Tale of 1 of the great grandfathers, Story goes like this, One day he was clearing land and just so happens he comes across a hollow log Great Gramps takes a look inside before he goes to move it and see's an old bag. Pulls the bag out and inside the bag is cash, A lot of cash money. Upon closer examination of the bills that are in poor shape and coming apart he determines Someone years ago hid their Confederate states money in that log. The paper money was useless. So much for the family fortune. Tale #2 A great uncle was a Texas ranger His job was to track a bad man and on this occasion he was closing in on this fellow pretty hot and heavy when he rounds a blind spot in the trail bad man is laying in wait. Shoots him thru the heart with a rifle and clips his badge killing him in the process. My dad remembers seeing the damaged badge but didn't recall whom has it now? Have any family tales to pass on?
Tomahawk Jack Perkins a great great Uncle on mothers side was noted as a crude fellow, that carried a Cherokee Tomahawk in his belt... Died by being thrown out a second story window of his local Drinking establishment... by some nefarious characters...
There's one family member that I've been wanting to research, but have never had time. In all the family genealogy there are dates for born and died, but only one that says killed. It was in 1943 at Cherry Point, NC. He was a distant uncle, on active duty. I have the date and name, just need to get with the base historian and see what I can learn. Thanks for this little push.
Story told to me by my grandfather,,, Grandfather was born sometime in the late teens to early '20s . So this was probably in the early to mid 30s . Back then, quite a few people believed in ghost ,, or spirits . Grandpa lived out in the eastern farm country of NC. Mostly dirt roads out in the country where he lived . Said he was walking home late 1 night around midnight. He said as he was walking , he heard footsteps behind him. A guy walked up on him and they walked side by side for a ways till he got to his house. Said they talked a little, not much ,, when my grandpa got to his house , he said by , and walked on up his driveway and into the house. The next morning, eating breakfast, he told his Ma and Pa about it ,, and they didn't believe him that anyone would be out in that area of the country walking that late at night. He said he'd go out to the road and show them the footprints in the sandy dirtroad. They went out and looked and at the point where my grandpa turned to go up the driveway,, and on back a ways ,, and there was only 1 set of footprints. My grandfather was a straight up man ,, wasn't the type to lie , but told that story a few times throughout the years and it never changed,, and he swore it to be the truth.
I have some of the ugliest and most unusual Christmas ornaments that I could find at Hudson's in Detroit in the 1960's and 70's. I got to pick one each Christmas, and guard these with great care. I've entrusted a few each year to the kids with instructions to keep them just as safe as I have. I have only one heirloom ornament from my Father's side of the family. The story I heard was that my Grandfather, Uncle Buck and Dad "untrimmed" the tree one year with a BB gun.
Speaking of Christmas. My Great Grand parents brought a couple of steamer trunks full of antique hand blown and painted Christmas ornaments with them when they immigrated to the States, those all sit in a glass display case @my brothers farm house now being far too rare and valuable to actually put on a tree! The rest of the Christmas stuff belongs to my other brother and my self, and we drag it out every year for Christmas time! They had metric ton of stuff from hand stitched table cloths to hand made story books and other crazy decorations for the season! To say they took. Christmas serious would be an understatement! I also have several hand made Cookoo clocks that my Great Grand Dad made, they all still work, including all the complications he did for each of them, to me, they are priceless, tons of memories of watching and listening to those clocks doing their thing!
Before he died, my Sensei told me about something that happened to him in the early '60s. He was backpacking solo around Alaska with his dog in the late spring/early summer. He made camp one night out in the middle of nowhere. Pitched a tarp lean-to, built up his fire. ate, and crawled into his blankets. He said he woke up in the middle of the with a feeling of absolute terror. His dog was huddled behind him whining in fear and shaking like a leaf. He grabbed his rifle, and his feelings of dread instantly got even worse. Then he realized he was barefoot. He had gone to bed wearing knee-high lace-up moccasins, with long wool socks. He found one moccasin on the bare dirt under his blanket. His socks were right beside the fire ring. His other moccasin was ten feet beyond the fire ring on the far side of the fire. Both moccasins were completely unlaced. My Sensei was a Marine, and a combat veteran. And he had trained with The Greats in Japan. He was a warrior to the marrow of his bones. He said no human could have removed his moccasins and socks without waking him--or cowed his dog into the whining shivers. He was also a smart man. He grabbed his gear, killed the fire, and left an offering of salt, jerky, and tobacco on one of the stones in the fire ring. He said he went two miles at a fast pace before he stopped to put on his moccasins. Then he went a good ways more. He said there were no odd noises, no smells, no tracks. Nothing. Just that feeling of almost infinite dread---and he has no idea what removed his moccasins that night.
My Uncle Buddy's belt was my terror growing up. He was a bit of a scoundrel and was caught in bed with a man's wife in Parson's, Tennessee. The fellow shot him right through his belt and he walked outside and sat down on the curb until Barney came along and took him to Jail in Lexington for being drunk in public. It took them two days to realize that Buddy wsn't drunk, he was shot. He died in the Hospital a few days later from peritonitis after my Aunt, his wife, brought him a glass of sweet milk. He said his insides were on fire and promised not to cheat on her any more if she'd get him a glass of milk. Freaking cows did him in. There was a blood stained bullet hole right to the right of the big silver buckle and my Aunt used to case us around the yard with that belt every time we did something out of line.
One of my great grandfathers was a blind piano player in vaudeville in Chicago. When I was doing some genealogy, it caused me some confusion when I discovered he had an alias. I still haven't figured out why a blind piano player would NEED an alias, and there's no one living that I can ask about it.
Being in Show Biz was a less than honorable thing back then. He may have just been protecting the family name. Census Takers often added extras! Then again it may have been his stage name. While researching my ancestors I hit a wall and could not find out how 3 kids got their last name changed and why. In my case their parents died from the flu and Granpa took them in and changed their name to his. Found the info from doing a local check from the area. Check any local papers of that time for clues using the alias and also be aware some cities had City Directories, much like phone books but just with out phone numbers. Some times this had a job addresses or room mates.
I have a personal note book written by my Great Great Grand Daddy, who had immigrated to Texas from Odessa ( the one in the Crimea) and he fought in the war against the North, he was a gunner on one of the Swift Boats that would chase down any ships that were not helping the South, board them, capture the ship and crew, and take the cargo back to port! Spent most of his time in and around Alabama's shore. He had a really funky way of writing, he didn't get much schooling, but it must have been a challenge to listen to him speak if his writing matched! Reading his notebook is quite an eye opener to the way of things, especially in the South during those times, and even afterwards, there were many hardships! He went on to join the first of the Texas Rangers after the war, tasked with hunting down the Indians and protecting settlings to the west, ending up at the border of Arizona. He died right after my Grand Dad was born, at the age of 92!
Righthand was a dear friend and told me many tales of her extraordinary family, one that I want to share since she is predisposed to sharing since her demise. Her mother was a very unusual woman that spent years killing moles and tanning their hides to make a genuine mole-skin coat. When her husband was deployed during the Korean conflict, she completely restored an Indian motorcycle for Righthand's father. She greeted him with the bike on his safe return. We've read some from his diary...it is no wonder that Righthand was suchan amazing friend and human being. God rest, dear friend; got your six.
