This Week's Picture

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Aulander's Chief Police Dog

SMOKEY AND THE BOSS

Smokey, Aulander's Chief Police Dog in the 1960s, poses with his assistant, Police Chief George Stuckey Leonhirth.

Smokey, who graduated with honors from Canine Cop training at a Norfolk academy, often rode shotgun with Chief Leonhirth in the Aulander patrol car, helping him keep things calm while transporting reluctant and unruly detainees.

George Leonhirth pulled two four-year hitches in the US Army during the 1920s. Following his Army career, he worked as a power-company lineman and served as a police officer in several Northeastern NC towns, including Ahoskie and Aulander. He also operated a small oyster bar outside Aulander on the Poor Town Road.

(Picture courtesy Brenda Leonhirth LaDell)

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This Week's Story

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TEACHING MAMA TO DRIVE

In 1932, the road from Poor Town to Earleys Station was straight, flat and two miles long. Like all the other rural roads in Hertford County, it was dirt, ditched on each side to drain rain water from the center portion.

When there was no rain, the center developed hard washboard ridges perpendicular to the line of traffic, which collected dust in their valleys and added a jittery luster to the journey as the hard tires and wagon wheels of the day bounced over their peaks.

It was on this road one summer day that Boweaver's daddy announced he was going to teach Boweaver's mother Nora to drive his Whippet.

There were four of the kids then, the oldest girl 10 and the youngest boy two, but baby-sitting posed no problem. Courtesy of many uncles and aunts, the brood had numerous cousins scattered throughout the county.

One family of them lived right at the road exactly halfway between Poor Town and Earleys. Here Cap'n Fred deposited the children, and with their mama in the passenger seat, drove toward Earleys with a parting warning to them to stay away from the middle of the road.

The four of them, several of their cousins and their aunt gathered near the ditchbank, looking excitedly down the road for the cloud of dust they knew would herald their mama's big adventure.

And there she came, careening wildly from side to side down the road several feet ahead of the airborne earth. When she passed them she must have been doing at least 30 miles an hour, and they caught a glimpse of her tense face and taut arms, with her hands tied in a death-grip to the big steering wheel.

They all cheered and gave a big sigh of relief as they watched the dust cloud disappear from view in the direction of Poor Town, and relaxed for awhile to await the return.

In a very few minutes one of the kids gave a loud yell, and they all re-assembled at the ditch bank to watch the second coming from the other direction.

There was the same wildly veering display of speed, the same tense face and rigid grip on the wheel, closely followed by the billowing airborne particles.

They clapped and cheered mightily as the Whippet again faded from view.

It was probably 20 minutes or so before it returned.

This time Cap'n Fred was driving, and Nora was sitting quietly in the passenger seat. They pulled over to the edge of the road and stopped. The children said goodbye to their cousins and aunt and piled in.

Neither Fred nor Nora spoke a word on the way back home to Poor Town.

Neither ever again mentioned the eventful day in the presence of their offspring.

But for whatever reason, Boweaver knew that that day in 1932 was the only day in his life that he ever saw his mother behind the steering wheel of an automobile.

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This Week's Verse

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Young Johnnie Steele has an Oldsmobile,
he loves a dear little girl.
She is the queen of his gas machine,
she has his heart in a whirl.

Now, when they go for a spin, you know,
she tries to learn the auto, so
he lets her steer while he gets her ear,
and whispers soft and low:

Come away with me Lucille,
in my merry Oldsmobile,
down the road of life we'll fly,
automo-bubbling, you and I.

To the church we'll swiftly steal,
wedding bells will softly peal,
you can go as far as you like with me,
in my merry Oldsmobile.
~
(1905.   Gus Edwards)

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From "Might Not Turn Cold All Winter"
by James D. Pearce

1928 CHEVROLET

I was in California once, and a friend and I decided to buy an old car there because if you owned any kind of property in California, you could claim to be a legal resident of the state.

It was a 1928 Chevrolet with roll-down curtains on all the rear windows. The brakes were bad, and one Sunday morning the engine quit and the brakes didn't hold when we were going down a steep hill in some part of Los Angeles.

We went through a red light and rolled part way up the hill on the other side.

When we rolled back down the hill and went through the red light again, backward, we noticed there was a motorcycle cop at the side of the road. He looked like he was about to die laughing.

He didn't give us a ticket.

1931 MODEL A FORD

After the war, in 1946, an automobile of any kind was almost impossible to get unless you had a lot of surplus cash to pass under the table in return for a favored smile from the owner of a car dealership.

No new civilian cars had been built since 1942, and practically everything that had been on the road during that time had seen its best days. There was an occasional surplus jeep around, but not enough to satisfy every young man's desire for wheels. So a lot of people cranked up some of their old junk and put it on the market, to make a quick buck.

Since there was no way to get a 1928 Chevrolet across the USA, I had to abandon it to the tender mercies of Southern California. I think my friend and I received $34 for it, which we split 50-50.

When I came home to Hertford County, I was forced to "thumb" quite a bit, and this means of transportation didn't serve well at all for a young fellow who was interested in making the acquaintanceship of some newly maturing young women. I really needed some rolling stock.

I found it in a farmer's front yard out on the road toward Conway. It was a 1931 Model A Ford Coupe, with a "rumble seat" and a "for-sale" sign ~ that would crank and run satisfactorily if you didn't go any further from home than you could comfortably walk back when it temporarily quit for any of a number of reasons.

It served my purposes. My mistake was in thinking it might serve the purposes of my kid brother Stanley also. He was just turning 16, and had been issued a "lifetime" driver's license by the State of NC.

"Can I borrow it?" asked Stanley. "Sure," said magnanimous me, "just be mighty careful with it."

So Stanley took the keys and promptly parked my '31 Model A in a concrete culvert, with the chassis just forward of center resting on the edge and the front wheels spinning in thin air.

(Now, Henry Ford built the Model T for a long time ~ so many years, in fact, that he became pretty good at it because he never changed anything on it. The "T" was a good car, but by 1928 it had been completely bypassed in the road races by such vehicles as Willys Whippets and Chevys for the common folk and Buicks, Packards and European makes for the upper classes.

(When Henry quit making the "T" model and put the paint on his '31 "A" model, it covered a lot of mechanical faults, both under the hood and under the fenders. One of the starkest mistakes was to hook the entire rolling and steering portion of the front end to the underside of the chassis with one large pin.)

Stanley ~ not wanting me to know too quickly the precarious predicament of my vehicle ~ ran for a friend with a tow truck. The two of them decided to wrap the tow-chain around the rear axle of the Model A and give it a quick, strong snatch to get it out of the culvert.

Well, they did, and the body, chassis and the rear undercarriage of the Model A was successfully pulled into the street. But Henry Ford's big front-end pin snapped in half right in its coupling, and the front wheels and most of the steering mechanism stayed in the concrete ditch.

I looked at that rumble seat, jacked up in the air on those two back wheels with the radiator-end sitting flat on the dirt roadway.

And I knew that all my dreams of winning girls and influencing them with that vehicle were now parked in that stone-sided ravine, along with the front wheels and the remnants of the steering rods.

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FOUND IN AN OLD NEWSPAPER

The following news article was discovered by researcher/historian
Neil Baker in the Windsor Ledger for April 6, 1899
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TOMBSTONES OF STRANGERS

In the small skirt of woods just out of the corporate limits in what is known as "the park," there are two tombstones that mark the resting place of strangers who died in our county. We copy the inscriptions:

In memory of Wm. S. Loenard,
who was born in Bridgewater Mass.
April 22, 1794.
Died Aug. 15, 1825.

Far from my native land
My spirit wings its flight,
To dwell at God's right hand,
With angels fair and bright.

The square and compasses cut on the stone indicate that Mr. Loenard was a member of the Masonic fraternity.

The other tomb is marked as follows:

Latham Thurston
Born in Newport R.I.
Sep. 22, 1795
Died Aug. 29, 1832
in the 37th year of his age.

We have sent a marked copy of this article to the postmaster of each of these places and request them to communicate with the relatives of the persons who are buried here.

~

Clipping courtesy of Lawrence Memorial Library, Windsor, NC

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Certificate of Marriage, 1906

WHAT'S MY NAME?

Joe Pearce, Collingswood, New Jersey

When I wore young men's clothes, I had no interest in family history or in who my forefathers were. My grandmother and grandfather were divorced, or so I was told. My mother's mother, Anna Uselin, as far as I could remember had always lived with us. Her husband ~ my lovable granddad Peter Uselin ~ lived in Washington DC. Every year or so we went to Washington to visit granddad and I had a good time. Life was good for a child who was self-centered and had no interest in discovering family history.

My granddad Uselin passed away while I was in the Navy. A few years after I received my honorable discharge my parents retired to Florida. They were downsizing, and it was time to clean the house. I could have a lot of things. If I didn't want the stuff, it was going in the trash pile.

One of the first things I got was a large piece of old rolled-up paper. When I opened it I found a beautiful marriage certificate, which showed that Peter William Uslin and Anna Mary Stretz were married in Philadelphia PA on Valentine's Day in 1906. I also found an old shaving mug with the name Uslin. I asked my mother why the name was "Uslin" and not "Uselin," and this was her story.

Granddad Pete's father came from Switzerland, as shown on old census records. My mother said he was one of four brothers, all born in the 1880s. Their mother died, and their father put them in an orphanage so he could join a wagon train west. He was going to find a better life and send for the boys later, but no one ever heard from him again.

The boys hated the orphanage and ran away. Jake and Lee changed their last name to Miller, so they could blend in. Lou and my granddad Pete chose the last name of "Uslin" because it sounded something like the old family name. Jake went off to Ohio and Lee settled in Reading PA. Lou and Pete stayed in the Philadelphia area. Pete didn't like the name "Uslin," so he added an "e" and it became Uselin. My next question was what was the real name, but no one had that answer.

Now I am interested in family history, and I have some family lines traced back to the 1600s. But I am at a dead end on the real last name of my granddad Pete. Under the name "Uselin" in the Social Security death index at the Mormon web site, I find one hit ~ my granddad's only son Joseph who never married. When I type in the name "Uslin," I get four names. My great-uncle Jake was born in 1888 and died in 1963 in Ohio. Great-uncle Lewis was born in 1883 and died in 1967 in Pennsylvania. Louis has no birth date. He died in 1959 in Pennsylvania. The fourth name is a William Uslin, who was born in 1963 and passed away in 1999 in Pennsylvania. For years now I have been looking in vain for an answer. Maybe some day I will know the correct last name of my granddad Pete.

When he died, his name was listed as William Peter Uselin. I found out that he had another daughter from a second marriage in Washington DC. This youngest daughter, Esther, used to hold her nose and call her father "PU." Pete didn't like that, so he switched his name around to become William Peter.

(Joe Pearce's other granddad, Arthur Dolly Pearce, also was born in the 1880s.
He spent much of his life in Bertie and Gates counties.)

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TALKING ABOUT OLD TIMES

Doris Holloman Parker, Ahoskie

It is with much pleasure that I read The Poor Town News. I enjoy all the stories and can remember so well the places you talk about.

I was surprised to see a story by an old friend, Roselind Holloman Steele (in No. 56). We went to school together, and if I remember correctly, I think my mom and her mom were some kin.

We moved from Ahoskie to Rocky Mount when I was three, but moved back when I was 10. I was at that time in the fifth grade. I met Roselind while in high school. I graduated in 1943. After graduation, I lost track of her and had not heard of her whereabouts until I saw her name in last week's Poor Town News and knew it had to be her.

I left for secretarial school after graduation. I met Dallas in 1946. He was just out of the Army. We were married in 1947 and I have lived all my life here. I have some good memories also, but seldom get the time to write them down. I will one day soon. I especially enjoyed the memories of Millennium, as Dallas was raised there. He always called it "Talky Town."

My dad, Roy Holloman, was a barber. He was born and raised at Hickory Chapel and Bethlehem.

We had lots of fun back then. I spent a lot of time in the summer with my aunt and uncle, Allie and Troy Dilday. I worked in the fields and "put in" tobacco ~ chopped whatever needed to be chopped ~ but I loved it. I started working at age 14. I worked at White's Dime Store, at the candy counter, and served many ice cream sandwiches etc.

We lived on Mitchell Street, one block from Main. We walked to school and church, as we were so close to it all. I did a lot of baby-sitting for the Whedbees. Our house was right behind them. Roselind lived only three blocks from us, and right at the school. Boy, that does go back a long time. We could reminisce all day. I am getting ready now to go see my mom, at the nursing home. She is 96 years old ~ will be 97 in May. I can get her cranked up sometimes and she still can tell you lots of things of long ago. We do have a good time talking about the old times.

I always look forward to the next Poor Town News to see what memories are there for us.

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This Week's Mailbox

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...... I really enjoyed the latest installment of The Poor Town News (No. 56) ...... I have heard my mom talk many times of the river emptying into the sound. She grew up mainly down at Tunis. What caused it? Nor'easter? Hurricane? ...... I once eMailed the weatherman at Channel 5 in Raleigh and he told me, in a disbelieving manner, that he did not know of a record of that ever happening ...... My mom has also told me that she saw a car drive across the Chowan during one severe winter when the river froze ...... All in all, a most enjoyable issue. ~ John Bracy, Ahoskie, North Carolina.

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...... I have changed my ISP and need to have my address changed to actionre@ahoskie.net. I really look forward to reading my Poor Town News ...... I grew up here. Thank you so much for the time and work you put into this ...... I sent this to a family that moved to Edenton from San Francisco in 1998, and now they are avid readers. Thank you again. ~ Henry Byrd, Action Realty Co., Ahoskie.

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...... A friend passed (The Poor Town News) along to me. It brought back memories. My father was born and raised in Perry Town, and had relatives in Ahoskie and Colerain. I was born and grew up in Elizabeth City ...... It was great. Thanks. ~ Fred Castellow, Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.

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...... Got back from Indiana just in time to read No. 56 (The Poor Town News). Very good. In fact, it just keeps getting better. Hope you and Becky have a good year, and keep up the good work ...... I am trying to thaw out from all the cold weather and snow that I was in. Thank the Lord for the South. ~ Joe Dickerson, Murfreesboro, North Carolina.

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...... You have done it again ...... (You have) included (in The Poor Town News No. 56) a poem I have been looking for, by Sarah N. Cleghorn ...... I had it years ago, but misplaced it. It is one of the most poignant pieces of literature I have ever read. Thank you. ~ Calvin Harrell, Effingham, South Carolina.

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...... I was checking (The Poor Town News No. 56) before I went to work. What a nice surprise. Now I know that there is someone else in California related to Uncle Will (W. O. Saunders, "The Independent Man") ...... I also have an aunt in California who is related to him. She is a niece (of W. O.), and lives in Quartz Hill, California. Many thanks. ~ Linda Sessor, Moyock, North Carolina.

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POOR RICHARD'S ALMANACK, 1734
Take this remark from Richard, poor and lame,
Whatever's begun in anger, ends in shame.
(Benjamin Franklin)

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