctor in Jefferson who officiated at Lav's birth was the son
of Dr. Crawford Long who discovered ether's use as an anesthetic.
Mother was one of the first to receive this new anesthetic and all
went well. Chapter III - Jefferson, Georgia I saw my first snowfall in Jefferson, GA. It was so beautiful that I wanted to save some, so I made several nice snow balls and carefully tucked them away in my bureau drawer! Also in Jefferson, I saw my first "aero-plane". I don't remember much about school in Jefferson, I remember going to school, of course, but don't recall any of my teachers. Again we lived in a big dormitory type house owned by the school system. The bedroom I slept in was so far away from Mother and Daddy that I was scared to get out of bed on dark mornings for fear someone was under the bed and would grab my feet. It was in this old house that Byrd Martin, a poor young boy from the country who wanted to go to high school, came to live with us. He helped with the chores for his room and board. My most vivid memory of the school was the time some Indians parked their truck on our land and pitched a tent. The old squaw did beautiful bead work and she made me a necklace that looked like little blue forget-me-not's. The chief talked to the students in the auditorium and did some rope tricks. I don't remember what else he did, but they stayed about a week. Mother kept an eagle eye on us during this time because Indians at that time had the reputation of stealing white children. Once I stepped on a nail and it went through my big toe. Dad stepped on the board and then pulled my foot up. He wrapped a wad of cotton, wet with turpentine around my toe but I didn't go to a doctor. In fact, a doctor almost never came to our house except to bring a new baby. There were standard remedies. For sore throat and croup it was a teaspoon of sugar wet with kerosene oil, Vicks salve rubbed on back and chest, calomel or castor oil for coated tongue or upset stomach, and turpentine applied directly for cuts and scratches and wounds. Right after I stepped on the nail, Byrd Martin took me to his home for the holiday. He had younger sisters and brothers. We were playing hop scotch and I stepped on a wasp. Guess I had left my bandage off, because I was stung on that same toe! That night my foot swelled and ached terribly and there was a red streak running up my leg so Byrd took me back home. Dad soaked it in hot water and made another turpentine poultice. It got well by some miracle. Giles got his first bicycle in Jefferson and I could ride it but didn't know how to put on the brakes. One day I took the bike and went down town, not far but a very steep hill between home and Main Street. There was a train track at the foot of the hill. I don't remember ever having seen a train on that tract before, but when I to there it was crossing the road. I turned sharply to avoid it and took an awful spill. Lots of people came running out of the shops thinking I'd been hit by the train. I was given a stern lecture by some man and I tucked my tail between my legs and crept home, fully aware that I deserved more than a lecture. Of course I couldn't hide it because I was all scratched and bruised and Giles's bicycle needed a bit of repair work. I don't think I ever rode that bicycle again. I believe a Mr. Johnson was the next Presbyterian preacher. I was only 8 years old when Daddy decided it was time for me to join the church. We always did what Daddy said in this family, and besides, I figured I could get some grape juice in one of that cute little doll glasses. I had to answer 2 questions, "Do you believe in God?" and "Do you believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross to save you?" I answered "Yes" to both questions and I was in. It has turned out all right for me because Dad kept us on the straight and narrow path, but I'm sure it didn't mean a thing to me at the time. Now and then, it must have been Children's Day, I was called upon to sing a solo in church. The one I loved and did on several occasions was "Others". There was a stream running through the woods behind this house. We frequently played there, and one day Giles, the twins and several little neighbor children made a dam down there. Giles was supposed to be looking after Fabian who was about two and a half years old and I'm sure he kept him happy because he let him take off his clothes and play in the water too, but when they came home, Fabe's tender baby skin had been burned to a crisp and he nearly died from third degree burns. It was in Jefferson that my formal musical education was begun. The school always imported a piano teacher and any interested pupil was allowed a half hour per week for a lesson. Dad decided it was time for me to start. We practiced scales and simple counting but that was all. The next year brought a change of teachers so it was the same thing all over again according to her method. Then the next year it was our turn to move and we encountered the same thing again. We never had central heating and always the room where the piano was located, the living or sitting room, was unheated except for special occasions. Practicing regularly or for any length of time was out of the question. Therefore, when I tell you I had music lessons for nine years but never got beyond the third grade book, it's sort of understandable. I had my one and only birthday party on my eighth birthday in Jefferson, GA. It was wonderful. I remember getting lots of gifts but Mother served Jell-O and cake instead of ice cream and cake and I was embarrassed because I had never been to a party where they served Jell-O. Chapter IV - Williamsburg, Virginia Again the need for more money prompted Dad to look for greener fields and this time we moved to Williamsburg, Virginia. Moving in those days was a very different experience. Everything had to be crated up, ready to ship by freight. It took several days for a couple of men to do this. Then we had to wait for a train to leave a car on the siding. When we received word it had arrived, the moving men came with a wagon and a couple of horses to get the furniture to take it to the siding. It took eight or nine loads and this usually took the better part of two days. Then the car was locked and we were lucky if we saw our things again in three or four weeks. No wonder Mother desired for each move to be her last, but poor thing, such was not to be the case. The Williamsburg Female Institute was an institution of higher learning under the auspices of the Presbyterian Church. This was before William and Mary was a coed college and before the town of Williamsburg was restored. We went to the Matthew Whaley grammar school in Williamsburg which stood where the Governor's Palace is today. Each day we had to cross a little bridge going to and coming from school. I don't think we ever passed over without spitting in the creek a few times. This creek is now a part of the fabulous estate of the Governor's mansion. Our apartment was on the second floor of the W.F.I., while all the classrooms, the library, dining room, kitchen and storage rooms were on the first floor. It was in the music room that Henry Feeney, the burglar, spent three nights "casing the joint" before he absconded with all of Mother's silver. He was apprehended and in court he testified how every morning a big fat woman (Mrs. Noble) came in to open the windows. He slept under this large old square piano and she never saw him. The two most popular cigarettes were Chesterfield and Piedmont. The Chesterfield pack cost ten cents and had a pink coupon which could be redeemed at the corner store for a penny stick of candy. The Piedmont cigarettes only cost five cents, and they had a green coupon. It took two of these to get a stick of candy. The William and Mary boys saved them for their favorite kids. I always had a good supply. The local theater ran a "Perils of Pauline" serial every Friday night, along with some other silent picture, maybe a Charlie Chaplin feature. All of this was for five cents for children, ten cents for adults. I saved my money until I had $1.35 and bought my first pair of ball bearing skates. We had a lovely place to skate right at W.F.I. on the cemented front veranda. We had a farm connected with the school, and two mules, Belle and Coley. When the mules weren't being worked, the children in the village were allowed to ride them. I suppose every kid in Williamsburg fell off of one or the other of them at some time. I know I did, and I know the twins fell off one time, each breaking his left arm. My best friend in Williamsburg was Suzanne Garrett, whose mother taught French at the W.F.I. Mrs. Garrett was a lovely person. She came from New Orleans and her father had once been Governor of Louisiana. They owned one of the old houses in Williamsburg which was bought by the Rockefeller Foundation to be restored. It is known as the Coke-Garrett House. Another friend, Cynthia Coleman, lived in an old house which had a spooky basement. The best Halloween part I ever went to was held in that basement. Oh, boy! It was really creepy and scary. This home is today restored and known as the Peyton Randolph House. The outstanding Christmas of my life was here. We went to bed very early on Christmas Eve, and of course, by three o'clock in the morning we were ready to wake up. Dad and Mother had just gone to bed, but Dad anticipated we would be up too early so he rigged some tin cans on a chair and tied a string to his bed. When we got up and headed for the living room, Dad pulled the string. Such a clatter you've' never heard! It shattered the stillness of the night, and six kids ran like rabbits back to their beds. Dad told us we had scared Santa away, and we were heartbroken, but later on after a decent breakfast, Dad said Santa wouldn't have skipped us entirely so we went on a hunt and downstairs in the Ladies' Parlor was the most beautiful tree and lots of presents. I think the one I liked best was a little sewing box filled with small spools of every color thread. I got a beautiful doll too, but Giles broke it before the day was over. Kendall was born in Williamsburg and Dr. King used a new drug called twilight sleep. It was wonderful for Mother but we almost lost Kendall. He was called a "blue baby" and up until he was three years old he went into convulsions every time his temperature went up a degree or two. My third narrow escape happened in Williamsburg. This time an oil lamp was involved. I tried to put the light out and the oil caught fire down in the oil well. Dad heard me call and I was running to him so he met me. Luckily it was summer and the windows were wide open. Dad threw the lamp out the window and it exploded in mid-air. Williamsburg was the first place we had ever lived that had indoor water closets and bathtubs. We were used to bundling up to go out back, and huddling around a stove on Saturday night to get our weekly bath. We heated all the water on a stove and for a family the size of ours, that chore had to be started by five o'clock to be done by bedtime. After two years in Williamsburg, the Presbyterian Church
decided to close the school. W.F.I. was sold and today the Williamsburg
High School is standing on that spot. The Foundations Reception Center
is standing about where our barn was the place old Belle and Coley
called home. Dad considered several offers but for some reason he
decided to accept the Superintendent of Schools in Vidalia Georgia.
Another long move with all the packing, and inconvenience, and ever-increasing
family was staring us in the face. Chapter V - Vidalia, Georgia Imagine anyone taking in a family with seven children for an indefinite period while we were waiting for "the furniture". The Godbys of Vidalia did just that. I believe we were there for just one week, because Mother had visited her own mother in Danville before leaving Virginia. I'm sure it seemed a long week to the Godbys, God Bless them. I was in the sixth and seventh grades in Vidalia. Miss Page was the sixth grade teacher and she kept a huge bunch of switches ~ big thick switches, and she used them freely. I don't know what I learned in her class but I was scared to death of her. I was a good speller and enjoyed it when she had a spelling bee. One day we were let out of school to pick cotton. All the children went in wagons to the field. It started out as a picnic, but I picked all afternoon and had only 6 pounds at one cent a pound. This was my only trip to a cotton field. Not an easy job. There were two swimming holes near by. One was in Swift Creek to the north, the other Rocky Creek just south of town. I can't understand how Mother and Dad let us go to these water holes with no grown ups in charge. The water was way over our heads in places and it was getting out of just such a hole I learned to swim. Malcolm was born in Vidalia with Dr. Meadows in attendance and a colored mammy as usual. When he was an infant, he fell ill with cholera infantum and the doctor worked over him for a long time. Finally the doctor said, "I've done all I can do, the rest is up to the Lord." So Daddy took all of us into the garden and we held hands and prayed for our baby brother. When we went back in the house, Mother told Dad that the fever had broken and from then on he improved until he was fully recover. God be praised! One day Dr. Meadows and his nurse came to our house and performed tonsillectomies on Giles, Clem, Raine, Fabian, and Lavelon. (Kendall was somewhere else at the time and later said, "They cotched Labelon but they didn't cotch me!") It was like butchering hogs. The Cromarties lived near us. They were a large family too, and we were matched up pretty well. Jimmy C. matched with Giles, Ruth C. with me, Victoria fit with the twins. We had lots of fun together just being children and playing childhood games. Leroy Meadows was another neighbor that fitted in with the crowd. His Daddy was one of the richest men in town. He owned the Ford automobile agency in the little town of Vidalia. Cars were scarce and only owned by the moneyed people and the market was wide open. Mr. Meadows was in on the ground floor. There were not many cars up until now, probably four or five in town. Anyway, Leroy and Jimmy were rivals for my affection and each one was giving me all his winning marbles until they found out I had a cigar box full of beautiful agates belonging to both of them. Then there was a fight. I don't remember the outcome exactly, but the odds sort of favored Jimmy. The new Baptist preacher came to Vidalia and his son, Henry, was the best looking boy I had ever seen. He was always dressed up in a suit or white duck pants when all the other youngsters had on old blue jeans. He didn't play marbles or ball or anything like that but he would walk by the house (usually on the other side of the street). He was very graceful when he walked. The boys all called him "sissy" but I thought he was beautiful. I didn't know then but I know now he belonged in Greenwich Village. Aunt Mary always sent a beautiful box for Christmas, with a gift for everyone, along with some Christmas goodies like nuts, candies, dried figs and raisins. We loved that box. One Christmas my gift was a pair of kid gloves which I wore to school one very cold windy day. It was a long walk, and when I got to school my hands were so cold I couldn't open the door. When the teacher helped take those gloves off I was sure my fingers were going to come off too. Miss Page rubbed my hands and then sent me to my seat but as the day wore on my hands drew up into fists and I couldn't open them. Dad soaked them in hot water and cold, alternating them time and time again but they stayed drawn up for about three days. (Insert: In my later life I've lived all around the northeastern cities. Imagine, the only time I've had frozen hands was in South Georgia.) In the summer of 1918 the worst Spanish Influenza epidemic ever known started. People died like flies. Dad was working that summer in Savannah in the ship yards, and he got the bug. He nearly died. By now I was 11 years old and was invited to Blackshear GA with Fabian, 7, and Lavelon, 5, to visit the Rankins. This was another case of friends trying to relieve Mother of part of her burden for about a week. The trip required two changes, a station change in Hazlehurst, Georgia, and a train change in Jesup. We had round trip tickets and all was in order, but I was right young for that responsibility. I remember lugging that suitcase a couple of blocks to the other station and having to drag it along the ground. Well, coming home was another story. The conductor on the train was a crook, I suppose. At least he was old then so I know he'll never sue me for calling him that. He took our tickets and said I'd have to buy others in Hazlehurst. I told him our tickets were good all the way to Vidalia but he said they weren't. So he left me there frightened and wondering what to do next. There wasn't enough money to buy any more tickets. Luckily, a man sitting across the aisle from me heard part of the conversation and noticed I was in tears so he asked me what the trouble was. I told him and he went after the conductor. Soon he was back with our tickets and sure enough they were in order. I was one happy, grateful little girl. While we were in Blackshear Mrs. Rankin had a phone call from Mother asking her to let us stay another week because Daddy was so ill. I didn't know why we were kept down there an extra week, so imagine my surprise when we got home at seeing Dad on the front porch, seated in a chair with pillows tucked all around him and looking so pale. Our doctor, a young man, contracted the flu before the summer was over and died, leaving a wife and several small children. In all little towns, the church is the focal point of much of the social life. Missionary meetings, prayer meetings, family picnics, etc. etc. Mother assumed her share of the entertaining. On one such occasion I had gotten all dressed up in my best dress to help serve refreshments. Mother had forgotten cream and sent me to the store to get some. I was walking sort of behind an old man when he turned his head and spat tobacco juice all down the front of my dress. I turned and ran home, crying with rage. I had to wash and dress from skin out and then go again for the cream. I know it was an accident, but dirty old men that spit should at least look where they are spitting. Across the street from where we lived there was a pecan orchard going to seed, so to speak. The owner did not use the pecans but neither did he want us in his trees. However, we always sneaked over and got a pocketful whenever we felt the need for a few nuts. Recently I was in the Vidalia area and several of those old trees are still there bearing fruit. I deliberately walked over and picked some up. If the owner were still living he'd have a hard time throwing me out now because I imagine I'm bigger than he is. This was sugar cane country. It was also during World War I when we couldn't get sugar. So Dad bought cane syrup by the barrel and we sweetened everything with it. I do remember that Dad and Mother had a little white sugar stashed away that they could use for their coffee. Come to think of it, wouldn't coffee taste awful sweetened with cane syrup? I loved that house in Vidalia. By today's standards, it wasn't much but it had a porch nearly all the way around it. Underneath in the back it was not closed in so there was lots of room for me to play house. Also, out near the barn there was a building which was not used and I made a little theater out there. We'd put on shows and charge the neighbors kids 10 pins to come to see me. My favorite song at that time was "Are You from Dixie?" Daddy bought a piece of sheet music called "It's a Long Long Trail A-Windin" and he sat there beside me at the piano, using the only method he knew to make me learn that piece. I don't think we ever used that one in one of our shows. The troop trains came through Vidalia regularly, as we were on the direct line from Fort Benning to Savannah. The ladies made coffee and lemonade and all the girls in town came down to help serve the soldiers. I remember one young man asked me to write to him. He must have been all alone in the world to ask an eleven year old girl to write. Sure enough he wrote to me, and mother made me answer his letter. Several letters were exchanged and then there were no more. I often wondered if he were among the dead. One day in early September right after school had started Daddy received a telephone call from Uncle Walker in Lynchburg, Virginia. He was on the school board, and they were short on teachers. There was an opening for a math and Latin teacher who could double as principal of night school. It seemed a perfect spot for Dad and would mean more than twice as much in salary as Dad was making. Would he consider it? Dad secured a release from his contract in Vidalia and again the packers and movers were called in. This time we were bound for Lynchburg, Virginia. One last night in Vidalia after all the furniture was
loaded, Mrs. Cromartie asked us to stay with them. That would be Mother,
Dad and eight children. Dad had hired a man to pick us up at 5 A.M.
and drive us to Augusta, Georgia where we could catch a through train,
a trip of about eighty miles. We arrived there around noon, had some
lunch and caught the train to Danville, VA. Chapter VI - Lynchburg, Virginia No one ever took a mouthful of food at our house until Dad had said the blessing and no one left the table, no matter how urgent his business, until Dad had read to us from the Bible and we had prayed together. I must mention here that in spite of all the architects verdicts, Mother drew plans night after night until she finally hit on a plan for remodeling which the architect agreed would work. At one time there was not a complete wall in the house. We lived for several months under these conditions. I remember when one wall was knocked out to make a window, there was a huge painting of a woman dressed in red under several thick layers of wallpaper. The carpenters working on the house were talking one day about a friend who had recently died. Mr. Anderson said, "He jes' didn't have no fight left in 'im." Mr. Wooldridge replied, "Well, I'll tell ya one thing, if it was his time to go, it would ha' been a one-sided affair." About twenty five years ago, many years after this story took place, my family was living in Pottsville PA, and the paper carried the story of Mr. Woolridge from Bedford, VA who had answered a lonely heart club ad and had come north to visit his bride-to-be. She and her son were showing him around when all of a sudden, the son clubbed him, they robbed him and buried him in the pig pen. I think this was our Mr. Wooldridge from the description of the victim. I suppose it was his time! Dad didn't believe in any God-given talent being left alone to wither and dry up and he pushed us unmercifully at times. I was dumb as heck in school but he'd coach me for hours in preparation for an exam or something, and finally after missing the same question several times, he'd give me a whipping and say, "If I can't put it in one end, I'll put it in the other." Strange as it may seem, I'd usually remember the answer, for a while anyway, and managed to get through high school a couple of months after I'd turned 16. He treated me the same way when it came to the piano. The cold room and cold piano keys were no help in making me hit the correct notes, so after a couple of misses he'd slap me on the right side, then the tears would blur all the notes and he'd slap me again on the left side. I truly learned to hate the piano at a very early age. These were just specific instances and occurred only a fraction of one percent of the time. The other 99+%, he was gentle, patient, and understanding. He was as honest as the day is long and generous to a fault, a real pushover for every dead beat in town. I think his disposition depended mostly on whether or not he had had a good day or a bad day at school. Mother did beautiful handwork, and I believe the most vivid picture any of us have or her would be sitting in an arm chair making the most beautiful baby clothes I've every seen. She also liked the crossword puzzle which Dad abhorred and insisted was a waste of time. Now and then she would come up with some choice word she'd learned through that medium and astonishment would show clearly all over Dad's face, which pleased her no end. Mother didn't have many clothes for herself but what she had she wore well and without a doubt was the most striking woman I've ever seen when she got all dressed up. Every few years she would buy a new suit and had collected enough suits and blouses so that she always looked fine. Dad never swore. His strongest oath was "darn" or maybe "dern". We were not allowed to say, "I swear it" because he felt if we lived right and merited the respect of our fellowmen, our word would be our honor. Dad could trace his ancestry back to 830 A.D. on his father's side, through some very highfalutin' folks. He claimed to be Scotch-Irish, and undoubtedly one branch of his ancestors was just that, but the Sydnor family came to America from England in the shape of Fortunatus Sydnor in 1653. The Raine family came from Sedan, France fleeing with other French Huguenots, and is very proud to say she comes down on the Macon Line. Dad was well educated for his day. Besides his degree from Hampden-Sydney College, he had studied for his Master's Degree at the University of South Carolina. He was determined that all the children who would take advantage of it should have a college education too. Before his death in 1949, he had gone to the college graduations of five of his sons. I had a business course and a couple of years of training in special courses at Lynchburg College, then called Virginia Christian College. My brother Lavelon and my younger sister Rochet went there in later years. Raine, Kendall, and Fabian all were exposed to the college for one year. Brantley, the ninth child, had been killed in a tragic accident in his senior year of high school. I need to say something about Brantley's death. Dad blamed himself to some extent since he and Brantley had had a disciplinary problem which caused Brantley to go off in a highly emotional state. None of us agreed that Dad was at fault. Nevertheless, it was a terrible experience for Mother and Dad and traumatic for all of us. This was the first break in our very large family. Dad lived to see all of his still living children happily married, and to meet many of his grandchildren! About a month before he died on one of my visits home, we were sitting on the front porch talking. He had been quite ill and seemed to be so very weak. He became quite serious and said, “Beth, I haven't much more time on this earth and to tell the truth, I'm ready to go. I've had a good life. I've lived to see all of my children happily married. I'm quite anxious to see what's on the other side of the door. I believe that death is a higher form of life and I don't want any mourning for me when I'm gone." My next visit home was to attend his funeral, the largest funeral I've ever seen in my life. The cortege was over a mile long. This in itself was a last great tribute to a great man. Mother couldn't stay in that big house alone where she and Dad had reared a family and shared so many ups and downs, so it was sold and she bought a lovely small modern house which she loved. Her only regret was that Dad was not there to share it with her. ********************** When we arrived in Lynchburg, school was already in session so Dad took Giles, Clem, Raine and me on over to Lynchburg and we stayed with Aunt Mary. Mother and the rest of the family stayed in Danville with Grandmother until the furniture arrived, about three weeks later. Dad found a home on Wise Street, and all went well. We were within walking distance of all the necessary schools and a small Presbyterian Church, just two blocks away. There were lots of young people near us and because we had so many youngsters there were a few children on the block to match every category. Our place was always running over with children but Mother didn't seem to mind. They tell the story about Dad calling the children in to dinner and one little fellow didn't get up from his play, so Dad picked him up and spanked him, saying "When I say move, MOVE!" The child said, "But, Mr. Sydnor, I ain't your kid!" By now, I was beginning to play the piano a little bit by ear. A group of twelve youngsters around my age began meeting in the different homes every Friday night. We played games mostly but sometimes they'd dance. Giles and I had never learned to dance so we usually sat unless it was a group dance of some sort. Soon after we got to Lynchburg, a very distant relative of ours invited us to a formal dance. Since we did not dance, we didn't want to go but Daddy insisted we had to go. What a miserable night it was for me, as I've mentioned already. I was all dressed up in my best dress which was a pongee trimmed in dark blue. It was a hand-me-down from my wealthier cousin, Macon Pettyjohn. I didn't mind that it was handed down because the dress fitted me, the material was beautiful, and the style was good. A beautiful dress for Sunday but certainly not a dance dress for a formal dance. There I sat all dressed up in my high top button shoes and everyone else in evening clothes. It was murder. This was the night I mentioned that Giles asked the hostess to dance, then apologized about having just washed his feet and not being able to do a thing with them. Soon after, as I mentioned, we learned to dance, taught by our own little group. I suppose I'm one of the few people in this world that was dealt a hand of thirteen spades. I was just learning to play. I was just learning to play auction bridge and by the old auction system, one club scores six, one diamond scores seven, one heart scores eight, one spade scores nine, and one no trump scores ten. I was used to playing Rook where the bidder also had the lead, and since I had a hand without a losing trick in it, I figured I'd get a better score playing in no trump. I bid a Grand Slam in no trump. Of course, the opponents had the lead and I never got in to make a single trick. Why can't I get such a hand now? I know a little better what to do with it now, but they say that cards never forgive. High school was a nightmare for me - four long years. The Lynchburg School system had much higher scholastic standards than the schools I had attended in South Georgia. I was a year or younger than the rest of the kids in my class. I was deficient in so many areas. I couldn't parse a sentence, something I should have learned in grammar school and besides that the Lynchburg school system was graded in semesters rather than a full year. So instead of being in the eighth grade as I would have been in Georgia, I was in 1A High. I was so mixed up. This was 1918 and the flu epidemic had hit Lynchburg with a bang. Schools were closed for five weeks and when we went back in October, the teachers really socked it to us trying to make up for lost time. Needless to say, that first year I flunked English and Ancient History. So the next term Dad made me take 5 subjects instead of the required 4. We had no money to buy lunches, so every day Dad would pack an oatmeal box or Ritz cracker box full of biscuits and bacon or salt mackerel, or a loaf of bread and bottle of catsup or jar of jam or something. At lunchtime we would meet in his classroom and a dry lunch was doled out to us. I envied all the kids who had pretty sandwiches and cake or cookies in their lunch boxes. I was miserable and would like to forget those four years. On November 18th at 11 a.m. word was received that the armistice had been signed. School was let out and we were to meet downtown to form a parade. We had to walk and as we crossed Harrison and 7th Streets, a little boy about five years old dashed into the street and was hit by a car coming at a terrific speed - all of thirty miles and hour. Daddy picked him up but he had been killed instantly. This sort of spoiled our celebration. I used to do a lot of babysitting in the neighborhood but was never paid a dime. It was the neighborly think to do. The Davis's lived across the street and Mr. Davis traveled a lot. They had a little five year old boy Floyd. Mrs. Davis was uneasy to be alone at night so I spent many nights with her. About 5:30 or 6 o'clock in the morning little Floyd would wake up and to keep him from waking his mother, I would take Floyd into the bed with me and tell him stories. Years later, when I was about 25 years old, Mary Harper Knight and I were invited to Lynchburg College to put on a program for the students, with Mary Harper playing the piano and me singing. Floyd Davis was in the student body at that time. One of the other students, knowing Floyd was a local boy said to him, "Hey, Fluke, did you know the girl that sang this morning?" Floyd answered, "Know her? Hell, I've slept with the girl many a time!" I think this is a funny story, but it embarrasses a couple of my brothers when I tell it. At the end of our first year, Mr. Ingo, our landlord decided to raise the rent from $40 a month to $80 a month, which was out of the question, so now it was another move, this time local so it wouldn't be as much trouble. Mr. Glass, the superintendent of schools, had a house on the corner of 7th and Madison which he rented to us for $35 per month. It was not large enough. Even so, it was while living there that Walker was born. Dad decided he was going to buy an old home up on Wise Street. Mother didn't usually take a stand opposite Dad's until one day he announced he was going to buy an old home with a large yard where he could have a garden, raise some chickens, and have something to keep the boys busy, off the street and out of trouble. The house was located at 1215 Wise Street in Lynchburg, of course, and definitely the wrong side of the street. This was sad news to all of us but especially to Mother. The six and a half room, one bathroom house was over a hundred years old with 14 inch thick walls. It had no closets, no basement or attic, and was generally in pretty bad condition. It was inadequate in every way for a large growing family. An architect had said nothing could be done to modernize it and make it an attractive place to live, and that was very important to Mother. Because of family ties in Lynchburg, she wanted us to put our best foot forward. This was definitely a step in the wrong direction as far as she was concerned. There were many tears shed and lots of arguing on the pros and cons, begging and pleading. Dad felt that this was a house that would do, and one he could afford close to the schools and the church. He said, "That's what I'm going to do and we'll hear no more about it!" In the end Dad had his way and 1215 Wise Street became our home. Mother was so depressed and discouraged. She cried many times during the next two years when it seemed to be a losing battle trying to fix up this two story poorly designed house to suit a family of eleven. Despite the contractor who had said there was no way to remodel it, Mother wouldn't give up and spent most of her spare time drawing up plans until she was satisfied it could be done. Dad borrowed the money and hired a contractor and carpenters and they went to work. They tore out walls, stairways, windows, and everything. We continued living there through the entire remodeling and at one time that was not a whole wall standing. It was like living in a shell. About four months later they were finished and Mother was happy with her home which was now twice the original size. We never got over the feeling that we were living on the wrong side of the street. Brantley, Rochet, and Bill were born in this house with good old Dr. Taliaferro and Mammy Julia in attendance. This brought the total number of children to twelve with ten boys and two girls. It was a happy and healthy family. Toward the end of my senior year, at Dad's insistence, I should say demand, I entered a reading contest. Dad went to the library and found the play "Rip Van Winkle". He took a scene from the first act and made a reading of it and coached me. Let me back up a little here. First, he went to see a Mrs. Ralph who was an "elocutionist", to see if she could help him find a certain reading. Mother said, "as long as you are walking, why don't you push Brantley in the carriage?" so we did. Mrs. Ralph said to Dad, who was preoccupied with the reading, "Oh Mr. Sydnor, what a darling baby, is it a boy?" Dad said, "No, ma'am." She said, "Oh, a little girl!" and Dad said, "No, ma'am". Mrs. Ralph said, "Pray tell me, what is it, then?" Mrs. Ralph did not know the reading Dad had in mind so Dad went to the library to get this Rip Van Winkle book. Well, I won the contest, and the winners in the different categories were invited to do their numbers before the Lions Club. I performed, and received lots of applause, and from there, there were other engagements. I loved the applause, and then I knew what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Show business! Of course, Dad would not hear of it. My brother Clem had a part time job at the Blair Laboratories, and one day they received an order from South America written in Spanish. No one could read it. Clem said, "My sister can read Spanish." Mr. Morton, the boss, sent the letter home to me to translate. It wasn't hard and then there were others. As soon as school was out, Mr. Morton offered me a job in the office. Beside Spanish, I had studied typing and shorthand for a year so I fit right into the organization. I was paid $12.50 per week for an eight to five job and half day Saturdays, but I loved it. In the fall I enrolled at Lynchburg College as a special student and studied piano, voice and elocution in the late afternoons, Saturdays and evenings. One day Miss Harrison, my elocution teacher asked me if I would be the third contestant in the Declamation Contest. There had to be three to make it legal. The other two contestants were seniors and assistant teachers in the elocution department so no one but a fool would dare go up against them. However, Miss Harrison asked me to do it for her so I promised I would. I was ashamed to think I had committed myself to this so I told no one. On the morning of the contest I dressed as neatly as I could without causing any comments or arousing any suspicions. I wasn't scared because I knew I didn't have a chance and I wasn't vying for honors. But what do you know! I won it - another thing to spur me on! At Lynchburg College, I managed to cap all the lead parts in the musical shows, and many leads in the dramatic plays. Also, I was very active in the Little Theater plays. I loved the applause. I guess I'm a natural born ham at heart! I never went looking for a job but was sought and left Blair laboratories after six months and went to work for Clarence Burton in the office of the hosiery mills. He paid me $75 per month and he was so nice. Then Dr. Perrow at the Health Office asked the high school principal to recommend someone for secretary in his office. I was recommended and contacted. I hated to leave Mr. Burton but now I was being offered $90 per month, and we needed the money. For five years I stayed at the Health Department and my salary had climbed to $100 a month. Dr. Perrow was a son of a b to work for, but I liked all the other people, the doctors and business men I came in contact with. During this time I took a leave of absence the summer of 1925, was able to get the ex-secretary to work in my place, and I went to Chicago to study at the Bush Conservatory. I had attended an all-girl orchestra program on the Chautauqua circuit which I liked so much. I found the "reader" had studied at Bush Conservatory under Elias Day. This was my cup of tea! When I returned from Chicago I had a suitcase full of new material - lots of musical readings which I had learned the words for but couldn't play. I remembered my old high school classmate Mary Harper Knight who played the keys off of any piano, so I went to see her and left some music. The next time I saw her several days later, she played all of them without a note of music before her. She was a natural, and from that day on Mary Harper and I were a team. We were in demand all over the state for conventions, clubs, etc. We had no set price but were paid well. We had a weekly radio musical program for a bakery; I had another talking serial once a week. Also, I had a six week contract at a local theater to sing three shows a day. I took my lunch hour for one and had two more shows in the evening. For this I was paid $45 per week. Imagine being paid so much to do something I loved doing! There was not a young girl in Lynchburg who enjoyed more popularity than I did during those eleven years. I had beaus, lots of them, but none I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I thought I might have found the one, but he jilted me in favor of a girl whose father had just died and left her a good-sized fortune. Oh well, I soon got over that and went on my merry way, always looking out for "Mr. Right". One day Mr. Otey approached me telling me Mr. Carter Glass's secretary was leaving him and urged me to put in my application for the job, giving him as a reference. I did because I thought of the glamour connected with a senatorial position. It was during the Al Smith campaign so Mr. Glass was busy and a little slow letting me know anything definite. In the meantime, Mr. Bob Miles, the pastor of Westminster Presbyterian Church, our family church, contacted me and asked me to take over the young people's work at the church and also to be his secretary. I told him that wasn't my line but he insisted I should try it. It paid $125 a month which was very good pay for a woman in those days. I told him of my desire to work for Senator Glass, but I made a bargain with him and told him "if at the end of two weeks, I've heard nothing from Senator Glass, I'll come to work for you." So with this in mind, I handed my resignation to Dr. Perrow. However, at the end of the two weeks grace I had heard nothing from Senator Glass so at church on Sunday night I told Mr. Miles that I would come to work Monday morning. I did, and when I went home for lunch, there was a letter from Mr. Glass telling me to come to work. He was just a day too late but I felt my future was indeed messed up. But I loved the church work in spite of the long hours and stayed there for five more years, until I was married and left Lynchburg as a home forever. My work covered every area in the church except the preaching, and I did type Dr. Miles' sermons. Friday was always sermon day when he would dictate his sermons. Because I worked every day and nearly every night including Sundays, I was given Saturday off. Dr. Miles took off Mondays. Many Saturdays my Girl Scout troop wanted to go on a hike or camping or something, so I frequently worked Saturdays too. My very dear friend during this time was Frances Allen, the church organist. She was a big help to me in my church music which I had begun to consider my forte, but there wasn't much money in church music. I won first place as soloist at the Massanetta Music Conference, and my junior choir won first place in the Tri-State competition. As a result, I was offered a scholarship to the Westminster Choir school at Princeton but by this time Arthur had popped the question and I knew I was going to get married so I asked him to consider James Sydnor (my first cousin) for the scholarship. They gave it to him, and he written several church music books and has been head of the church music department at Union Theological Seminary in Richmond ever since his graduation. Mary Harper and I continued our fun music engagements in evenings, and our friendship strengthened as the years went by. We had lovely vacations together. Once we took a boat trip to New York another time we went to Mountain Lake, a lovely summer resort. She always managed to wind up at the piano, and I, doing my stuff, and both of us in the limelight. It was the nearest to show business I'd ever get. There had been a great deal of publicity in the papers regarding "The Shadow", a Lynchburg prowler who broke into homes where there were young white girls about ten to twelve years old. I had boasted that I wasn't afraid of the shadow because he never molested girls my age. Well, this was put to a test the night I came home from Bedford where I had done a program at the Elks' Home. I was so tired I literally fell into bed but was soon awakened by this man in my room. He had a flashlight, was examining everything, and when he flashed it in the mirror I could see he was white and looked like he was tubercular. I got a good image of him so I could describe him to the police. Up to now no one knew whether the Shadow was black or white. I watched as he went from one piece of furniture to another, my heart beating so hard I was sure he could hear it. Finally he put the flashlight in my eyes and I let out one scream at the top of my voice and could not utter another sound. I started chasing him, but Clem came out of his room and said he'd catch him, so I called 56, the police number and told them the Shadow was here. They asked, "Where?" About that time I saw him in the yard and said "There he is!" and hung up. With that my twin brothers came back in the house, Raine with his face all powdered and cap drawn down, Clem who faked the chase. Both were bent double with laughter, but I alternated between laughing and crying the rest of that night. I believe I nearly had heart failure that night. Mother said I was blue around the gills. She felt guilty because she had sanctioned this thing, so she rubbed my back and tried to soothe me all night long. Incidentally, not too long after that The Shadow was killed in a home where he had been before and the father had his gun under his pillow. He turned out to be a colored high school senior, a most unlikely suspect for such a crime. I was twenty five years old when I finally met Mr. Right. His name was Arthur Clair Landis, Jr. He was determined not to take on marital responsibilities until he was making at least $300 per month. His salary then was $20 per week. We had fun and I loved him better than anything. He was a hard worker, well educated, good looking, tall and a perfect gentleman. I had long hours at the church, so the only time we could date was on Wednesday night, his night off after prayer meeting (my night on duty) and Sundays. He could come to see me and nearly always fell asleep with his head on my lap. But I figured he was so contented with me he could do that. I kept wondering why he wouldn't ask me to marry him so we could make some definite plans. There was an understanding but nothing definite. One day in February Arthur told me he was being transferred the next day to Lawrence, Massachusetts. I thought my world had come to an end. This must have made a terrific impression on me because
today, after being married to him for thirty five years, I dream that
I'm still waiting for him to propose to me. Real nightmares, I call
them. |
