The Final Months and Going Home

We had one other set of flights that was about as easy as could be and they were called a TPQ flight after the radar that they used.  After you took off and climbed out from Da Nang, you called the radar people and told them where you were.  They would tell you to take a heading at a certain altitude between 20,000 and 30,000 feet.  You told them how many bombs you had and once they identified you, they would turn you to another heading.  You would continue that heading until you came to the drop point, and they told you that you had three, two, and one second to go to the drop point.  Then they said ‘Mark’ and you dropped all your bombs by saying “Mark!”.  It was an easy mission and most of them were in South Vietnam.  It usually didn’t take more than 30 minutes and if you went out right away, you could finish the mission and be back on the ground within 45 minutes.

Sometimes I would return to the flight line about 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning and I would be asked if I wanted to turn around and fly another flight.  It usually was an ordnance man, and I couldn’t say no to them.  It was a lot of work loading 28 bombs on a plane and they were willing to do the work, so I couldn’t refuse to fly no matter how tired I was.  Usually, they had just taken rocket or mortar fire on the base, and it was up to me to get those no-good so and so’s.  After they got the plane ready, I would go out and fly a TPQ flight off the end of the runway.

We received incoming fire every other night while I was in Vietnam.  The night before I was to leave to come home, something hit about 500 feet from the hut where I lived. Another night, there was an attack at 7 PM and I ran out of the club with a drink in my hand heading towards our bomb shelter.  They usually tried to put their ordnance on the flight line or the runway.  It’s odd because the damage to our morale would have been much worse if they hit our quarters.

Back to flying again.

I had another night in April 1968 that should not have happened as it did,  I had someone other than Jack as a B/N.   We were going on a TPQ flight, and it was raining as I taxied out.  I noticed that I didn’t have any windshield air.  It was the first time that happened to me, and I didn’t know whether it was serious or not.  I asked the B/N if he wanted to go without the air.  I said that I could see the center line of the runway, so I didn’t taxi back and take another plane.  This was a mistake.  I taxied out and lined up on the center line of the runway.  It was raining harder as I began the take-off roll.  As the plane picked up speed, I immediately lost the center line.  I watched for the left side of the runway because I saw the centerline go off to my right.  I couldn’t see anything except rain.  All of a sudden, I saw the runway light under the left wing.  All I could think of was that the bomb dump and the fuel pits were ahead of me.  I pulled back on the stick and was surprised when the plane left the ground.  I was flying.  I went on instruments to fly the plane out of there and somehow, we completed our mission.  When we came back it was no longer raining and we landed and taxied.   I wrote on the yellow sheet that it had no windshield air, and it needed to be fixed.

“My name is not on the Wall!”

Soon it was September, and I was waiting for my orders to the USA.  I was very happy when I got on that commercial 707 and left Vietnam for the last time.  All I could think about was that I was going home.  I had made it through my year in Vietnam.

I left on September 5th, 1968.  My name wasn’t on the wall!  It possibly could have been, possibly should have been.  But with luck and the grace of God,

“My name is not on the Wall!”  

The Tet Offensive

The Tet Offensive began at the end of January 1968.  It was really something.  During the night we had an attack that hit the flare locker.  The base was all lit up by the flares and there was firing everywhere.  I really don’t know what happened, but someone said that they saw three hundred bodies in a pile on a corner in town.  Another person said that an Air Force pilot was receiving machine gun fire as he taxied in from landing.  For security purposes, we immediately lost all the waitresses in the mess hall and people who were working in the PX were no longer allowed in the gate.  It really put a damper on all activities for about a month.  Even our mamasans weren’t allowed in and that meant we had to make our own beds.

About three days later they brought in artillery and put them outside the fence across from our huts.  It was one loud bang after another all night long.  If we landed after midnight, we were forced to go to Thailand and de-brief then return to Da Nang after daylight.  The reason was that they didn’t want to lose any more aircraft.  We had two planes that were hit and burned in the initial attack.  We brought in two more planes from the Philippines, and I supposed we could keep doing that.  It took about a month before we got our waitresses back in the mess hall and club.  And, best of all, our mamasans came back to the huts.

Soon it was February 18th which was my real glory day.  On the night of the 17th, I was in the back of our hut with a couple of guys when someone came in and said, “Guess who has Phuc Yen tomorrow?”  This was a Rolling Thunder target and one that you would have to be lucky to get in and out.  Anyway, I had it and it really sent a cold chill up my spine.  I went outside to think about my next mission.  I thought about how I was going to get to my target and get back home.  I didn’t have any answers, so I went to bed and still didn’t have any answers.  I lay in bed for a long time before I went to sleep.

The next day I went to the briefing room where all the charts were, and I found that Phuc Yen was completely surrounded by anti-aircraft guns.  Within four miles of the field, there were about 4000 guns of a size that could easily knock me down.   Phuc Yen was a master MiG base, and they really protected it.  MiGs were  Russian planes the North Vietnamese used to combat American fighters and bombers during the Vietnam War. The base was about 20 miles northwest of Hanoi and I was sure that I wouldn’t be received too well up there.  There was a 3000-foot mountain that ran from the north into Hanoi, so I decided to use that as my avenue of approach.  I spent most of the day planning this target even though I could plan everything in an hour or less.  There just wasn’t a good way to get to this target.

I decided to go up the western part of Vietnam and cut over to the mountain and come in that way.  There was navigational gear located on a mountain in Laos and that would help me to know where I was all the time.  I planned the route to cross North Vietnam in the middle of the country, go over to the border with Laos, go up to the northern part of the country, turn east to the mountain then go south into the target.  A great plan if there wasn’t someone waiting there for me.

I spent the rest of the time that day just thinking about the mission and how it would be to become a POW.  Everyone said something to me about Phuc Yen and some even asked how I was going in.  They might be the ones who had to go there the next time, so I told them.

I went to a four o’clock briefing and I was told where all the guns were and where SAMS (surface-to-air missiles) might be.  This information really made me feel good even though I already knew it.  A pilot in an anti-radar plane was going to be 60 miles west of the target, but that would be no help to me.  His plane was meant to jam the radar to keep the SAMS from being effective.  After all this was covered, there was nothing to do but eat supper and kill the rest of the evening.  I had a target time of about ten-thirty, so I would take off about 8:30.

I was relieved when the time finally came to take off.  I climbed out and away from Da Nang and proceeded up the China Sea to the point where I had to turn in to cross North Vietnam.  It was a nice night but there was a milky mist in the sky, and I really couldn’t see too much, but I did see the sea and shore.  When I turned and crossed the beach, my B/N Jack said, “I think that I’m going to wet my pants.”  I commented that he had better wait for we had almost three hours to go.  We went on and I don’t know whether Jack’s pants were wet or not.  Upon reaching the western border, I turned to the north.  I tuned in to the navigational aid, and it was working great, so I figured that was good.  After flying about one hundred miles to the north, I turned to the east.  Everything was going well, and it looked like everyone must be asleep in North Vietnam.

There was a large town on my left as I turned to the east and it appeared to be sleeping too.  I went east until I came to the mountain range and then I turned south to the target.  I was flying at 4000 feet, and I wasn’t very far south when all hell broke loose.  I saw one SAM launch and I watched it go past me to the rear and explode.  A second one went under me and exploded off my left wing.  I turned the plane back on course and the next SAM was coming right at me.  I thought that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on it, so I banked to the right.  I continued to keep it in sight, and it got brighter as it came at me.  Finally, it passed right under me by about 10 or 20 feet.  It sounded like a freight train and was close enough that it rocked the airplane before continuing out to my right and exploding.

“My name is not on the Wall!”

I continued to the target with two more SAMS fired at me, going behind the plane and exploding.  I turned the plane back on course to the target and dropped bombs from the plane.  I turned the plane back the same way I had come in and proceeded out to go home.  I didn’t have enough fuel to make it home, so I had been briefed that an Air Force tanker was on station.  I didn’t want to go to Thailand and land, I wanted to go home this time.  I tuned in the radio frequency that I had been briefed on but first heard someone say “The MiGs are launching” from an airport that was about forty miles northeast of Hanoi.  I continued north and turned to the west, but I had the throttles pushed as far forward as they would go. This was a calamity that I hadn’t planned on.  I figured that I was about fifty miles away from the MiGs so my only chance was to go as fast as I could.  As I approached the large town, I saw tracer fire above the town.  I didn’t realize that they were shooting at me, and I had no plans to go anywhere near that town.  I don’t know where the MiGs went or whether there were even any MiGs, but I forgot about them and throttled back.  You were only allowed full throttle for thirty minutes and I had long since passed that time.  I called the tanker and guided into him by his radio.  He was over western North Vietnam and Laos, so I got in position and took on the fuel.  Then I unhooked and returned to Da Nang.  I pushed the throttles up a little and returned home shortly after midnight.  We reported the plane as being up and ready for the next flight.  I went to debriefing and told them about the flight and then went to my hut and went to bed.

I was really feeling high and couldn’t go to sleep.  When I finally did fall asleep, it seemed as if I had just gone to sleep but it was 7:30 when someone from the maintenance department woke me up and said that I had upped the plane, but it had eight holes in it.  I didn’t argue with him and signed the yellow sheet which contained the information about the eight holes.

“My name is not on the Wall!”

I walked around like a zombie for the next few days.  I felt great because I was still alive, and I asked the flight surgeon to give me a down slip which he did.  I just walked around for three days then I went back to the regular routine.

August 1967

 

It was August 25, 1967, and I was on a civilian 707 airplane and had just landed in the combat zone in Da Nang, Vietnam.  I would spend the next year in this location.  On one side of the field was the U.S. Air Force and the other side of the field was the First Marine Aircraft Wing and that was to be my home.  I took in as much of the surroundings as I possibly could after I got off the plane, but it was midnight and raining and I couldn’t see much.  All I knew was that I was finally here and, if I did everything right, I would be going home in little more than a year.

The stewardess closed the door and the pilot taxied out to the runway and flew the plane off into the night mist.  The very irony of coming into a combat zone on a chartered civilian 707 was the first of many strange things I would see in my year in the crazy war.  The airliners usually arrived at night and spent very little time on the ground.  The possibility of rifle fire at night was minimized because you couldn’t see the airplane.  Staying on the ground a short time limited the possibility of incoming mortar or rocket fire which happened almost every other night.

It was too late to do anything, so we were assigned a cot in a tent, and with a blanket, I stowed my luggage under the bunk.  Before I went to sleep, I did a lot of thinking.  First, I wondered whether my family was doing all right in Hawaii where I had left them.  Then, would I make it through my tour okay and leave here in thirteen months?   After a half hour of these thoughts, I fell off to sleep with no trouble because I was tired.

I left Cherry Point, North Carolina about six weeks before with my wife and five children, and we went on vacation across the northern US in our travel trailer.  Our trip included a stop in Pennsylvania to see Pat’s mother and father, then a stop in Iowa to see my mother followed by our vacation to the Bad Lands and Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone Park, Reno, and Lake Tahoe before going to our intermediate point which was San Francisco.  By this time, we had rented a station wagon for our final phase before flying out to Hawaii.

After checking in at the airport at Fairfield, California, Travis AFB, I found out that our flight left at four AM and there was nothing to do with my family until that time.  I attempted to get a motel, but they had no available rooms.  One clerk told me I could try one in Fairfield.  It was really great, no air, very small and no other facilities, but I took it anyway.  This is one problem of a military career, finding motel rooms on short notice.   We made it through the evening, and I even went to sleep because I was dead tired.

We made another trip to the airport; I turned in the rental car and we were Hawaii-bound.  Once again, the kids were tired from being awakened in the middle of the night, so we had to put up with them at the airport.  But we let all the hardships go, and everyone agreed that this was the best vacation we ever had.  When the plane took off in the early morning hours with all aboard, we were able to sleep on the airplane.  We landed at 10 AM to bright sunshine at Honolulu International Airport.  It was another world for us, but we still had a lot to do.  We left the airport with another rental car.  We went to a hotel and found they had a room for us for only $60.  I was running out of money, but I figured we could stay there a night or two.

We did stay two nights but with a lot of luck, we found a house in Kaneohe that we could afford.  There was no furniture or anything to cook with and we were only a little better off.  We bought a used car the next day and got rid of the rental car, but our car wouldn’t be here for another month.  We drove our 1960 model Dodge convertible to the downtown junk shops where we bought some used pots and pans.  We still have some of them to this day.  We also got a courtesy kit from the Marine base at Kaneohe.  This gave us quite a few dishes, but it was made for the average family, and we were a family of seven so we were short a few things.  It would be another month before our furniture arrived so being short a couple of glasses or plates didn’t matter much.  Pat and the kids had a lot of picnics using paper plates and cups until the furniture arrived.

I left my family in these conditions and flew on to Okinawa. In the middle of October, I got a letter from them to let me know that the furniture had arrived but one of the boxes leaked and the china closet was damaged.  We really didn’t need it anyway.  Pat and the family had everything they needed to live in Hawaii for the next year.  When I arrived home at Christmas on R & R everything was great, no one was sleeping on the floor, and no one was sitting on a suitcase to eat.  Pat had done wonders.  Pat’s car also arrived, so it was time to sell the convertible.  Pat said that she would live on the beach if she could go to Hawaii.  So far, no beach.

Career Feelings

Life began for Sally Colleen Miller on May 18, 1949.  I am the only daughter of Warren and Mary Ellen Miller of Carlock.  I can only remember my three brothers, Mike, Dan and Chris as being caring and protective.  Even now I know that they would have my back if needed.  Mike is the oldest.  Then I followed and then Dan and Chris.  I’m sure Dan and Chris felt my mothering but I remember playing boy stuff because I was outnumbered.  That’s probably where my love of the outdoors developed.  We played outside a lot.  We were a happy family.  My parents were not rich monetarily but we, kids, didn’t know.  My Dad passed away August 11, 2011 and my Mom passed away January 1, 2023.

I attended Carlock Elementary School.  I knew even then that I wanted to be a teacher.  Don’t tell but I was allowed to help out in the kindergarten class every now and then.  I loved it!  I graduated from Normal Community High School in 1967 and Illinois State University in 1971 earning a degree in elementary education.  I was developing my dream but love happened!  After teaching a few years I graduated from Illinois State University with a master’s degree in curriculum and instruction.

I married my high school sweetheart, Stan Rader, April 6, 1968.  Our three children followed:  Jennifer, born July 2, 1971; Julie, born July 16, 1974; Andrew, born December 3, 1978.  We were a busy family as most are today.  The kids were involved in a variety of activities.  By 1975 Stan had begun to develop a purebred sheep flock.  We traveled as a family showing and selling sheep nationwide.  The kids were involved in 4-H and earned many awards showing Rader’s Dorsets.

As our children grew up I began thinking about my dream more.  Using what I had learned at ISU I could never justify leaving my children in childcare while I taught.  I still believe there is nothing more important than a mother’s love and care.  I absolutely loved those years with my children.  It goes by so fast!  For me getting into the education field was somewhat difficult, but I persisted knowing God had a plan.  I substitute taught for several years and I loved it.  I was finally in the classroom.  I was a teacher’s aide for a couple of years.  I had substituted at Congerville Elementary several times when Mr. Pat Grishman talked to me about a new position as a Learning Center teacher at Congerville Elementary.  I obtained that position and then the third grade position opened and I obtained that.  My dream was coming true!  I continued teaching third grade until my retirement except for the one year I taught fourth grade.  I loved Congerville Elementary.  I loved the kids, the families, my colleagues and the building itself.  It was a perfect fit for me.

The fall after my retirement I became assistant to the children’s programming director at Hudson Area Public Library.  I wasn’t searching for something.  It just happened.  God had something else for me to do.  I loved that job, too.  I was in charge of Story Time for preschoolers.  But after two cancer surgeries and a summer of radiation I decided to really retire.

Stan and I, both, have health issues but you can still find me digging in the dirt out in the garden or flower bed (not as fast as I used to); working on a jigsaw puzzle; or reading a good book.  We cherish the time we can spend with our kids and nine grandchildren.  God definitely has a plan.  For me, I think it is loving, guiding and teaching children, our most important resource.

 

 

June 18, 2023 – “A Change is Coming”

June 18, 2023
A Change is Coming

Welcome:

Normally this time after Pentecost we would be showing Green on the alter.  Pastor Barb has left us with Red, the color of Pentecost.  Pentecost is when we are called by the Holy Spirit to go forth and spread the Good News.

I recently read in the Great Plains Daily Devotion: “On Pentecost the Holy Spirit entered each believer and the Holy Spirit has continued to dwell with in each person who follows Christ ever since that day.”

That means that each and everyone here today has the Holy Spirit with in them.  As we recognize the Holy Spirit with in each of us, we find a wonderful way to start our celebration today!

A Time with our Children:

Our Pastor Barb has retired so she is not going to be our pastor any longer.  We will have a new pastor, Annie Ricker who will start in 2 weeks.

Pastor Barb has been the pastor that has shown you the Light and Word of Christ for your lifetime.  Soon Pastor Annie will be our pastor and she will be the pastor that will show us all the Light and Word of Christ.

I want to show you this flashlight?  What color is it? (Red) – Now let me show you the light that comes from it.

This is another flashlight.  What color is it? (Blue) – When I shine it; does the light look the same as the red one?  The flashlights look different but both give the same light.

These different colored flashlights have the same light.  This is like Pastor Barb (hold up the Red flashlight) and this is like Pastor Annie (hold up the Blue flashlight); pastor Annie will look and talk differently than Pastor Barb but she will shine the same Light and Word of Christ!

Now let me give you each a colored flashlight.

Turn them on and point them at the cross, so now we can all light up the cross.

I hope you will pray that Pastor Barb enjoys her retirement and for Pastor Annie as she gets to know all of us.

Let us pray for these Children; “May God bless you as you grow, as you go, as you play, and bless you today.”  “God bless these children and help them to grow bigger and stronger and wiser and more in love with Jesus Christ and all people everywhere.”

And all the people say – Amen!

Sermon:

Would having a child at 90 change your Life?  What about nine months of being pregnant and then having those labor pains!  So, how would you handle all that change?  Sarah just laughed.

Before today’s reading in Genesis Chapter15, God promised Abram, that his direct descendants through his and Sarai’s son will be as numerous as the stars in the night sky.  Then in Chapter 16, Abram’s wife Sarai thought she was too old to have children.  So not believing God she took matters into her own hands by giving Abram her servant Hagar who gave birth to Ishmael.  This not believing God caused Sarai much distress.

In Chapter 17 God changed her name from Sarai to Sarah, and changed Abram’s name to Abraham.

Then in Chapter 18, God came to Abraham and told Sarah, when she was 90 years old, that she was going to have a Son.  All Sarah could do was to smile and laugh.

Sarah did have a son, Isaac, and God’s promise to Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars did come true.  Through Jesus Christ we are part of that promise.

God changed Sarah’s and her husband’s name.  She had her slave give birth to her husband’s son because of not believing God.  Then! to top it all off she was told that she would have to go through labor pains at 90 years old!  All of this was a lot of change for Sarah to manage.  She handled it with a smile and a laugh.

(Prayer)Join me as I Pray.  Lord, fill our hearts with joy even in the midst of the uncertainties of change.  We have all seen change in our lives, some good and some not so good.  We want to thank you Lord for your constant love and guidance during those changing times.  Help us cherish those good changes and guide us as we work through those not so good changes.  We know that if we lean on God during changes in our life, he will continue to help us.  In Jesus’s name we pray.  Amen.

Changes started early in my life.  When I was just 3, my father died.  I don’t have any memories of him except seeing several men that carried him out of our home.  My mom did tell me that my memory wasn’t completely correct, but she never told me how it did happen.

Months later, my bother Bill and I were taken to Kentucky by our grandmother to stay with our aunt and uncle while mom went to beauty school.  When we came back to Potwin, Kansas, there was a strange man that came to visit mom, a lot.  I do remember one time when Bill and I were sitting on the front porch with our dog, Tippy.  This strange man picked up Bill and tickled him.  Tippy thought he was hurting Bill so Tippy bit him on the leg.

Well, it turned out this strange man married our mom and shortly afterwards mom was pregnant with our sister, Kathie.  Then mom and this man started to build a new home.  That was it!  Bill and I were happy with just living with mom in our old house; we didn’t want all these changes.  We decided to run away!

Now living in a very small town like Potwin with about 500 people (if you counted the dogs).  It is hard to run away when you are 4 and your brother is 2.  Needless to say, mom found out where we were before we had walked a block.

During the summer between my 4th and 5th grades I was adopted by that strange man that I now called daddy.  My last name changed, as God had done to Sarah, from Elkins to Resnik.  I instantly inherited 12 uncles and aunts along with tons of cousins.  All of that was great, but it also caused problems.

My 5th grade teacher was new to our school so she was taking roll that first day of class and the roll was based on the roll from 4th grade.  When she called out Robert Elkins, I held up my hand.  Then she got to the new kids in class and she called out Robert Resnik, and again I held up my hand.  Well, she didn’t believe that and wanted to argue about my last name.  She may have thought that I was covering for someone that was absent.  As I remember she apologized the next day.

That name change thing is still causing me problems.  While working on my genealogy I wanted the date of Raymond Elkins’ death, he was my birth father.  I know the year Raymond died but not the month and day.  I thought I would just go to the Vital Statistics Department and get a copy of his death certificate.  To get a death certificate you must be a close relative.  I was his son, so I figured that would be close enough.  I had my original birth certificate that shows Raymond as my father.  I also had my adopted birth certificate showing my mother and the same date of birth but it shows Al Resnik as my father.

I went into the State office building, filled out the electronic form then took a seat.  In just a little while I was called up to the window by a clerk who started asking questions about why I wanted the death certificate.  I explained the information I wanted.  She then told me; she was sorry but with my name change she could not give me the certificate.  I then showed her my original birth certificate and my adopted certificate.  She said that the adopted certificate voided my original certificate so she couldn’t accept it as proof that I was a close relative.  She said that she would need a letter from another close relative.  I explained that the only living close relative was my brother Bill and he was also adopted.

I asked if there was any other document that would help.  She gave me a brochure that listed other resources I could check to see if they had the date.  I thanked her and told her with a smile, “I guess you can’t fight bureaucracy.”  I said I hoped she would have a good rest of her day and started to walk out of the office.  I was almost to the door when she called me back.  She gave me her supervisor’s card and told me to give her a call to see if anything else could be done.  Again, I thanked her!  It is not easy being kind when things don’t go our way.  I wonder if the reason she called me back was because I didn’t argue about disagreeing about my original birth certificate?

I have been working on this sermon, so I haven’t taken the time to follow up on her suggestion of calling her supervisor.

As we all know we have a lot of changes coming here at our church.  We are changing to Pastor Annie who will be a part-time pastor.  Plus, we had to change the time of our Sunday service to 11.  Like I said lots of change and change is hard.

How are we going to handle that change?  Are we going to be like me and my brother and run away?  Are we going to be like my 5th grade teacher and disbelieve the change?  Are we going to disagree and argue among ourselves?  Or are we going to be like Sarah who was smiling and laughing.  I pray that we welcome what God has done to change our life here at our Church.

Closing Statement:

Let me leave you with this final thought:  The Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann writes: “Laughter is a biblical way of receiving a newness which cannot be explained. The newness is sheer gift—underived, unwarranted.”

That laugh of Sarah’s was not her last laugh. She did conceive and she named her child Isaac, which means, “laughter.” Can you imagine? Every time Abraham and Sarah called him in for dinner, they called, “Laughter!” Every time they scolded him, they said “Laughter, stop that!” Every time they tucked him in at night they said, “Good night, Laughter.”

Every day, several times a day, they were reminded of holy, unwarranted, inexplicable grace. I suspect it kept them grinning from son up to son down. I hope the same is true for you today. It’s not about childbearing. It’s about each “newness as sheer gift.”

My Paternal Grandparents

Simuel Heywood Vernon, Jr., and Martha Ellen Mosley are my father’s parents.

He was known in the community as Sim Vernon and was called Sim.

Granddaddy and Grandma were married on July 27, 1919, in York County, Virginia. They celebrated sixty-nine years of marriage.

The 1920 census shows that my granddaddy, grandma, and their young son, Ed Lee, my father, lived with his parents, Simuel, Sr., and Jane, in Grafton, VA.

I am unsure if my parents, Ed Lee & Lucille, lived with Daddy’s grandparents or Momma’s parents when they first married. I had heard that my father did not go with his parents when they moved to their home on Rt 17 in Grafton, VA.; his grandmother raised him.

Sim and Martha had six children: Edward Lee (known as) Ed Lee & Bubba, Mae Ellen, Carrie Elizabeth, Alice Marie, William Haywood, and Wardell Nathanial. (See Chapter 4 for my relationship with my father’s siblings.)

Granddaddy lived in Grafton, Virginia, all his life. He worked at the Naval Mine Depot, now known as the Naval Weapons Station.

He received a certificate certifying that the U.S. Navy employed him during World War II.

Cornelia Mae Vernon is Granddaddy’s only sibling; she married Paul Francis. They lived in  Hampton, Virginia, and had 11 children; she died on July 23, 1967.

In 2010, there was a Vernon-Smith family reunion in which many members of the Francis family participated. We all met and talked to several of our cousins. My siblings and I didn’t grow up knowing them, my father’s cousins.

Granddaddy was born on August 26, 1899, in Grafton, Virginia. He was widely known and respected in the Grafton, Yorktown area. He was a faithful member of Grafton Baptist Church. He had a good life and passed away at his home in Grafton on January 16, 1988, at 89.

Martha Ellen Mosley Vernon, My Grandmother

Grandma Martha was born On February 2, 1902, in Grafton, Virginia.

My sister Barbara and I used to take the bus downtown on Saturdays to meet Grandma and Granddaddy on 25th and Jefferson Ave in the Black shopping area. Granddaddy would give each of us a dollar, which was a lot of money back then. I remember Grandma’s big smile and laugh when we did come around.

Barbara also stayed with them one or two times during the summer; she would work at the crab factory, where Grandma worked to earn money for school clothes. I tried working at the Crab factory; I worked one day but was not too fond of the smell, so I never returned.

We didn’t have a close relationship with our father’s parents when we were children. As my sisters, Jr. and I grew older and went about our lives, we all seemed to gravitate toward Grandma, and she appeared to want the relationship. She seemed glad to see us whenever there was a significant family activity. I always came by to see her whenever I came home for a visit after I married Howard and moved to Alaska.

Now that I am older, I wish I had had more time with Grandma Martha when I was young. Although I remember her and can see her face, I didn’t know her. I wish I could say, “My grandma told me.” Knowing what she liked or disliked would have been great. I would like to know if I am like her right now.

It would have meant the world to us if Grandma had made a small effort to help us after Momma passed away. At that time, we really needed her.

I am writing this book because I want my grandchildren to know me. To know that I love them and will always be there for them as long as I live.

Grandma died on March 6, 1996, at her home at 7908 George Washington Memorial Hwy Yorktown, VA 23692, at 94.

Grandma and Granddaddy are buried at Grafton Baptist Church Cemetery Harrison Grove.

THE GRANDPARENT EFFECT

Children who live with or have frequent contact with a grandparent have lower mortality and disease rates. The Grandparent stays more engaged and active and thus is more likely to live longer.

5 Things Grandparents Do for Young Children.

Grandparents can play many essential roles in the lives of their beloved grandchildren. Depending on how far away they live and other circumstances, they can be caregivers, teachers, and playmates. They are trusted advisors for their adult children, who are now parents themselves. For many families, grandparents provide regular childcare. In some cases, they are primary caregivers to their grandkids. Whether they live nearby or stay in touch from afar, the love and emotional closeness that grandparents provide significantly impact their grandchild’s healthy development.

  1. Grandparents give advice.

Being the parent of a baby or toddler is a joy, but it’s not always easy, especially for new parents. And little ones grow and develop so fast that parenting routines that work one day may not work the next. When in doubt, parents often go online for answers. But the sources of parenting information they trust the most are their own parents (usually their mothers or mothers-in-law) more than friends, pediatricians, or websites.

2. Grandparents’ lived experience and wisdom can be beneficial and calm parental frustration or panic.

Of course, some advice from grandma or grandpa may not align with what we now know about child development. Grandparents know that there’s no such thing as a perfect parent. Whether or not you can spoil a baby, their intuition and long-term perspective can be comforting to a parent who isn’t sure what to do sometimes and doesn’t want to make mistakes.

2. Grandparents teach young children.

Grandparents can bring a special enthusiasm to the time they spend with their little ones, and that helps a child learn and grow. They help children learn by playing, talking, and reading together while giving them focused attention. And they teach more directly by telling stories and sharing family and cultural traditions. Grandparents are also uniquely positioned to reinforce limits and lessons from parents while also listening, wiping away tears, and showing their grandchild that they understand.

It’s hard to quantify the impact of the special connection between young kids and their grandparents. Still, studies have shown that having actively-involved grandparents can help children grow confidence, cope with stress, and have fewer behavioral issues as they age.

3. Grandparents provide child care.

More than just occasional help, many families rely on grandparents for regular, trusted child care for their little ones. According to ZERO TO THREE, one in four children under five is looked after by their grandparents while their parents work or attend school. That’s the same number of children enrolled in formal childcare programs.

While many grandparents rise to the challenge, it’s not always easy. About half of the grandparents surveyed feel some level of disagreement or tension about approaches to childcare, and 2 out of 5 say the caregiving job is tiring.

 

  1. Some Grandparents are Primary Caregivers.

Many grandparents are also helping raise their grandchildren, which increases both the challenges and the rewards.

  1. Grandparents Love.

Babies, toddlers, and preschoolers learn and grow through close, caring relationships with adults. The most important thing that grandparents bring their little ones is love. The attention, interaction, and unconditional love from grandparents (and parents) help a young child feel safe and secure. And that’s what they need for healthy brain development.

So, a grandparent’s love makes a real, lasting impact on a young child’s future. Research also shows that a close, involved relationship is good for grandparents, too, contributing to healthier, happier, and possibly even longer lives. August 31, 2022, First Things First

After reading this, I am even more confident that my close relationship with you all, from infants to adults, was one of my biggest blessings. And we have a fantastic relationship.

Proverbs 22:6 NIV

Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old, they will not turn from it.

“To God Be the Glory.”

My Maternal Grandparents

Grandparents

When God created Grandparents,

The world was truly blessed

With all the special joys,

That makes a family happiest.

For grandparents know how to do the

Little things that warm our hearts…

They touch our lives with love and care

Right from the very start.

They show that they believe in us

And all we’re dreaming of…

When God created grandparents,

He blessed our lives with love…

Author Unknown

From the program of the Rainbow Child Care Grandparents Day…Friday, November 17, 2017

Moses Arron Smith and Jane Boykins Smith are my Mother’s parents.

I did not know Grandma Jane; she died when I was two. According to several census records, Jane Boykin Smith was born between 1873 and 1880. She died on November 16, 1944; I turned two on December 14, 1942. She was somewhere between 64 & 72. Grandma Jane was born in Surry County, across the James River from the historical sites of Jamestown, Williamsburg, and Yorktown. Her parents are Maria Jones Boykins and Willis Boykins, Sr. She has three sisters, Ida Boykins Scott, Rosa Boykins Roane, and Elizabeth (Lizz) Boykins Turner. She has two brothers, Henry and Willis Jr. Boykins.

As a kid, I listened to my mother and cousin Esther talk about their mothers. Cousin Esther’s mom was Aunt Lizz.      Mom said she had to stand in front of or touch Grandma Jane so she could see her face. By doing that, she’d be able to read her lips. My mom and cousin Esther talked about Aunt Rose and Aunt Liz for Elizabeth. Grandma Jane married Poppa in Warwick County, Virginia, on February 1, 1900, when she was 18. Depending on where the information came from, the name can be spelled Boykins or Boykin. We spell it, Boykins.

Let me share my Grandpa Moses’s Story. I called him Poppa; I remember him well. As you will read, Poppa was an incredible man, especially for the times in which he lived. Moses Aaron Smith was born on July 5, 1867, on a former Plantation on Mulberry Island near Jamestown, VA, where his parents were enslaved. He died on December 10, 1956, 4 days before my 15th birthday. He lived to be 89. President Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863, as the nation approached its third year of bloody civil war. The proclamation declared “that all persons held as slaves” within the rebellious states “are, and henceforward shall be free.” On December 18, 1865, Secretary of State William Seward announced that the United States had constitutionally abolished slavery — the 13th Amendment was ratified, and Poppa was born free. 

Mulberry Island is a small peninsula located between the James and Warwick Rivers. Its name comes from the native Virginia mulberry tree (Morus rubra) that once grew in abundance. Here, the course of American history changed. In June of 1610, when the starving colonists abandoned Jamestown, it was at Mulberry Island that they met Lord De La Warr’s longboats. Receiving news of the arrival of supplies and reinforcements, they returned to Jamestown and saved the Virginia Colony.

Probably inhabited in the first decade of English colonization, the “island” suffered severe losses in the Indian massacre of 1622, and its few survivors returned to Jamestown. By 1624, however, there were 30 residents in the area.

Early experiments with silk culture were unsuccessful, but the land proved ideal for planting John Rolfe’s sweet-scented tobacco. Rolfe, Secretary and Recorder General of the Virginia Colony when he married Pocahontas in 1614, was a joint owner of 1.700 acres on the island.

Mulberry Island, located in early governmental districts, did not become a part of Warwick until 1634. No records exist for these earliest districts or the ancient Mulberry Island Parish. Only fragments of Warwick County’s records survived the Civil War. Early land grant records in the Library of Virginia first mention Mulberry Island in 1614. These documents give owners names, dates, and locations, often naming neighbors and relatives.

At the turn of the 20th century, Mulberry Island was still predominantly farmland and pasture. Its African-American community had grown considerably due to the Bureau of Refugees’ resettlement programs. By 1918, African-American families owned at least 61 parcels on Mulberry Island, compared to the 42 parcels held by white families. However, more parcels did not necessarily mean more land or property value. Though whites owned fewer parcels, each parcel averaged 97.95 acres compared to the typical African-American landholding of 22.31 acres (Fesler 1993).

While working on the Curtis farm, Poppa courted and married Dolly Jones, daughter of Cue Jones, around 1893, and they had two children. Moses and Dolly had their first child, a daughter they named Eliza, after Dollie’s mother, Eliza Jones. She died from pneumonia as an infant in 1893. Clarence Spencer Smith was born on December 22, 1895. Around 1898, Dolly and Moses had a brief separation, and young Clarence went to live with his grandmother, Eliza Jones. After about a year and a half, Dolly was returning to Mulberry Island when the boat she was traveling in capsized in the York River. Dolly drowned, young Clarence was four years old, and he lived with his grandmother until he was about 11 or 12.

A few years later, Poppa married my Grandma Jane Boykins in Lee Hall, Virginia, on February 1, 1900. They had four daughters, Mary, Cuttie, Elnora, and Lucille, my Mother, and five sons, Moses Jr., Samuel, John, Alexander, and Joseph. On November 16, 1944, Grandma Jane died in Lee Hall, VA. I turned two on December 14 that year.

Poppa was a hard-working farmer who worked as a handyman on his parents’ former enslaver’s farm, as did his parents. He earned little money throughout his lifetime, yet he had a genuine character, a solid work ethic, and a deep devotion to his family. Poppa did not have a formal education and learned to read independently. He proved trustworthy, honest, and dependable in all his endeavors.

At the turn of the century in 1900, life was reasonably good for the Black families on Mulberry Island. They were farming, living independently, and raising their children in a loving and peaceful environment. They had their church, Colossian Baptist, where Poppa was one of the founders. They also had a primary school, productive farms, and fruit orchards.

On March 19, 1918, the federal government purchased Mulberry Island for $538,000, averaging about $65 per acre.  The military occupation happened so fast that the residents had little time to evacuate. Families were given just 30 days to move whatever they could, including any burials on their property. At least nine family graveyards were known to exist at the time of the island’s purchase, and many of these were not relocated but lost or destroyed during the camp’s construction (FEHAA 1993). Families were cast out quickly, dissolving and dispersing Mulberry Island’s pre-military community. Some left behind deceased loved ones in their tombs, and all had to abandon the Tidewater dwellings where they had made their homes. After their departure, many of these homes became artillery targets (Fesler 1993). Such were the casualties of the military occupation, which rapidly evolved into a bustling training facility. Some residents moved to the Jefferson Park area going south in Warwick County. Some went to Denbigh and York County.

To vote, a Black man had to be a soldier’s son, have a first-year high school education, or have $500 worth of property. Poppa qualified to vote because he owned property valued at over $500. He paid a poll tax and voted in every election.

 The Treasure

All the above is written and said about my Poppa. But I was old enough to remember him, and here is what I know.

Poppa bought 27 acres of land on the Endview plantation and moved the family from Mulberry Island to Lee Hall in Warwick County, where he farmed and raised his family. There was much debate about whether his property was in Yorktown or Warwick County.

When we were young kids, Poppa told us that he had a dream about a treasure box buried on his property. In his dream, he could see the exact location of the buried Treasure, but he was warned not to tell anyone about it. His life’s goal was to find and unearth that hidden Treasure that could help his family. During the Civil War, plantation owners often banded together to bury their family’s valuables, such as jewelry, coins, silver, and other precious items, in a large chest or iron strongbox. They did this to prevent the Union armies from seizing their treasures and using them to fund their cause. This practice was common in eastern Virginia, where many plantations existed. When Poppa bought the property in 1918, the deed stated that it was part of the Endview plantation.

Poppa dug and dug for this Treasure for several years. During this time, he worked at Fort Eustis during World War II, first as a janitor for the civilian women’s dormitories, then as a Stewart in the Bachelor officers’ quarters. He then worked as a Houseman for Carter’s Grove Plantation. Carter’s Grove is a 750-acre plantation located on the north shore of the James River in the Grove Community of southeastern James City County. His last employment was as a Sexton at Grace Episcopal Church in Yorktown. He thrilled tourists with his stories of Mulberry Island and Yorktown, as you can see in the newspaper article “Sexton of Grace Church Famous for Stories from Yorktown Sector,” where he tells the history of the church and Mulberry Island.

In late 1946, after much digging, he found something! He could not dig it up by himself, being a man in his late 70s. Yet he was still strong and determined; with a pick and a shovel, he dug a hole 14 feet wide and 14 feet deep. He couldn’t get the chest up alone, so he enlisted the help of the Curtis family of Lee Hall. The Curtis had a steam shovel and a truck with dual tires where they could go into the woods and work in the treasure hole site. But unfortunately, the very people Moses had asked for help confiscated the chest. They sent him to the house to get a larger tool, and when he returned, they were gone, and so was the chest.  All his sons except Clarence had moved out of state by this time, and Clarence lived in Newport News.

He went to the Warrick County courthouse to inquire about the chest but was sent home empty-handed. Sheriff Brickford Curtis told him that nothing had been turned in, and if it had, the government would take 90% tax. This discovery created quite a stir. There is a newspaper report of the incident.

There was an investigation, and neighbors were interviewed about seeing a truck with a large box on it that day and time. He tried to get it back. Only thing nothing ever came of it. The reports in the newspaper drew large crowds of people to see the treasure hole filled with green water. Poppa often took us to see the spot when we visited. That was all Poppa talked about for the rest of his life. He couldn’t believe that they had taken the Treasure from him. He knew these people. The people who took the Treasure soon after came into a lot of money and built a large house called the Mansion in Lee Hall. I have Newspaper articles and a copy of what appears to be a formal investigation of the disappearance of the Treasure.

 My research has unveiled the following:

I remember going up home (that’s what we called it); we probably stayed with Aunt Mamie, but we spent the day with Poppa. He would let us do whatever we wanted. We would go into the garden and pull up vegetables that we liked, and one time we were there, I think it was Christine and me; someone was living downstairs in the house Poppa lived upstairs. We went into the house and opened all the food and stuff in the refrigerator, the flour and sugar. When the lady came home, she told Poppa someone had been in her house. He told her that it was probably the boy who lived down the road. He would cook, and we wanted to eat what he cooked, but Aunt Mamie would not let us. We could not go upstairs, so we told him to throw the food out the window. I remember wanting to eat some of his chicken feet soup, and he always had some fried fish head.

When we first moved to Newsome Park, he would take the bus to visit us. When he arrived, all the units looked the same, and he did not remember the number. He would walk down the street calling out Momma’s name, Lucille. Lucille. We thought that was so funny. He always carried this suitcase he called his satchel. He would come and sometimes spend the weekend. Momma was always happy when Poppa came for a visit. I can remember one time going to hear him preach…. I can’t remember the service or where it was. Poppa was a licensed Minister; from what I have heard about him, he preached all over Warwick County. He was one of the founding members of the Colossian Baptist Church in Newport News.

I have uncovered some newspaper articles that you will see below. One states the Treasure was found after the investigation and returned. Also, Poppa was waiting for his sons to come home to open it. I have not been able to get all the facts on this article. I know for sure that he did not get the Treasure back. The Treasure has been a topic in my family for as long as I can remember. I have talked to several uncles about the Treasure, and no one has ever said anything about him getting the Treasure back. I know he did not because he told me he did not, so where is the information in the articles coming from? That is a QUESTION I may have to leave you, my Children, Grandchildren, and Great-grandchildren, to figure out. It is a mystery…..

 This article ran in the newspaper about his time as a Sexton at Grace Episcopal Church in Yorktown.

Where he thrilled tourists with his stories of Mulberry Island and Yorktown, I called the Grace Episcopal Church and spoke to the administrative assistant. She sent me copies of Poppa’s pay from when he worked there.

“Sexton of Grace Church Famous for Stories from Yorktown Sector”

“Yorktown, August 4, 1946, Moses Smith removed a large wad of chewing gum from his mouth and pressed it against the back of the sign listing the hour of services at Grace Episcopal Church and began to tell a group of tourists something of the life and history of this York Hampton Parish Church.

Moses makes an exciting story about the church built in 1697 from Marl gathered from the banks of the ever-blue York River below the Hill. He tells visitors the Bell was cast in London in 1725. He explained the Bell cracked when it fell in the fire of 1814 and was recast after it was found in a Philadelphia junkyard in 1882.

Moses showed his guest a picture of the communion silver made in London in 1649 and later sent to the York church by Queen Anne. He will pridefully add that it is the oldest communion silver in constant use in America today. With a solemnity tone, he points out that the Queen herself commanded an English Bishop to come to this church in Virginia to administer the sacrament! He reflects something of the former glory of historic Yorktown when he relates that the first confirmation service in Virginia was held in this church in 1791.

For the average Yorktown citizen, the Marcel with which the church is built results from years of shell deposits left as the river receded into its present bed. Moses will tell you, however, that it is a petrified formation of flesh and bones of animals and beasts that were left from an Aleutian World. He explained this has been long ago “when the world was destroyed-may be in the flood that Noah rode out on the Ark.”

Grace Churchyard holds many graves, some of them unmarked. General Thomas Nelson, the greatest dignitary, was buried there, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. After calling attention to his tomb, Moses invariably points to the Nelson House, the chimneys of which can be seen through the trees surrounding the neatly trimmed graveyard, and shows the visitors the house General Nelson’s father built for him as a graduation gift.

Moses Smith is always ready to talk, and the story he tells of himself is as interesting as the one of the church. He was born on Mulberry Island 79 years ago. His parents had been enslaved but are now employed by Humphrey Howard. Born just two years after the war between the states (Civil War), he says he can remember when the breastworks at Yorktown looked like a fresh grave – “the grass hadn’t grown back on them real good, and there warn’t a single tree standing by them.” He also remembers hearing stories about the War of 1812. He recalled his maternal grandmother, who lived to be 105 years old, telling him about the great fires she saw as a girl of 10 when at White Sulfur Springs with the Hampton. (I think this should be Howard.)

Mulberry Island has long since been taken over by the government and is known as Fort Eustis.

After the outbreak of World War One, he went back to Fort Eustis as a janitor in the civilian women’s dormitory. He related that the Hostess for the dormitories was very good to him. He had many pleasant memories of his work with these war workers. All the girls he reflected sent him invitations to their Weddings as they occurred, and though he thought it best not to go, he did send all of them a wedding present when they were married.

When the government cut off appropriations for the janitors, the girls took it upon themselves to pay his salary so that he could care for their quarters. The number was finally so significantly reduced that they could not continue this arrangement, and he went to work for the Bachelor officers.

For seven years, Moses was employed at the Bachelor officers’ quarters. He made many friends with those offices during his employment and had many presents from them to show their appreciation for the favors he gave them. Apparently, most of these gentlemen thought Moses preferred canes because he had about 25 they had given him as their departing gifts. He said that if he could have kept the moths from eating the clothing they gave him, he would have had enough to last a lifetime.

Leaving Fort Eustis, he was employed at Carter’s Grove as a houseman. He was so incredibly impressed with this beautiful River mansion that he wrote a poem about it. He added that he had written numerous poems, but they were all burned when his house was destroyed by fire some years ago. The fire destroyed his collection of photographs given to him by white friends at Fort Eustis and the church during the last 15 years.

Only 8 of his twelve children are still living; three of his sons served with the Navy during the war. These were Samuel Aaron, John Henry, and Alexander Smith. Alexander has reenlisted and is now stationed in Boston.

Even though Moses is a preacher, he will admit to the frailties of man. Once, a prominent Lee Hall family employed him. He accidentally stepped on a chicken’s head while stepping out of the barn. He was a young man fond of chicken, so he gave the foul to his little son to cook for him. That chicken tasted so good that the other two met a similar fate. However, his employer decided to end the manner and let him know in a very subtle way that she knew where her chickens were going and who was committing a wrong. That lady was a fortune teller, too! Moses adds The Lord knows I gotta die and answer for everything, but that’s the onliest time I ever stole a thing in my life.

According to his listeners, Moses was a great preacher, ranking with the top of the Negro licensed preachers in Tidewater, Virginia. Even though he hasn’t been ordained, he is classed among the Negro people of the highest knot. That is easy to believe. If he is as successful in holding the attention of his congregation at a preaching service as he is with those who talked to him and listened to his story of Grace Church, then I am sure he is of the top license of the cloth.” End of article.

News Paper articles on Treasure Chest

PAGE MR. BLACKBEARD! Treasure Warwick Yorktown, September 17.

Moses Smith, aged Negro Sexton of Grace Episcopal Church, has hit the Jackpot again! Communing with obliging spirits for a few days, Moses was instructed to dig in his own yard, on the edge of Lackey, if he wished to uncover a buried treasure of considerable worth. Moses dug.

After pick-and-shoveling to a depth of 14 feet, he uncovered the top of an iron chest. By that time, his 70-year-old muscles rebelled, and he was unable to heave the box up out of the hole. Besides, the dirt had caved in on top, and much more digging was necessary. Although his strength had given out, not his determination. Saturday afternoon, reinforced with a steam shovel gang, Moses dug again.

This time, after a preliminary nibble or two, the hefty teeth of the shovel bit the earth in earnest and, in a short time, uncovered to the excited view of a goodly number of York and Warwick County side-walk superintendents, an antique looking Iron chest of respectable size and weight. For the latter, even the steam shovel was inadequate, and on the first lift, the cable gave way, leaving the chest still at the bottom of the hole and the onlookers considerably deflated.

A second try was successful. Onlookers report that the chest, undoubtedly of considerable age, was taken under police guard to Warwick County courthouse at Denbigh for opening, the spot in which it was unearthed being a short distance across the York County line in Warwick County.

Taylor, an old-time York County Negro resident, has been quoted as saying that the late Thomas Curtis had told him years ago of a chest of family gold and silver buried on their property during the Civil War, but unfortunately, Taylor says, Mr. Curtis did not designate the exact location in which it would be found.

Moses Smith, subject some weeks ago of a featured article in the Daily Press, said at that time that his father and mother had been slaves of the Curtis family and that for many years, he had been employed by different members of that family in various capacities.

Questioned tonight, Warwick County officials admitted hearing about the chest but did not know where it was being held. Considerable comment has been made on ownership of its contents, if any, the most pessimistic legal viewpoint being that the finder of a million dollars is subject to a 90 percent income tax item. Newport News, Virginia Daily Press, 9/18/1946 Page 1& Page 11

SEVEN COME ELEVEN Moses Relates How He Located Chest Yorktown

Moses Smith, aged Negro sexton, who Saturday afternoon ended an 11-year search for buried Treasure and, with the help of a steam shovel owned by a Richmond excavating contractor, turned up an iron chest, today confirmed the story of Its finding and gave a Daily Press reporter the details of his treasure hunt. At work In the churchyard of Grace church, at his usual hour of 7:30, Moses leaned against his lawn-mower and chuckled, “I reckon I told a hundred lies about that money already. White folks don’t believe much In spirits,” he said, and then went on with such a straightforward explanation of his search that his listeners were convinced of his own sincere belief In the source of his information. “Spirits,” says Moses, showed him in dreams that Treasure was buried between two oak trees on his farm.

Before World War I. Moses excavated on the farm, which he then owned on Mulberry Island, now Fort Eustis, but at that time, he found, later buying land on the edge of Lackey, he found on his property two oak trees resembling those he had seen in his dream. Convinced that gold was buried there, he began digging, assisted by neighbors who confirmed his story today. That time, the edge of an Iron chest was uncovered. Although 11 years ago, Moses today gave a graphic description of the labor involved at that time.

The chest, he said, when uncovered, was buried in a deep bed of sand. Around and above it, gravel and oyster shells had been packed to a depth of two feet, and above that, flat stones held In place by a layer of pitch made a solid floor. The pitch, he said, had hardened, and it was no small job of work to break It open with pickaxes. Above the stone floor, the earth had been filled into the level of the surrounding ground. When the chest was seen at that time, an underground stream of water filled up the excavation as fast as it was made, and a force pump was borrowed from Jack Dozier of Lee Hall. Although several men worked at the job, said Moses, they were unable to keep the water down far enough to get hold of the box, the sand underneath undermined by the force of the stream, the chest up-ended and slipped out of sight under the water, and a ledge of rock nearby. “Money,” said Moses at this point, “has got a way of moving around underground. You think you got it, and the first thing you know, it’s gone.”

Unable to remove the chest.

Moses then consulted a spiritualist medium who advised him to wait seven years and try again. Moses waited, which brings the story down to 1941 when he was employed at Fort Eustis and solicited the help of officers stationed there. These officers advised him to wait until the war was over to resume the project. Recently, Moses again approached Fort Eustis personnel with his story and was told that neither the government nor the army could use the equipment for such a purpose. He was advised to consult Warwick County officials. This he did, Moses said, and after considerable delay, a Warwick County official made arrangements with the Richmond firm operating the steam shovel in search of the elusive treasure chest. A contract was drawn up, giving Moses and two members of the firm a cut in whatever “loot” was found. When questioned about the size of the chest, removed Saturday, Moses gave estimated dimensions of about two feet in width by about five feet long. He confirmed. September 18, 1946

Minister Will Sue To Gain “Treasure Chest”

Claiming that the “treasure chest” fund lately near Lackey in Warwick County is the property of himself and other heirs of the late Thomas Wells, Rev. L. Louis Taylor, Negro, of Lackey, told the Daily Press in a letter yesterday that he intended to sue all parties concerned so that he and the other heirs could recover the property. He also announced that he had asked the U.S. Treasury to withhold payment of the money in the chest until the suit was decided. The “treasure chest,” whose discovery was revealed Wednesday, has been a subject of continued interest the past several days throughout the entire Peninsula. In his letter to the Daily Press, Rev. Taylor said, in full: “I wish to call your attention to an article in your publication of September 18, 1946, under the caption Blackbeard’ and a Treasure. “I was quoted as saying the sentences immediately following mentioning my name.

“The facts are these: Concerning the treasure chest found by Moses Smith, a Negro of Warwick County. “The authorities of Warwick County and York County are confused over the exact line between the two counties in this vicinity where the money was found. “I am the oldest living resident of this neighborhood known as “The treasure chest was excavated from the Thomas Wells land in York County. I Informed the York County authorities. It was not found in Warwick County, and neither it nor the land is the property of Moses Smith.

“Thomas Wells was a rich white man who lived in the same spot where Moses Smith now lives and pays his taxes in York County. All the Wells heirs died before Thomas Wells, the original owner. “This white man, Thomas Wells, lived many years after the Civil War but was paralyzed and was taken care of by Armistead Taylor senior and his immediate family of 20 children who pushed Thomas Wells about in an invalid’s chair until his death about 70 years ago. “On his death bed, he told us that his money was burled on his estate but that he was too weak to show us the exact spot, but for us to hold the land for pay for our service, and we buried Thomas Wells not very far from the location where the treasure chest has been found. “We claim the land and the money and will therefore bring a suit against all parties concerned in extracting it from this property and carrying it off. “The Curtis estate from which Moses Smith bought his land doesn’t extend into York County, but instead, he is trying to hold land in York County under a Warwick County deed from the late Thomas Shields, who inherited land from his mother’s interest in the Curtis estate. “I am notifying the U.S. treasury department today to withhold payment until the Armistead Taylor heirs have settled the land question vs. Moses Smith and others. “Thanking you for publication of this explanation, I am, “Very respectfully yours, “Rev. L. Louis Taylor, prophet-advocate, “Prophetic Sanhedrin. “Voters League of Virginia, “President and Founder, “Yorktown University, “Lackey, Va.”.

TO OPEN “TREASURE CHEST” WHEN 4 SONS ARRIVE HOME Yorktown, September 20.

Opening of the treasure chest uncovered this week near Lackey will await the arrival of his four sons, Moses Smith said today. The chest, which Is now in the custody of government officials in a nearby city, will be opened as soon as Moses Samuel and John Henry Smith arrive in Yorktown. One son, Alexander, who received a 16-day furlough from the Navy for the event, is already at home, and his three brothers are en route from Baltimore and Chicago.

In the meantime, a constant stream of visitors Inquire at the Smith home for a glimpse of the Treasure, and crowds of persons stop to look down the deep excavation from which it was removed and which is now rapidly filling with water. Interest in Moses’ search, which Yorktown and Lackey’s people remember as continuing for many years past, remains unabated, and hope that the chest may contain something of value for him is heard on all sides.

MOSES in THE BUSHES

Gets Advice on What to Do With Chest Yorktown

Moses Smith is not worried about his treasure chest. He knows where it is and knows also that it was found on land which is legally his, he said today.

Asked about the present whereabouts of the chest, Moses declared that it was not now in the custody of Warwick County officials. He was perfectly willing for anyone to know where it is, he said but had been advised by his lawyer to say no more than necessary about that until it has been opened.

The opening may be quite a job, he says because the iron of which it is made has rusted badly. When seen 11 years ago, the surface was smooth, he said, but when it slipped out of sight at that time, it became submerged in sinking sand and water, and when located last week, was much deeper underground than the first time he reached it. It is understood from information obtained from a Warwick county officer who asked that his name be withheld that the chest is in government custody in a nearby city and has not yet been opened. “Everybody wants to know where that chest is,” Moses said today.

“Everybody comes to see me about It. All the Smiths in the County have been to see me. I reckon there were more than 40 Smiths at my house yesterday.” Moses’ white friends show up, too, and he has been showered with good advice about his legal rights to the Treasure and how to hold on to it. Lots of people, he commented, have been interested to know if it actually was found inside his legal boundaries, and he insists that it was. When he bought his farm, he had It surveyed, he said, and the plat drawn up at that time proves without doubt that the land from which it was taken is inside his farm and in Warwick County.

“I know where the chest is now,” he said, “and it’s supposed to stay there until it’s opened, or as long as I’m satisfied to have it there. And I’m satisfied. I’ve got every dependence on my government. Note: This is the last article I could find on the Treasure. Did he get it back?? So much more to uncover. Martha Jane

Newspaper articles, in general

Officers Recover Silverware Loot Silverware valued at $200, which was stolen several days ago from a residence near Lee Hall, was recovered yesterday in York County, where it had been sold, Warwick County Sheriff R. Bickford Curtis reported. Sheriff Curtis said the silverware was stolen from the home of Moses Smith, Negro, on Taliaferro Road. The sheriff indicated that an arrest in connection with the theft is expected soon. He and Deputy Sheriff Harry Riley recovered the loot yesterday afternoon. Daily Press December 8, 1949

Feathered Trail Conducts Yoder To Hen Thieves Culprit Get Nine Months On Guilty Plea; Others Draw 10-Day Sentences.

Birds of a feather flock together, saith the adage, and some feathers led Warwick County police yesterday to the birds and to a belief that they have nipped in the bud an epidemic of chicken thefts. As a result, James Johnson, colored, pleaded guilty in the court of Trial Justice Conway H. Shield Jr. of having stolen the chickens. He received a sentence of nine months in jail.

James Saunders, Bert Wilson, and Julia, all colored, were given 10 days in jail for receiving stolen goods. Moses Smith, who lives in the upper end of the County near the York line, informed Officer Mewn J. Yoder yesterday morning that eight of his hens had been stolen, the lock on the chicken house door being broken. Mr. Yoder, Investigating, noticed a feather or two here and there is a definite streak leading away from the farmhouse. He followed the trail. It led him, he said, about a mile to a small house. In this house was the group mentioned. Some chickens, apparently some of Smith’s, had been dressed and were in the skillet; others had been prepared for cooking. The entire party was arrested.

Mr. Yoder said a considerable number of chicken thefts, mostly one or two fowls at a time, has occurred in upper Warwick County recently. With the arrest of the group yesterday, he expressed the opinion that the culprits had been found… Daily Press November 27, 1935

To Strike 350 Names From Nelson District Voting Lists Yorktown

The registration books of Courthouse Precinct, Dil Nelson District, are being purged as of October 2 by the direction of the York County Electoral Board. Lists of names to be removed from the book were posted today at the Post office and at the courthouse. These lists will remain posted through Saturday, October 2, the regular date of registration. During this time or on the regular date of registration, persons who feel that their names have been improperly placed on the list should contact the registrar. The registrar for Nelson District is Virginia Nelsen, Yorktown. Miss Nelsen was recently appointed by the electoral board to succeed Mrs. Samuel DeNeufville, who was the registrar in Nelson for 24 years.

The lists which have been posted contain the names of 340 persons. Of these, 150 are the names of persons who have moved from the district; 83 have died, and 107 have been transferred to other precincts. The oldest active registrant listed on the books of Nelson District is Moses Smith Negro, of Lackey.

Smith, now 87, was born on July 5. 1867, and registered to vote at the age of 56. The permanent registration roll of Nelson District (those who registered to vote prior to 1904) contains the name of one active registrant, J. S. DeNeufville of Yorktown, who was registered in September 1902.

The oldest registration on the books is that of D. D. Hubbard, who was registered in August 1901. There are seventeen names on the permanent list. The occupations of the permanent registrants indicate the changes that have taken place in Nelson District in the last 50 years. Five of them were farmers. Two were merchants, two “medical doctors,” two lawyers, one a “boatsman,” one a fisherman, one an oyster dealer, one an oyster planter, one an oysterman, and one a blacksmith. The name of the registrant with the earliest birth date does not appear on the permanent registration roll. He was the late George D. Chenoweth, a civil engineer who was born in 1849 but did not register to vote until he was 75 years old. After the regular date of registration, all of the names remaining on the Nelson District list will be copied into a new set of registration books. Daily Press September 24, 1954

75 YEARS OLD BUT CUTS SECOND WISDOM TOOTH

Moses Smith, Warwick County Negro, is 75 years old but is cutting another wisdom tooth. He had a wisdom tooth pulled ten years ago and says that he Is teething again and that, so far as he is concerned, it is worse this time than it was in his Infancy. Smith was born and reared In Warwick County…Daily Press August 12, 1943, Just a note: How did he get them to put this in the newspaper?

 87-Year-Old York Citizen To Be Honored At Service Yorktown, November 6

A service of appreciation will be held Sunday afternoon at the Prayer House on Tolliver Road for Moses Smith, a Negro, now 87, one of the oldest registrants and citizens of York County. Moses was born on Mulberry Island on July 5, 1867, three years after the Civil War. He remembers the days of carnages, buggies, and oxen to work the farms. Moses was a tenant farmer for 15 years until he could buy his own land.

He first registered to vote at the Township House in Warwick County at the age of 21. At this time, he recalls, the franchise was given only to those members of his race who were the sons of soldiers, who had a first-year high school education, or who owned $500 worth of property. He was one of the few who qualified to register since he owned the required amount of property. Moses’s mother lived with a member of the Curtis family of Lee Hall. His granddaughter works now for a member of the same family, their friendship having continued through the years.

Moses also worked at the dormitories and bachelor’s quarters at Fort Eustis during World War I for 14 years. He was a janitor of the Grace Episcopal Church in Yorktown. He is a licensed minister and has done missionary work among all the Negro churches of the County. He has eight children; he was married twice, first to Dollie Jones and then to Jane Boykins, both of whom are now dead. He has five sons, Alexander, Clarence, Moses, Samuel, and John, and three daughters, Mrs. Mary Mason, Mrs. Lucille Vernon, and Miss Cuttie Smith.

He has 26 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. Though lacking in formal schooling, Moses speaks well and with an authentic Virginia accent, which now is heard too seldom. He writes in a style that is not only legible but pleasing as to the formation of letters.

Moses has written many poems, both in commemoration of important events and in tribute to prominent people who are his friends. Moses Smith was 56 years old when he registered to vote in York County, transferring from Warwick, but he had not moved his actual residence. He was living in the same house, but a survey made, he says, following a dispute about the “treasure chest,” which he discovered several years ago, placed his property in York County.

Moses “dreamed” the location of the chest, a thing which is entirely possible since knowledge buried in the subconscious mind often emerges in the brief period between sleeping and waking. Moses recalls as a child hearing his elders talk of a “chest” it took four men to lift.” Many families during the period of the Civil War buried their valuable papers or silver, and it is possible that he heard the spot of the chest burial mentioned long ago.

UNCOVERS BOX

At any rate, he awoke one morning knowing where to dig, and after going deeply into the ground at this spot, he uncovered, according to his statement, one end of a large box. There was a great deal of water in the hole, and the project was too tricky for Moses alone. But, he says, he was advised to tell no one as to what time a derrick and steam truck would lift the box, and he “kept the secret” from his family and friends. So when the rope attached to the box broke, as he says, and he was sent to get a saw to cut the limb it was tied to, he had no witnesses to support his statement that the chest disappeared in his absence.

Though six people stated that they saw the chest when it was first unearthed, and though the presence of a “small, dark, pick-up truck parked in the bushes” was attested to by Robert Tolliver, Anne Wilson, and Hicks Carter, neighbors, no trace of it was subsequently found. Though Moses was assisted in the investigation concerning his chest by representatives of the Governor’s office, the Daily Press, and Warwick officials, all efforts were unavailing. Following the investigation, efforts to trace the chest were abandoned. The appreciation service, which will begin at 2:30 p.m., will honor his contributions to the life of the community.

These include church work and active participation in civic groups such as the Voters League, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the Red Cross, the Community Chest, and the Tidewater Association for Welfare Work. The Rev. F. A. Rylander, pastor of the Rising Sun Baptist Church, Newport News, will be the principal speaker and will have as his topic “Moses Smith’s Services to His Community.” The Rev. James Parmer and the Rev. Joseph T. Holmes are guest ministers. The Rising Sun Prayer Band and the Denbigh Prayer Band will furnish music. Daily Press 11/7/1954

Moses Smith Died at 89; he was a Pastor in Yorktown.

Moses Smith, a Negro, native of the Peninsula and a former minister, died Monday night at Mary Immaculate Hospital, Newport News, following a long illness. He was 89. Several years ago, his home, then located in Warwick, was the scene of much speculation regarding his reported uncovering of a buried treasure, which he vowed disappeared during the unearthing project. A widespread investigation regarding the buried Treasure followed, but no trace of the treasure “box” was ever uncovered. Smith became a York County resident by virtue of boundary line shifts at the time Warwick County was chartered as a city. He is survived by five sons, Alexander, stationed with the U. S. Navy, Clarence of Lee Hall,  Samuel and John of Baltimore, and Moses Jr.; three daughters, Mrs. Mary Mason (Alex) of Lee Hall, Mrs. Lucille Vernon (Edward) of Newport News and Miss Cuttie Smith of Petersburg; 28 grandchildren and 38 great-grandchildren. He was a licensed minister and had done much missionary work among Peninsula Negro congregations. For more than 20 years, he was employed as a janitor at Grace Episcopal Church here. He was associated with the work of the Negro Voter’s League in Yorktown, the Red Cross, the Community Chest, the Tidewater Association for Welfare Work, and the local unit of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Smith was born on Mulberry Island on what is now Fort Eustis in 1867. Funeral services will be held Sunday afternoon at 2 in the Colossian Baptist Church in Denbigh, with burial in the church cemetery. Rev. Rylander, pastor of Rising Sun Baptist Church, will officiate at the service.

Poppa was honored for his contributions to the community’s life at the Prayer House on Tolliver Rd when he was 87. These include Church work and active participation in civic groups such as the Voters League, the NAACP, The Red Cross, and the Community Chest and Tidewater Association for Welfare Work.

He had some remarkable qualities and was looked up to and respected throughout the area. He did have a unique way of using his gifts to change future generations. His influence on me was how he treated everyone, regardless of position. He loved learning and his enthusiasm for life, pursuing life with passion and excellence, whether gardening, preaching, or digging for the Treasure Chest. He was a man of vision, progress, and a great friend; he never met a stranger. Poppa was known from one end of the Peninsula to the other. What he lacked in education, he made up for in mother wit. His love for God, his people, and his family made him a giant among men. Today, his descendants number in the thousands.

I have this inner passion for uncovering the story and being detailed about everything. As much as Poppa was in the newspaper, I believe this desire to finish the job is something that he had and passed down to me.

In December 1956, he was laid to rest beside his wife, Jane, at Colossian Baptist Church Cemetery in Newport News, VA.

614 – 42nd Street

Some history I found on the First Baptist Church Jefferson Park website explains how my mother’s people migrated from Mulberry Island to Jefferson Park.

The late Deacon William and Mrs. Lucy Wooten’s inspirational leadership contributed to the organization of The First Baptist Church Jefferson Park in 1918 under the Holy Spirit’s guidance. After being displaced from their homes by the United States Government, Deacon and Mrs. Wooten and a small group of others came to Jefferson Park from Mulberry Island (now Fort Eustis) in 1918.

Remember, Poppa (Grandpa Moses) was born and lived with his parents on Mulberry Island.

When the government took the island to establish Fort Eustis, about 1,000 people lived on the island, they were primarily black. In relocating, they scattered in many directions. Some went to Yorktown and Warwick County. Others went to the Colony area, and some to Jefferson Park. Information from a document written in Mrs. Wooten’s handwriting in 1918 tells the story of the move from Mulberry Island to Jefferson Park. She and her husband, Deacon Wooten, and Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Harris were the first to move into Jefferson Park from the island. They came to the Park mainly because of Mrs. Ethel Ashe’s efforts, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Harris. Mrs. Ashe was a former resident of Mulberry Island. But then, she lived in Newport News because her husband, the late Trustee William Ashe, was in the Army and stationed at Camp Steward. Upon hearing the bad news concerning her parents’ plight and the others who had to leave Mulberry Island, Mrs. Ashe began looking for a place for them to live. Fortunately for her, one day, while shopping, she overheard a conversation about Jefferson Park, where land was available for black people to buy. Immediately, she went to the island and told her parents and others the good news. Negotiations began to purchase the land, and the move to Jefferson Park soon began.

The Islanders were frustrated over having to leave Mulberry Island for many reasons. They had to start their lives all over, leaving their homes, families, and churches. Most Islanders who came to Jefferson Park were members of the Colossian Baptist Church on the island. Like any undeveloped area, Jefferson Park had no modern conveniences, public schools, mail delivery, or church. The people were stouthearted and determined to make the Park livable. They worked hard, cleared the land, and did everything they needed to make it their home and a proud place to live. However, they were unsatisfied with their striving to clear the land. They wanted a Church.    Not having a Church to worship was the greatest frustration for them. The people missed the singing, the praying, the preaching, and the fellowship they had enjoyed in the Colossian Baptist Church. However, God had not forgotten them, and His plan was already in action though they did not know it.

The first place of worship was a very crude building. According to some members, the building resembled a woodshed more than a Church. Deacon Wooten built the church; he and other men also made the pews, the pulpit, and the communion table. Kerosene lamps attached to the bare walls furnished the faint glimmer of light for the night services. There was no piano, organ, or formal choir. Someone usually led the songs they sang in the group. The leader would start by saying a few words of a song, such as Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…and the people would answer back with the same words in the song. Today, this type of service is challenging to visualize and, for some, difficult to appreciate.

The pioneers of our church, regardless of the circumstance or the building’s plainness, were faithful to God. Sincere in their commitment and genuine in their worship. As more people moved into the Park, the church continued to grow. In the people’s efforts to save souls, they often gathered at the little church and then walked through the Park from house to house, singing songs of praise. Whenever they came to a place where an unsaved person lived, they sang and prayed tirelessly, hoping to persuade the person to come out and “be saved.”  Many people did come to know the Lord through these soul-saving campaigns. The Church baptism services were in the James River, just off Lincoln Park in lower Newport News. Today, we can be thankful for the zeal exhibited by the early pioneers.

As you can see from the church’s history, the people who moved from Mulberry Island were related. Esther and my Mother are first cousins, so Esther’s mother and my Grandma Jane, these two sisters, Jane and Elizabeth (Liz), went in different directions when they moved from Mulberry Island. Grandma Jane and Poppa moved to Yorktown, while her sister Elizabeth moved to Jefferson Park.

Years later, my parents purchased two lots to build a house across the street from the church you read about at the beginning of this chapter. My parents moved from Newsome Park to Jefferson Park. Jefferson Park had the same makeup as Newsome Park; the only difference was that they owned their homes. Our cousin Esther’s house was next door to the church. 621-42 St. After her death, her nephew, Cepheus Boykins, sold her house to the church. Esther did not have children, so Cousin Cepheus was her next of kin. It is now part of the parking lot for First Baptist Jefferson Park.

So, this is information that brings my family to Jefferson Park. My parents have moved here from Newsome Park. And by now, our family has five girls, all about 18 months apart. The idea was to build and live in a small house while Daddy built the larger one with his friends’ help. The small house had only two bedrooms, so we girls had to sleep in the same bed. I remember being two at the head of the bed and two at the foot. Back then, the bedrooms would be cold with no central heat and air. We had one Big Stove in the living room, and Daddy would put so much coal and wood in it that it would turn red from the fire inside. I was afraid it would burn the house down; it heated the living room and kitchen area but not our bedroom. We used a “foot tub, ” a small tin tub; we would bring it to the living room near the stove and bathe there before bed. We would pile on blankets and coats to keep warm. To this day, I like a heavy quilt on my bed.

We survived Hurricane Hazel in that little house.

I remember we were home alone. Momma had gone to work despite a hurricane forecast to hit our city that day. She worked at the Port Author Chinse Restaurant, “Overtown,” as it was referred to back then, and Daddy worked at VEPC, Virginia Electric & Power Co., in October 1954. I was 11 years old. I would turn 12 in December, so Barbara was 13 years old.

“Long before its worst winds and waves slammed into Hampton Roads on the afternoon of October 15, 1954, Hurricane Hazel was a storm to remember. And by the time it rumbled to the north about 6 p.m., it had battered the  100-mph gauges at the Norfolk weather station so badly against the top end of the dial that they had to replace it.” The following is from a  Daily Press News article I found online.

“At Fort Monroe, more than 100 trees came down — and 500 people were evacuated from their homes because of high water.

The newspaper reported that more trees fell along Chesapeake Avenue and downtown Hampton — where fierce winds pulled sign after sign down from the exposed storefronts in the King and Queen Streets business district.

Steady 90-mile per hour-plus winds roared in from the southwest against the shoreline at Newport News all afternoon, toppling a chimney at the Daily Press and sending it plunging through the roof.”

We survived Hurricane Hazel in October 1954, one of the worst storms to hit the area. My sisters and I were home alone, and I remember the hurricane well. We were not afraid, and we did not have a phone. I remember Momma was so worried about us because she had to take a bus home from work. She got home as soon as possible. But God…..There was no damage to our house. Not a shingle off the roof or window was damaged in our little house. When Momma and Daddy got home, they were so happy to see us, and we were glad they were home. They both said they did not think our house would make it. After that, Daddy was so proud of his little house.

Daddy started on the larger house, a two-story five-bedroom house, and the outside was cinderblock. There were two bathrooms, one upstairs and one downstairs, we did move into the house, but with all that happened, he never finished it. There were so many things that happened as they worked on the house. Not only did Daddy lose his job, but he also got sick. As hard as Momma tried, she could not keep up with so many children and so much to do.

One day, Daddy was working on the house. Baby Sis and (I am unsure if it was Esther Mae or Christine) were going to the store. As he tries to split a cinderblock with a hatchet, a piece of steel flies off and hits Baby Sis in the eye. They rushed her to the hospital, and the Doctors had to remove her eye; she was maybe six at the time. She received a plastic Eye then; plastic is better than glass. I remember the Lyons Club donated money for the procedure and paid $1,000 for the eye. That was a rough time for our family. But Baby Sis was young enough to get accustomed to the plastic eye and not being able to see out of her right eye. Sometimes, when she got older, she even joked about it. Momma made sure Baby Sis grew up learning how to take care of her eye. It was like Momma knew she would not be around to do things for her, and Baby Sis needed to understand how to take care of herself. Momma was most concerned about Baby Sis because of her eye. What if something happens to her other eye? “She would be blind,” Momma said; she hoped Baby Sis would go to college, and she was the first of us to get a college degree.

After many trials and Momma’s passing, we all left 614 one by one over the years.

With no one living there, the house went down fast. Homeless people and drug addicts would use it for shelter. They broke out the windows. It became a problem in the community right in front of the church. Soon, there were many complaints from the city that the house was a nuisance and fire hazard; boarding it up was the only choice. Even boarding it up was not enough; people just pulled the boards off and went in.

We leave 614-42 St in Jefferson Park, Newport News, VA. no one is living there, and it is all boarded up. We had some good times there, but not much, not much at all, after Momma died. So much happened in 614.

The timeline on 614, our family Home. This is how 614 changed hands over the years, ending with Lonnie Sr. & Martha Jane.

October 9, 1959, conveyed to Lucille Vernon by deed of Frank A Nichols et ux. Recorded in the Clerk’s office aforesaid in Deed Book 378, page 156

August 7, 1973. Kline Furniture Co placed a $1049.81 Judgment

October 8, 1974. Esther Mae Vernon Whitt, Elnora Vernon, Lucille Vernon Gibbs & George Gibbs, her husband, and Edward Lee Vernon Sr., widower of Lucille Vernon, did for and in consideration of $1 did grant and conveyed to Martha Vernon and Edward Lee Vernon Jr.; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.

April 29, 1976, Barbara Vernon Haynes and James Haynes, her husband Martha Vernon, Christine Vernon Slade, and Deborah Vernon did for and in consideration of $1 did grant and conveyed to Edward Lee Vernon Jr.; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.

November 22, 1976, Edward Lee Vernon, Jr. and Gwendolyn R. Vernon, his wife, for and in consideration of $1, did grant and conveyed to Martha Jane Williams and Lonnie Allen Williams; all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.

Things had gone so wrong with the house that Lonnie & I found ourselves coming from Denbigh almost every other week to do something. We ended up having to have what was left torn down. A picture of our Red and White car is in the driveway, a truck at the front door, and you can see through the roof.

We looked into getting a loan but did not qualify before Lonnie started working at the Shipyard. Also, Jefferson Park was not the best area. We were not 100% sure we wanted to move there.

I had a very close relationship with Aunt Mae and Uncle Horace, and they stood with me both times I married. So I saw no reason not to transfer the two lots to Uncle Horace. He would rebuild the house for us since he had a construction business and then sell it back to us. Lonnie and I talked to him about that, and that is what we did.

Although Lonnie and I owned the house (614), I should have discussed it with my siblings. I never thought my life would change so drastically as it did.

December 8, 1977, Martha Jane Williams and Lonnie Allen Williams, for and in consideration of $10, did grant and convey to Horace L Taliaferro, Sr, and Mae Ellen Taliaferro, his wife, all of their right, title, and interest in the property known as 614-42nd street.

January 23, 1978, the $1049.81 Judgment by Kline Furniture Co. placed on 614, having been paid and satisfied, the lien thereof is now released.

So, we discussed it with Uncle Horace and devised a plan for rebuilding the house. I was close to Aunt Mae and was often around Uncle Horace, so I thought this was an excellent safe plan. We signed over the lots to Uncle Horace and Aunt Mae.

Lucille came for a visit and stopped by our apartment on Motoka Dr.; we talked about 614 and what we would do with it. We were both excited about getting it redone. She stated that it could be a family house and somehow shared. I can’t remember the details of the conversation, but I know she was saying it would be the family home. We did not discuss how this would work, how the family would do the financing, or who would live there.

After she left, Lonnie and I talked, and he stated that if it was like that, he could not build a house for us on it. I tried my best to come up with something. I did not consult with my sisters and Jr.; the next thing you know, my life took some significant twists and turns, and I did not get back with Uncle Horace. I never thought he would sell the lots without giving me a chance to get them back first. But he did. He never contacted me when he was approached about the lots being for sale.

Lonnie had passed away; I met Howard, and we married and moved to Alaska. Since I transferred the lots to him and when he sold them, so much had happened in my life. As I look back, it was my responsibility. Before I left, I should have talked to them about the lots. I only found out he sold the lots when Barbara called and told me a house was built there.

As with everything in life, something always makes you stop and ask why. In my relationship with them, they knew how vital those lots (614-42nd St.) were to our family. How could they sell them, knowing that is where my sisters, brother, and I grew up? The place my mother and father worked so hard to build for our family without letting me know they wanted to sell them or someone was interested in buying the lots. I would have repurchased them at the going rate. Remember, I did not sell the lots to them; I signed them over I received no money. We had to pay off the $1,000 lien.

Losing the house and the lots placed me in a very unpleasant situation with my siblings. They trusted me by setting the property in my name; this has hurt me to my core, but I have not let it keep me from loving my family and having a relationship with them. But I feel it is so unfair.

I am genuinely sorry that this happened. It feels like everything Momma and Daddy tried to do just “went downhill,” and I did not help.

Thelma Nickles, who lived next door to us, is a little older than me, but we all grew up together, purchased the lots, and built a house on them; she was still there the last time I checked.

Saying sorry does not mean much, but I am sorry to my sisters, brother, nieces, and nephews. Most of all, I am sorry to Momma & Daddy. I know how hard they worked to get that house built. I am so sorry we did not hold on to the home and property our parents tried to build.

Looking back on the situation today, I know I could have handled the situation better, but at the time, I was dealing with so many issues. Moving to Alaska, I just got swept up into my new life. No Excuse.  But I will never forget 614-42 Street as the place where I grew up, and there were some happy memories there.