Miss Emily has died

[backhoe]

7-25-2008

A story by her Mom:

Written by Lucy Haase- inspired by an article in the Harbor Sound written by Bill Brown called “Life in the Days of Yore”

Bill Brown is about a year older than I and I have known him all my life. His uncle was in partnership with my father in a painting/wallpaper hanging and decorating business. My Dad emigrated from Germany at the beginning of the 20th century, arriving in Boston, where he found employment with a well known construction company. They did some of the “millionaires’ cottages” on Jekyll Island and he was one of their employees sent to Brunswick. Here my Dad established a residence and in due time became an American citizen. He started his trade on his own, where eventually Bill Brown’s uncle joined him as a partner which lasted until World War II, with perhaps some periods lapsing.

In 1913, my Dad wanted to settle down and so he returned to Germany to get the young lady he had known since she was 7 years old (he was 15 years her senior). Getting his passport from Hugh Dubignon at the Courthouse, Mr. D knew why Dad was traveling and unbeknownst at first to my Dad, Mr. D made the passport out to Max Heinrich and wife. Thus my mother became an American citizen upon her marriage to my Dad in August of 1913. They had corresponded all the years my mother was growing up.

As for my father’s profession, I wish to point out that he learned his trade in “The Old Country”- similar to kids these days going to college, a 4-year process. Several years are spent as a apprentice to a master painter, then traveling the countryside as a journeyman and finally a thorough examination before a judging board. If one passes then he becomes a master craftsman himself. In those days, a painter/decorator did it all- mixed colors, cut stencils, did designs, etc, etc. My father did some watercolor paintings in his early days before marriage. It is possible some of those paintings are still around in the older houses, perhaps Union Street. That sort of art was also part of the 4-year training.

Now, back to the “good old days” when I was a child. I was born at 2125 Reynolds Street, May 22, 1919. One of the few doctors- but a well-known one- delivered me at home. Hospital deliveries were rare.

When I was about 1 year old, my folks bought about 6 acres of undeveloped land about 5 miles from the center of Brunswick, on what was then a shell road that was the main road to the north- known as the Miami-Quebec Highway. In the later years it became the Jacksonville Highway, the Jesup Highway and now is the Old Jesup Road. It was paved soon after my folks settled there. Some convict labor was used for this. There was no electricity out this way. Georgia Power when I was about 6 years old. We had just bought a Delco Electric Plant - not a very large one- before Georgia Power came. We used the generator mainly for lighting which was an improvement over the kerosene lamps we had used.

The house they built was very rustic- 3 large rooms with a porch across the entire front, no ceilings between the rooms, the dividing walls were open at the top, no doors between rooms (just heavy drapes instead). Lumber was second-hand heart pine from the old picric- acid plant. Pilings and pillars were from oak trees cut down on the land. Water came from a 40-foot deep well just outside the backdoor and a hand-operated pump produced wonderful water. Clothes were washed in rain water collected large barrels along the roof edge. This laundry consisted of first boiling the clothes outside over an outdoor fire, then scrubbing the stuff on a washboard, rinsing and hanging to dry on clotheslines outside. All water.needed inside for cooking, washing, bathing, etc had to be pumped and carried up steps. Dirty water was hauled back outside in buckets.

A couple of years passed and additions, consisting of a small bathroom, an open back porch with enclosed the aforementioned pump and a small bedroom for my grandmother, were added. The bathroom sported a tub that my father got from a downtown fire. The tub had to be painted with enamel paint periodically to look nice. Still no running water, however, but the bath water did run outside into a big tub under the house. From there the water was carted away to the garden. Of course, the toilet was still outside, the first one built of rough pine logs. Quite a few years later, the county sold and installed an outside toilet in which the seating and floor were concrete and the waste went into a large hole underneath- all for $25.00. Not the best of ideas and it was soon abandoned for another conventional one-holer.

I started school at the age of 6 at what was then known as Community School (later to become Ballard Elementary School). The school consisted of 4 rooms for grades 1 through 6 with 4 teachers who lived on the premises in a small house. The teachers were all unmarried except for the principal- Mrs. Harde was widowed, I believe, and had a son. Another frame building on the property was used for 4-H club. If you participated in that, voluntarily, you could learn how to cook and sew and during the summer they had canning lessons. The toilet facilities at school were also outside. Drinking fountains had pipes spurting water which came from a free-flowing artesian well across the road. Some folks in the neighborhood would stop by the well to get their drinking water.

As for getting to school, we lived on this side of the “canal” bridge so I wasn’t allowed on the school bus. Brunswick had only 3 buses then for all the public schools: 1 high school, Glynn Academy grades 9-12 (located in the part of the present Glynn Academy behind Memorial Auditorium), 1 junior high known as Prep High grades 6, 7, & 8 (that building still exists as part of the present Glynn Academy), 2 City Grammar Schools grades 1-5- one named Glynn Grammar (the building across from the first Glynn Academy and now a part of Glyrnn Academy) and Purvis School on Norwich Street (no longer there), and 2 County Grammar Schools (Community and Arco) for grades 1-6. As aforementioned, my parents were told I had to walk to school with the other neighborhood kids, of which there were none. However, I was a 6-year-old kid and to walk alone was not feasible so my Dad took me to school on his way to work in the morning in our Model T and my mothered walked to the school in the afternoon to walk me home. On one rainy afternoon, my mother did something she would not do otherwise and accepted a ride from a passing car. They were gypsies we discovered and almost did not drop us off at our house. Such things were known to happen then. In the 2nd grade, my folks finally got permission to let be go to school on Bus #2.

Another incident on our highway happened when 2 families in trucks evidently got into an argument in front of our property and dumped some of the furniture they were transporting over our fence. They never reclaimed the stuff.

It was possible to get an artesian well in those days. A neighbor across the street had one that was free-flowing but that was not for us then, expense wise.

In 1930, much was changed at our house. Bays were added, ceilings were installed, back porch enclosed, another back stoop was added and a back room was added, squaring off the back of the house. The old pump sanded up and a new well had to be made. The pipes were driven in by hand, by my Dad, Mom and myself. Not an easy job. The water supply was outside again and the hand pump operated it. In the late 30’s, an electric motor was installed to draw the water up but it still had to be carried in.

The water situation did not get modernized until I got married. We made ourselves an apartment out of the back part of the house. Then we got an artesian well, a proper bathroom, a kitchen sink, septic tank, grease trap, etc.

[backhoe]

7-25-2008

A story by her Mom:

Written by Lucy Haase-

Water came from a 40-foot deep well just outside the backdoor and a hand-operated pump produced wonderful water. Clothes were washed in rain water collected large barrels along the roof edge. This laundry consisted of first boiling the clothes outside over an outdoor fire, then scrubbing the stuff on a washboard, rinsing and hanging to dry on clotheslines outside. All water.needed inside for cooking, washing, bathing, etc had to be pumped and carried up steps. Dirty water was hauled back outside in buckets....

Two little asides from you compiler?

Miss Emily loved to tell the "story of that well..."

Her Granddad was often asked "Don't you get tired of drawing water from that well? Why don't you install a pump?"

And he always told people, "Doesn't bother me a bit.. we don't need a pump...."

There was a very good reason for that--

None of the <B>men</b> in the family- including himself- ever drew so much as an ounce of water from that well-- that was the womenfolk's task!

Before you get your modern sensibilities in an uproar, remember such divisions of labor were common in "the good old days..."
( And I've lived long enough to have seen some of that, and you can have 'em, in my opinion- I like the new stuff better... )

The men went off to work all day- no cell phones, Hell, hardly any telephones, to call home, to stay in touch with home, and the women were expected to keep the house going. On their own, too. It wasn't easy, for either side.

The other thing? I've read that in that era, the "women of the house"-- and I mean not just the wife, but every female from the oldest to the littlest-- put in about 11 hours a day ( you read that right ) just doing the cleaning and cooking, and preserving and other chores associated with "housework."

It was a full time job, too. And the pay sucked...

[backhoe]

I've read that in that era, the "women of the house"-- and I mean not just the wife, but every female from the oldest to the littlest-- put in about 11 hours a day ( you read that right ) just doing the cleaning and cooking, and preserving and other chores associated with "housework."

It was a full time job, too. And the pay sucked...

Indulge me a moment of vain musings...

I've looked at this old Victorian pile the "we" that used to be have spent 23 years in, and wondered about "life in the good old days..."

It was State of the Art when built in either 1883 or 1887, depending on what you believe.

Gas lighting, powered by producer gas from a plant a dozen blocks down the street.

Bathrooms? What's that? Rich or poor, you had, ahem! "backhouses" out by the carriage house where you kept the buggies and Hosses... you know, the smelly side of the property...

Six coal burning fireplaces for heat, and a coal stove in the kitchen, which was not attached to the house due to that little problem of catching fire from time to time...

In the hot part of the year, you threw every aperture open at night, to draw in the cooler air, and when the Sun came up, closed the windows and shutters on that side to keep the heat out as long as you could.

And slept on the open, second floor "sleeping porch," where it wasn't quite so hot. And you sweated. A lot.

In the winter, you shut the house up and tended six fireplaces and a stove-- the stove probably being the first thing you lit in either season, because you needed hot water, being able to cook, and it took a while for those cast-iron monsters to get up to operating temperature. And stay there.

There were no telephones then, and no refrigeration. I suspect each house had its own well for water, and between drawing enough, and heating it, bathing and washing must have been a chore.

No antibiotics- not even sulfa drugs- and no X-rays. You hoped you didn't get hurt badly, or too sick-- because medicine was more like butchery in those days. And we won't even talk about teeth...

I'm not saying it was all bad-- I suspect the locks on all the doors were for "when you went away for a spell," and not even for the night-- people were a lot more honest then. Or they all were armed...

[Edward Kennedy]

Was at an event at a waterfront property owned by one of the LLA founders, and before the fact, visited a graveyard in the small settlement not far away.

Grave markers dated to the 1800's and would make a grown man cry...stones with the names of babies four months old...little children...imagine the grief of a young mother whose precious laughing bundle of joy baby becomes ill, listless, and dies...the thoughts of the sorrow of such events that were common in them days tears at one's very being..and today damned fools and emissaries of hell promote, demand, and practice the murder of these innocent unborn babies...

[backhoe]

Was at an event at a waterfront property owned by one of the LLA founders, and before the fact, visited a graveyard in the small settlement not far away.

Grave markers dated to the 1800's and would make a grown man cry...stones with the names of babies four months old...little children...imagine the grief of a young mother whose precious laughing bundle of joy baby becomes ill, listless, and dies...the thoughts of the sorrow of such events that were common in them days tears at one's very being..and today damned fools and emissaries of hell promote, demand, and practice the murder of these innocent unborn babies...

Edward, my Dad- born 1890-- had a dozen brothers and sisters, he being the eldest.

Six- that's half for those of you in Rio Linda-- lived to adulthood.

As he used to say, "it ( life then ) separated out the weaklings..."

[backhoe]

10-9-2007:

"Home"

Home

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where my stuff is.

Home is where they’ve got to let me in, I live there.

What is home?

Where is home?

How do you have a homecoming?

[Edward Kennedy]

10-9-2007:

"Home"

Home

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where my stuff is.

Home is where they’ve got to let me in, I live there.

What is home?

Where is home?

How do you have a homecoming?

Home can be a humble abode, a tar paper shack, a mansion on the hill, or a camper in the back of a truck...they have one thing in common, they all represent shelter, rest, a place to run to from the rigours of life.

When I started my business and had to live in the woods to cut firewood, home was a truck camper on blocks, heated by a wood burning stove, with little insulation. Yet it represented a shelter from the cold, winter storms and a repose from the hard daily work that was necessary for survival and success.

I loved it as much or more than a rich man does his million dollar mansion.

[backhoe]

Home can be a humble abode, a tar paper shack, a mansion on the hill, or a camper in the back of a truck...they have one thing in common, they all represent shelter, rest, a place to run to from the rigours of life.

When I started my business and had to live in the woods to cut firewood, home was a truck camper on blocks, heated by a wood burning stove, with little insulation. Yet it represented a shelter from the cold, winter storms and a repose from the hard daily work that was necessary for survival and success.

I loved it as much or more than a rich man does his million dollar mansion.

Yep- sound roof and foundation, not too hot or cold, and place for my tools and furry Kids- and that's all I want or need.

[Edward Kennedy]

I know a guy living in a garage...he was worried about compalints from neighbors and the county ousting him but I vowed if he had any trouble to let me take control...his location was in the sticks and no damend fascist has the right to tell ANYONE how they can live on their OWN property.

Ditto for the damned system fascists.

[backhoe]

"Shelley"

There are a lot of ways to frame a story- and I'm handicapped, for "The Keeper of my memories" has flown away, and I am left with only the remains... of her, of stories she told me, half-remembered, of "faded photographs," with no references on them...

Emily loved Shelley like a baby, or like a little child-- she had her own room, her own bed, her own toys, her own stuffed animals.

She got her when she was young, and climbing to fame- regional fame, true, but fame of a sort. She had friends and lovers and stalkers...

What she didn't have was a child- and Shelley filled that need.

Here's the picture you've seen the most, taken in her Mom's yard, when they both were young and Emily was still climbing:

<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/Emshelly021.jpg" height="632" width="311">

That, was my girl- the girl that I married, young and slender with her slightly crooked teeth and her sturdy little pal standing proud with her. Yes, that's an outhouse behind them, and she'd have appreciated the joke.

I dug thru another photo album last night, and except for seeing the few pictures of Emily, young and slim and barefoot ( The Girl That I Married! ) it wasn't too bad for me.

It was devoted mostly to Shelley and Emily's years with her, and places they had been.

The pity of it is, without her here to identify those photos, I'm left with posting and telling you the little I know...

So here goes-- photos identified by photonames, and then a little writing, after-wards.

There really ought to be more to a life, than this.

Emily, you should have written more down for me... you should have left me more, than a houseful of... faded photographs and memories...

shellMay1980
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellMay1980.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellouthouseApril81
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellouthouseApril81.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellWavPineAug83
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellWavPineAug83.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellWavyPinAug83
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellWavyPinAug83.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellHFS84-1
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellHFS84-1.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellgroupHFS84-1
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellgroupHFS84-1.jpg" height="332" width="473">

shellRSpoolMay85
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/shellRSpoolMay85.jpg" height="332" width="473">

EmBoxerMay85
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v117/rollinson/Rside-EmBoxerMay85.jpg" height="332" width="473">

"shellMay1980 " is a little deceptive-- that cute little furball was bald and nearly dead earlier, from sarcoptic mange-- Emily got her from the shelter, noticed she was sick, took her to her "most trusted vet"- Billy Weeks.

Dr. Weeks told her it would be kinder to put her to sleep- that type of mange is ghastly. Emily nursed the little thing back to health- and yes, she swore it was praying that did more than anything else-- and so, for 13 years, she had, her "child."
( And yes! Seeing her dead and incinerated hand, reaching down to that little ball of fur she loved so much, and who rests beside her now in "my" back yard, hurts me more than I can say... )

"shellouthouseApril81" Yeah, that's the outhouse-- one of two, since the business had to have His N' Hers. Back when the yard was clear, the business was thriving, and all was good...

"shellWavPineAug83 & shellWavyPinAug83" Now moving up in time-- Emily had moved back here, she owned The Cat's Cradle downtown and a nice house in Wavely Pines-- that was before my time, but I sure remember that rainbow cover and the "Sail Away" ( Remember Christopher Cross? ) tee shirt... and that bandanna, always a bandanna and usually bare feet.

And I remember lots of other things, that kind of are tender, kind of happy, kind of sad, about that era and that house. Like the rotary dial telephone? I sure remember that- she was talking to her best friend on it when I proposed. You got those with the cheapest service from Ma Bell. She was so poor in those days. For a while, at least, I helped her up. No more, no more, my love...

Emmy, why did you have to leave us?

"shellHFS84-1" Had no references besides 1984-- I can't tell if I might have been in the background then or not-- it's at her Mom's, and leads to this:

"shellgroupHFS84-1" Lucy and Robert, and her- in better times. That's the "other" outhouse behind them.

"shellRSpoolMay85" Then, there they are a few months after we married, at the pool at Riverside.

Yeah, she really loved that pool, and in more affluent ( or is that Aff-fool-lent? ) times we talked of building one here.

Another dead world,

another dead dream.

That landscaping behind them- Spanish bayonets, Parkinsonians, and palm trees, was from my first marriage- Joe Jackson put it in for us.
Wherever you are, Joe, be well-- your work made a handicapped girl very happy.

And finally, not Shelley at all:

"EmBoxerMay85" Miss Emily & 80 pounds of Clancy the K-9. The only thing he feared in life was... her. Yes, she became his "momma."

We had them for all to short a time, those little children of our hearts.

Life was running a clock on us all-- we married and she moved to "that other woman's house," we fought legal and corporate battles, and if not won them, at least we fought them to a standstill, we bought this house and moved.

Sold that old house of other old memories...

Settled in here- she was going to become a priest, and I was going to write and photograph and videograph my way to, if not fame, at least self-sufficiency...

Then Clancy got sick, and Shelley got old, and in 1990 he slipped away.

Shelley had all her mammary glands, full of cancer, removed a little later and seemed to be alright for a while...

In 1993 her eyes started bulging, and the Vet pronounced "brain tumor- nothing I can do..."

I've told you about it before... we got Taffy, after that.

But you know? Each time we gave our friends "mercy," a little bit of us, went with them...

Sleep tight, my babies, my loves...

[RedDog]

Gee whiz. As my cat, the Finicky Oscar Madison nears the end of the line (maybe today - I thought over night but he's still kicking) I sure enjoy shots of people with pets like that.

[backhoe]

Gee whiz. As my cat, the Finicky Oscar Madison nears the end of the line (maybe today - I thought over night but he's still kicking) I sure enjoy shots of people with pets like that.

We don't get to keep 'em long enough- not just the animals, the people, too-- do we?

Damn that Time Clock in The Sky...

[backhoe]

Gee whiz. As my cat, the Finicky Oscar Madison nears the end of the line (maybe today - I thought over night but he's still kicking) I sure enjoy shots of people with pets like that.

Tell you what- let me try scanning & uploading ( been having weird video driver problems, and meter readers in a yard full of dogs... ) a few more, fast as I can-- I have a roof to patch before it gets so infernally hot here...

[RedDog]

Gee whiz. As my cat, the Finicky Oscar Madison nears the end of the line (maybe today - I thought over night but he's still kicking) I sure enjoy shots of people with pets like that.

Tell you what- let me try scanning & uploading ( been having weird video driver problems, and meter readers in a yard full of dogs... ) a few more, fast as I can-- I have a roof to patch before it gets so infernally hot here...

I was thinking about taking the motorcycle down to see JB in Montana this long weekend. I'm watching the weather (in the year with no summer) and can't leave the cat in this situation. It's really an hourly thing now. It's a horrible way to live for a guy alone. We're enormous lovers of animals in our family and this will never change.

[backhoe]

I was thinking about taking the motorcycle down to see JB in Montana this long weekend. I'm watching the weather (in the year with no summer) and can't leave the cat in this situation. It's really an hourly thing now. It's a horrible way to live for a guy alone. We're enormous lovers of animals in our family and this will never change.

My heart goes out to you. Sometime, I might spin the yarn about Dinah, that old tomcat I had, growing up, and how awful his dying and death were to me, at that time of my life. We'll see...

All you can do is be with your friend, and give what little aid and comfort you can.

"This isn't Hell, but you can see it from here..."