Ann Maria Salter was born near Beaufort NC. During the Civil War, in 1864, she married Isaac Pierce, a Union soldier from Hertford County who was serving at Beaufort. After the war, they stayed in Beaufort until 1872, when Isaac built a flatboat and brought her and their three children to Hertford County. On the Pamlico Sound, they were hit by a severe storm, and lost all their crated chickens and geese, along with some of their household furnishings. Managing to make it up the Chowan and the Wiccacon to Harrellsville, they set up housekeeping near Trap, in Bertie County, and had five more children. In 1893, the entire family relocated to Phoebus VA, where she died in 1916. She was taken back to Beaufort for burial. Isaac lived until 1924, and is buried in the Ahoskie town cemetery.

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This Week's Stories

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ALL BUT A DIME
© 1999 James D. Pearce

            Boweaver watched his mother put the little pieces of wood in the cookstove, and handed her the can.  She spread a thin film of kerosene over the wood.

            "I don't know how I'm going to keep cooking this winter if we can't get some dry wood, Boweaver," she said.  "This stuff is so green you can't hardly cook with it."

            Boweaver paced back and forth behind his mother.  He had just come home from his first day at work, and he was keyed up about his new job.

            "One day, mama," he said, "I'm going to get you an oil stove."

            A smile flickered over his mother's face.  "Time enough for that, Boweaver.  Right now, we've got to have some supper."

            "I mean it, mama.  As soon as I get enough money I'm going to get you an oil stove.  I might even get the electricity hooked up and we could have light bulbs, too."

            Boweaver picked up the pitcher and held it under the pump.  The water flowed in spurts as he drove the handle down.

            "Mama, I'll be your main support now.  Before long I'm going to be getting three dollars and a half a week.   That's enough to feed us, ain't it?"

            "Well, almost enough, Boweaver, but that'll need to be your money, with you working for it."

            "Nah, I ain't going to be working just for myself.  I don't need nothing.  And weenies and potatoes are cheap, ain't they, mama?  I feel like I could live right on eating nothing but weenies and loaf-bread and fried potatoes.

            "Three dollars and a half will buy a whole lot of weenies and a big bag of potatoes, and we can always have weenies and potatoes for supper, can't we, mama?"

            "Well, yes, Boweaver, but people have to eat something different once in a while.  You have to have some vegetables and other stuff, too."

            He frowned.  "We'll be able to eat regular if I work hard, won't we, mama?"

            She bent over the stove.  "Yes, if you work hard, we'll be able to eat.  And something besides weenies and potatoes, too.   But, Boweaver, you have to keep some of your money yourself.  It wouldn't be right, you working and never having a dime for yourself."

He sat at the table.  "OK, mama, we can do it like this.  I'll take a dime to go to the movie on Saturday, and I'll give you the rest.  You can take that and buy groceries."

She smiled.  "All right, Boweaver.  But are you sure you won't want some popcorn when you go to the movie?"

            Boweaver grinned.  "Yeah, I like popcorn.  But that's only a nickel."

            "Well, I'll tell you, Boweaver.  You give me what you make – all but a dime – and then I'll give you a nickel for some popcorn.  I'll take the rest and buy groceries.  How about that?"

            "Great, mama, if you think you can manage on that.  We'll get along good – real good."

            "Boweaver," his mother said, looking away, "call the young 'uns.  The potatoes are just about done."

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MEMORIES OF THE GOOD TIMES
© 2002 Carl Pollard

I finished reading the Poor Town stories last night. Boy, they brought back fond memories.

I was born in Durham County in January 1928. Now that I look back over those times, I realize that we were as poor as church mice, but so was everyone else so we didn't know any better. My dad was county fire warden (in the early '40s). I remember fighting many a forest fire for 10 cents an hour. The first real job that I ever had was as a water boy during the summer that I was a high school junior. That was when Camp Butner was being built. I made 40 cents an hour for 40 hours. That first check for $16.00, I thought, was more money than FDR was making.

I went into the Marines after high school, in 1946, and then on to Korea in 1950. I came back to Durham in 1951 and went with the State Highway Patrol, stationed in Raleigh in 1952.

My dad was one of the old-time "yellow-dog Democrats." I remember him saying quite often that he would like Chub Sewell if he wasn't a "d~ Republican."

I'm glad someone else can remember, along with me, cows being in Crabtree Valley ~ and remember back when the terminal building at RDU was a wood-frame affair about 1500 sq. ft., with two little short runways and the largest thing flying was a DC-3. The airport back then was the only place to get a cup of coffee at night, so a few of us patrolmen would meet there at night for a bull session.

There was a little country store on the right, just past the airport road, owned by an elderly couple from West Virginia named Baker. Two of us would meet there every day and match for a Coke and a pack of peanuts. A lot of days I would have 20 cents in my pocket (other than a silver dollar my dad had given me) to pay if I lost. That silver dollar was ...... worn smooth.

My wife graduated from Rex Hospital School of Nursing (St. Mary's Street Rex) in 1954. She was born in Onslow County but moved to Pitt County when she was six. She had primed her share of tobacco before she went into nurse's training ~ and that was back when student nurses started out lugging bedpans and worked up. Our two oldest children were born at Rex.

How in the world could our folks cook on a wood stove like they did? One of my jobs when I got home from school was to split stove wood and make sure the wood box was full. One of my grandmothers could cook an angel-food cake in a wood stove, and the cake was so light I believe it would float in the air. I've gotten off the school bus many an afternoon, and there would be a pot of black-eyed peas on the wood stove and some fried cornbread. Man, that was eating! Cornbread, fried thin, is as good as any cake to me.

My dad died in 1978 and my mama died in 1986. I still can be doing something and think how it would be to call dad and tell him about it, or ask his advice. The older that I got, the smarter my dad became ~ and about the time I got out of the Marines, he was pretty darn smart. He worked as a foreman in a CCC camp (Civilian Conservation Corps) in the '30s, and I remember going with him some when they were building a forest-fire observation tower up in the northern edge of Durham County.

From that camp, they (the CCC boys) were moved down to Manteo. Their camp site was near Mother Vineyard, and they planted grass along the beach all the way to Hatteras and up around the Wright Memorial.

Mama and I would stay with my grandparents during the school months, and I went to school in Durham. In the summer, dad rented a huge house between Manteo and Wanchese, and we spent the summers there. We might have been poor, but I was living in high cotton.

I saw the first presentation of The Lost Colony, and I was standing by the highway at the CCC camp when FDR drove by. They fired a 21-gun salute ~ nearly scared me to death.

Dad said that (back then) you could buy any oceanfront lot along Nags Head or Kill Devil Hills for $250, but who had $250?

We would ride into Manteo maybe once every two weeks, and dad could always come up with a nickel for a popsicle. (We kids) played hide and go-seek around the Dare County courthouse.

Thanks for bringing back memories of the good times.

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This Week's Verse

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I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.
I like good bread, I like good meat
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried-apple pies.

Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried-apple pies.

The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.

Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

(Author unknown)

During the 1930s, in the depths of the Great Depression ~ and before the days of "welfare" as we came to know it ~ the federal government set up "relief stations" in some of the hungriest parts of the U.S., such as Hertford and Bertie counties. To these "relief stations," a fellow could bring the younguns' play-wagon and have it loaded down with several of the basic foods, most notably flour, brown sugar and dried apples. With those ingredients, a lot of Depression mothers learned to make pretty good "applejacks," and a lot of Depression kids learned to eat them ~ like 'em or not.

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This Week's Mailbox

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To the Poor Town News ~ Thanks again for some fine stories. I look forward to Royal T. and his doings, along with the fine letters from James. ~ Norma

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To the Poor Town News ~ James' letter (PTN No. 31) touched me greatly. Thanks. ~ Aggie Green

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This Week's Quote

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When Woody Guthrie ("This Land is Your Land") was singing hillbilly songs on a little Los Angeles radio station in the late 1930s, he used to mail out a small mimeographed songbook to listeners who wanted the words to his songs. On the bottom of one page appeared the following:

"This song is Copyrighted in U.S., under Seal of Copyright #154085, for a period of 28 years, and anybody caught singin it without our permission will be mighty good friends of ourn, cause we don't give a dern. Publish it. Write it. Sing it. Swing to it. Yodel it. We wrote it, that's all we wanted to do."

(Pete Seeger, June 1967)

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Mr. Guthrie has stated exactly the sentiments
of the folks at The Poor Town News

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