This Week's Picture

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Starkey Sharpe Copeland in his
World War One uniform

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This Week's Story

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STARKEY'S STORY

By James D. Pearce

Starkey Copeland was my mother's oldest brother.

He had been in service in WWI, though not in any fighting, and after he got out of the army he landed a good job in Washington, D.C., with the General Accounting Office. He never married, maybe because of a bad scar on his face which my mother said he received when he fell into a fireplace as a child.

The combination of bachelorhood and a good government job served him well financially, and he was very generous and quick to help any members of his extended family who happened to be in need.

Of course a lot of them did need help in the '30s. He had at least 28 nieces and nephews, and he never forgot any of them on his frequent trips to Hertford and Bertie County.

He salvaged and repaired children's riding toys such as tricycles etc., and he would load his "machine" (which was what he always called his automobile) inside and out with them for distribution on his visits.

He also distributed nickels, but with the admonition that if we bought any bottles of "pop," we should only buy 7-Up, because everything else contained caffeine and he said that was bad for us.

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Uncle Starkey lived in an apartment at 912 M St. SE, Washington. Like him, his apartment was a bit odd, consisting of four rooms piled one on top of the other, with three flights of stairs.

The bottom room was the kitchen and dining room, the second-floor was the sitting room, the third-floor was the bedroom, and the top room was just for odds and ends, with which he was well supplied.

He was employed at the GAO for about 35 years, until they installed air conditioning in his workplace. When they closed the windows and cut on the chill, he took early retirement, vowing he "would never work another day in that d--- refrigerator."

He moved back to his native Hertford County and opened an "Antique Junque" shop down by the railroad in Ahoskie, and very quickly became the town character, living into his 90s.

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Frank Miller's Navy ~ 1917-19

Verse and photo from the scrapbook of Frank A. Miller, a World War One sailor,
courtesy of Ed Hill, principal of Garfield School, Collingswood, N.J.
Frank A. Miller was Ed Hill's grandfather.
~

THE OLD MAN SPEAKS

Our boy is on the job, you see,
ther greatest job, it 'pears ter me,
ther world hez ever saw begun ~
this job o' makin' Wilhelm run.
You see, it kinder vexed me some
when he refused ter stay ter home
an' laid aside his vest and coat
ter wear er blouse and scrub er boat.

I couldn't help but think t'wuz low ~
but that wuz most five years ago,
an' times an' things air changed erbout,
till now his job's ther greatest out;
an' tother day he writ ter me
his job ain't what it uster be.
He's left off scrubbing decks, you know,
an' tinkers with er dynamo.

From what I've read it's worse'n shot
an' lectrocutes right on ther spot.
My, wouldn't I be glad ter kill
ef he could turn that thing on (Kaiser) Bill!

Sometimes when letters frum ther kid
come fur erpart ~ ez twice they did ~
we know that he is off fer France
an' livin' in ther hands of chance.
An' Ma ~ her step grows slow an' weak,
an' tears go trickling down her cheek,
but I say (I'm no sniveling blob),
"Cheer up! He's holding down ther job."
~
(Mrs. C. M. Harrington)

~

Signals from World War One

Frank A. Miller, third signalman from left, was Ed Hill's granddad.

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THE WAR PRAYER
By Mark Twain
Written at the time of the Spanish-American War,
with heavy fighting in the Philippines

It was a time of great and exalting excitement.

The country was up in arms, the war was on. In every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism ~ the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering.

On every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while.

In the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.

It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half-dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came ~ next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams ~ visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation:

God the all-terrible!   Thou who ordainest!   Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory ~

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there waiting.

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, "Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside ~ which the startled minister did ~ and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

"I come from the Throne ~ bearing a message from Almighty God!"

The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import ~ that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of ~ except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two ~ one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this ~ keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware, lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer ~ the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it ~ that part which the pastor ~ and also you in your hearts ~ fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory ~ must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle ~ be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it ~ for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen."

After a pause: "Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!"

~

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

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This Week's Mailbox

In the interests of everyone's privacy, only the letter-writer's name
and general location will be used here ~ unless the addition
of an URL or an address is approved by the writer

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...... Your pieces on the Pierces (in the Civil War) have been great. Thanks. I was wondering if you have a web site that I could link to from the NC Union Volunteers web site. I know visitors to the NCUV web site would thoroughly enjoy what you have done with the documents etc. ~ John McGowan, North Carolina.   North Carolina Union Volunteers

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...... Have read most all your Poor Town News issues ...... Have been consumed of late. Tomorrow we're off to Africa, via London. Arrangements were made a year ago, so expected some anti-American feelings. Have always chalked it up to a "biting the hand that feeds you" attitude and ignored it ...... But this time it is different. It is the David and Goliath syndrome. The mighty and powerful do not have to show their muscle ...... Anyhow, upon our return, I do want to write for The Poor Town News about the time the water blew out of the Chowan (at Colerain). It was in March, and it was not a hurricane ...... Will be back in touch come May ...... Am appreciating for you the obvious success of your "News." Keep up the good work. ~ Ronney Holloman Steele, North Carolina.

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...... Your paper is a total joy to read ...... My father was born in Gates County NC and I have heard some of the names that you have mentioned. His name was John Arthur Perry. He was born on the Sand Banks road. If you know anything about his family I would like to know ...... His parents were William John Perry (1854-1930) and Sally Geneva Powell (1875-1929) ...... William John's parents were James Thomas Perry (1824-1899) and Nancy Marie Clark. They married Jan. 17, 1851 ...... My grandparents are buried at Cool Spring Cemetery in Gates, and also my Dad's brother Roy. I am kin to the Harrells (Dad's sister Annie Mary) who ran the Harrell's Market in Eure ...... Dad's other sister, Berta, married Jim Eure who used to be the jailer in Winton ...... Dad's brother, Willie Perry, was a tobacco farmer and lived (near) Hickory Chapel. Another brother, Woodrow Perry, worked for Seaboard Airline Railroad and lived in Franklin, Virginia. Another sister, Lizie Marie Perry, married Franklin Harrell ...... Moody Perry was my father's cousin and lived with us a while when I was little ...... I (am enclosing) two eMail addresses for friends who would like to be on your mailing list ...... Thanks a bunch and keep up the good work. I am enjoying it the most and am gleaning all I can for my tree. ~ Gloria Perry Scarano, Virginia.

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...... Thanks again for another fine story (The Poor Town News No. 65) ...... The more things change, the more they stay the same ...... "red tape" then and now ...... government as usual. ~ Norma Scott, Florida.

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...... Wow, what a labor of love your "Letters from James" has been. If there was any "fictionalizing of facts" or addenda, you so skillfully interwove the material that I couldn't detect it (which may not be saying much). At any rate, thanks for a most enjoyable read! What's next? ...... By the way, how about a recent photo of the authors, JaBeck Pearce? We readers don't have a book cover with you on it, after all. ~ Ron Lupton, Colorado.