In 1933, Boweaver and Junior attended
Sunday School on the ground floor

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This Week's Story

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THE ZEALOTS

            Boweaver had caused Junior to start going to Sunday School with his stories about Miss Holloman and the Christmas pocketknives.

            After accidentally attending Sunday School every Sunday for a full year, Boweaver found that Miss Holloman, the superintendent, gave little parties every Christmas with rewards to pupils with good attendance records.  In cases of perfectly attending boys, the reward was a big pocketknife, with three blades, a can opener, a bottle opener and a screwdriver.

            Boweaver and Junior decided that such a pocketknife every year would be well worth the sacrifice of Sunday mornings.  So once a week, rain or shine, they walked up Main Street for Sunday School lessons and points for the prize.

            They kept it up for three years, and it began to look to officials of the church that Boweaver and Junior were prime prospects for full-fledged religion.

            Technical maneuvering was necessary first.  This consisted of having Boweaver and Junior answer before the congregation ~ that portion of the congregation that could be salvaged from movies and baseball on Sunday afternoon ~ as to their reasons for wanting to enlist as Grade A Southern Baptists.

            When the stage was set, the preacher asked Boweaver how and why he felt he had received the call.  Boweaver, always a step ahead with the books, gave the right answers.

            When Junior's turn came, his mind had gone completely blank, but he recovered enough to stammer that "where Boweaver went" he "wanted to go."

            The preacher didn't exactly smile at that. He retreated to the end of the room and entered into quiet conversation with Miss Holloman and several others.

            Returning from his conference, he again addressed the younger boy.

            "Junior, are you saying you want to join church just because Boweaver is joining, or are you saying you want to join for the same reasons as Boweaver?"

            Junior sensed the offer of a lifeline, and grabbed it.  "The same reasons," he said.  "The same reasons that Boweaver said."

            The preacher pondered a moment, then returned to the end of the room for another short conference.

            "Well, Junior, that's fine," he said.  "That's fine.  We'll baptize you and Boweaver both next Sunday night."

            So Boweaver and Junior were baptized into the church.

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            And just about the same time, the whole religion thing began to pall on the pair.

            Miss Holloman became Miz Holloman.

            The preacher all of a sudden started coming down hard on "bank night" at the movies and Sunday baseball. 

            And this was right after Boweaver and Junior became regulars on one of the Sunday teams, and right after Junior's sister won $50 at a Wednesday "bank night" movie.

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            A couple of Sundays later, Boweaver stopped by Junior's house.  "Sunday School, Junior?" he asked.

            Junior looked at his ball and bat in the corner.  He thought about the pocketknives.  He thought about Miz Holloman.  He thought about his sister's $50 at "bank night."

            "Boweaver," he said.  "Today, let's go play baseball."    

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This Week's Definition

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RIGHTEOUSNESS, n.

A sturdy virtue once found among the (natives) inhabiting the lower part of the peninsula of Oque. Some feeble attempts were made by returned missionaries to introduce it into several European countries, but it appears to have been imperfectly expounded. An example of this faulty exposition is found in the only extant sermon of the pious Bishop Rowley, a characteristic passage from which is here given:

"Now righteousness consisteth not merely in a holy state of mind, nor yet in performance of religious rites and obedience to the letter of the law. It is not enough that one be pious and just: one must see to it that others also are in the same state; and to this end compulsion is a proper means ...... Wherefore, if I would be righteous I am bound to restrain my neighbor, by force if need be, in all those injurious enterprises from which, through a better disposition and by the help of Heaven, I do myself restrain."

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(Ambrose Bierce)

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This Week's Verse

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Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.

I looked over Jordan, and what did I see?
Coming for to carry me home,
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.

If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I’m coming, too.
Coming for to carry me home.

I’m sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.

The brightest day that I can say,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away,
Coming for to carry me home.

Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
~
(Old spiritual. Author unknown.)

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This Week's Mailbox

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...... I don't remember the German POWs (Poor Town News No. 49), but floating around in the family somewhere is a picture of me with a bunch of them that worked on Grandpa Cotton's farm (near Harrellsville). If I can locate it I will send it to you via eMail. I was about two years old at the time. Right at the end of the war. Going to have to call my mom to see if she has it. ~ John Taylor, Anthony TX.

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...... I still have one of my war ration books (No. 49). I suppose after going through the war my mom thought it best to save them just in case ...... Gee, you know how to make a guy feel old ...... I found out a lot about my uncle (who once operated a store in Ahoskie) but nothing about his store. I got kind of sidetracked helping my kin with our ancestors. I think I will write the Ahoskie courthouse and ask if they have old records about store owners. ~ Bill Williams, Atlanta GA.

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...... Wow! Where did you find those ration coupons? ...... Did that bring back memories! ...... A neighbor of mine was one of those German POWs (No. 49). He lived in several camps in the US while he was a prisoner, and liked this country so much that he came back after the war with his bride. He passed away this past April one week prior to his 80th birthday ...... He told some wild stories. He told of how they would sneak out at night and go to town, and then sneak back in before morning and before they would get caught. He also told of how they once climbed a water tower and painted a big swastika on it, and then sneaked back into camp before it was discovered. They were not guarded (closely), according to him, and (he said) they were not going to run away anyway, as long as they had three "hots" and a cot and no more fighting. ~ Norma Scott, Florida.

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...... (No. 49) was interesting. My mother had told me about rationing, but I never had seen any (ration books and stamps). ~ Ann Medley, Raleigh NC.

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...... I remember those days well. We were the poor ones, so we didn't get rich during the war ...... I do remember being in New York City and seeing the Italians with the big POW letters on their jackets roaming the city and enjoying the sights. I was with my serviceman husband at the time, who was home on a short leave ~ and (I remember) how angry he was seeing our enemies having such a good time ...... I know I was not hallucinating (when I saw this). Maybe some of your other readers can verify this ...... Thanks for the memories, the good and the bad. ~ Doris Schimming, Conyngham PA.

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...... A friend just forwarded (The Poor Town News) to me for the first time. I loved it! Could you place me on your eMail list? I am anxious to share it also. I grew up in North Carolina. Thanks. ~ Gerald Correll, Baltimore MD.

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...... I had almost forgotten about war rationing books. Brings back a lot of memories. Times were tight then but everyone made it. I wonder how many would make it these days. It might wake everyone up. Thanks again for (The Poor Town News). I send a copy to my daughter each time I get it. Tell Becky hello. ~ Joe Dickerson, Murfreesboro NC.

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...... Where exactly is Poor Town located? Can you give me the highway etc.? ...... You do such a great job and I want to let the Bertie List people know more about you. My Bertie County ancestors were Ruffin, Veale (and) Gardner, but they all left there before 1830, so I don't really have any connections of recent times. ~ Virginia Crilley, Waco TX (editor of Bertie County GenWeb research page).

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...... Please add me to your (Poor Town News) list. I was born and raised near Kelford, and have some priceless and very precious memories of those days and the people I knew. ~ Edith Vick Farris, Vienna VA.

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...... Please add my name to The Poor Town News eMail list ...... I was born at Trap, Colerain, Bertie County NC in 1921 ...... That makes me 81 years young, but I am a late bloomer! ~ Louise Smith, Edenton NC.

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...... Thanks so much for writing back to me (about the probable origins of "Poor Town") ...... (This) is how I came to find your news on the internet a long time ago. I have a G-G-Grandmother on my mother's side who was born in Ireland. They lived in County Kerry. However, her father's people ~ the Quill family ~ were originally from the Isle of Man. (I understand that most Irish names that begin with "Q" are actually from the Isle of Man. I have quite a bit of info about that little island now. Did you know that the Manx cat is indigenous to that island, too?) ...... Anyway, that grandmother as well as her husband (who was from County Cork) were married in Kerry and then migrated to Washington DC, where they lived the rest of their lives ~ and that is how I came to be. Well, I was online using search engines digging for Isle of Man info one day, and found The Poor Town News ~ and the article and picture that you have online about the Isle of Man and Poor Town NC (Poor Town News No. 5). What made this discovery even more fun was that my father's family has been in your area of the world (northeast NC) since dirt, and so I am always digging for family there. And then ~ "poof" ~ there is your article tying in my mother's family from the Isle of Man with my father's NC people. Isn't that something? Well, if you don't mind I would love to share what you just wrote to me with the others on our Bertie County research list, because many of us work on family from Hertford (County) at the same time. Marianne Nichols Ordway, Maryland.

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...... I spent many years in Poor Town as a child and adult. We were always told that the name derived from (an earlier) pronunciation of Powell (PO-well rather than POW-ell). When we lived there, some of the residents decided the name was not befitting of a progressive community and wanted to change the name to New Village. Boy, did that cause a furor! Residents who had lived there for years did not want the name changed. The state was contacted and asked to begin making Poor Town license tags, and did. For years people passing through liked the tags so much they would buy them. After population decreased in the community, the state no longer made the tags and they became a collector's item. Some residents even made them by hand for a few years and finally stopped. I bought several tags over the years and wish I could get one now ...... My first public job was at the snack bar at Poor Town's drive-in theater. I was underage and was instructed to pose as a customer if a health inspector came in (he never did when I was working). People who didn't have the price of admission or the nerve to sneak in the back way parked on a dirt road along one side of the theater, and watched for free. Later the theater was converted to "adults only" before it was torn down ...... In those days, there were remains of a small sawmill at Poor Town and my friends and I were not allowed to play on the pile, but we'd sneak away and climb to the top. Today, of course, I can see the danger in the pile collapsing ...... A church once sat on the corner from the theater and some of the best gospel music I ever heard came through those walls and windows. People of different religions parked outside and listened. ~ Jeanette White, Merry Hill NC.

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