Aunt Dee

The following is a poem I wrote about my great aunt, Dora Elizabeth Biddix Williams, affectionately known as Aunt Dee.  Dee was born June 26, 1919 to Robert Marion and Melissa Ardella Lowery Biddix in the Altapass community of North Carolina.  She developed cancer (lymphoma, I believe) and the battle was rough.  One night, my mother and I went to the hospital in Asheville to see her.  Her husband, Jack was with her and she had already lost her hair - the ravages of the beast of cancer had taken its' toll on her body.  She still sat and talked to us... asking questions about US!  In the middle of the biggest fight of her life, she was concerned with us.

I can't count all the visits I had with Aunt Dee but that one night in her life left an indelible impression on my life and I will never forget it.  I was in my early 20's and there weren't enough seats in the hospital room for Jack, Dee, Mom and I so I sat in the floor at her feet.  She gave me her recipe for peanut butter pie that evening and told me it was really easy and I should make one.  Aunt Dee was famous - at least in our circles - for her peanut butter pie.

During the visit, it began to storm.  Lightning streaks and booming thunder that we could hear in her hospital room.  We watched the rain pour down the window.  As mom and I got ready to leave, she said, "well, children... it's mighty bad out there and y'all have to drive home.  Let's have a word of prayer.  She led us in prayer.  SHE led.  In the middle of pain... most likely dying... hair gone... in a sterile hospital room... Aunt Dee prayed... for all of us.  She prayed for our travels... for safety... for the needs of others... so many needs that she brought before the Lord.

I have no idea how many times I had heard her pray but that one prayer still sends chill bumps down my spine.  Dee went to church... Dee knew ABOUT religion... but it was way more than that.  Dee KNEW God.  She talked to him like He was a friend.  It's because He was.  He was the dearest friend she had.  She talked to Him about everything and even in death, there was no more rational a response than to "have a word of prayer."  It was deeply embedded in who she was as a woman.

That was the last time I ever heard her pray and that was the last time I saw her alive.  Some folks believe she lost her battle with cancer on February 29, 1992.  I believe that there was no greater rejoicing than the day she received victory over cancer... over loss... over heartbreak... over death... the day that she met her dearest friend face to face.  I cannot even fathom the shouting she did on that side of glory!  I wonder if she accidentally caught herself saying, "now children" to the angels.  Some time after she went home, I sat down and reflected on that day in her hospital room and I wrote these words... they were intended to be a song and someday, that may happen.  For now, it is the greatest gift I can give to her legacy and memory... except for the day that I enter heaven and say, "now children.... WHERE is my Aunt Dee?!?!?!?"  I imagine on that day that, "children, let's have a word of prayer" will be replaced with talking face to face with HIM.  I cannot even imagine!

Sitting in a little chair
I can see her sitting there
A linen wrap that covered up
What used to be her hair
She knew her days were numbered
Her smile reflected pain
But in her eyes, pain could not disguise
The peace she had inside
As she said...

Children, let's have prayer
Let's come before the throne
Lord, we need you now
This day has been so long
Give us rest this night
and guide us with Your light
Lord, help us bless some other soul
For it's all to you we owe

I'd heard it for so many years
Those words upon her lips
Uttered from that chubby frame
With an apron 'round her hips
She always called us "children"
Though we weren't all by blood
But we knew that when she prayed for us
We could feel that cleansing flood

Many years have come and gone
Her memory still lived on
We talk about the meals we ate
In her modest little home
The pictures lining every wall
In the living room and hall
But the legacy of prayer she left
Is still embedded in us all

Mee Maw Talking About Her Father, Marion Robert Biddix

The following is from an interview on October 3, 2003 that began at 8:06pm.  My grandmother, Marion Ardella Biddix Hall (born 1927) was talking about her father, Marion Robert Biddix.

Papa (Marion Robert Biddix) wasn't old enough to be hired on the railroad as a hired hand when it was coming through Altapass so he carried water to the working men.  He worked his way up to Section Foreman and was over a crew.

Papa drove a rail car and smoked "the gentleman's tobacco" (my note:  I believe this was Prince Albert Tobacco in the can).  He had a telephone down the rail line that they would call him on every morning to tell him what time the train would be coming so he could be off the tracks.  Papa worked on the railroad from the time I was born and we lived in the railroad house the whole time I was home.  The railroad decided it was costing too much money to keep the houses up and pay the taxes so they tore them down - the section foreman's house (our house), lineman's house, boarding house and a brick house.

The brick house was for the night crew workers.  Joe Fouch lived there and my brother, Carter, worked with him.  The train would come in and the crew would spend the night in the boarding house.

Joe and Carter would keep the engine "hostled up" (fired up) since it was cool and to keep it ready.

The night Joe was shot in the depot, Mr. White was on duty.  Carl Letterman was the depot agent.  Neither Carl nor Joe were supposed to be there.  Joe had given me an orange earlier that night so I think it must have been around Christmas time.

Joe and Carl had been at odds because Carl said Joe had buried dead goats near the reservoir for the boarding house.  They were both in the depot and got into it and Joe cut Carl's throat.  Then Carl shot and killed Joe.

Carl said it was self-defense in the trial and he never served time.  Carl's wife rushed him to the Marion hospital where he had to have blood.  He lived.  That was the first murder I remember.

The night Joe was killed was also the night the diesel engine rolled into Altapass.  I remember going out to see the engine for the first time.

When they had the shooting, Joe's wife came running to see what was happening and nearly got hit by the train while running across the tracks.  It might have been the diesel train that she ran in front of.

50 Years!

Everyone needs cheerleaders...
the ones who are always in your corner...
encouraging you along the journey of life...

I have many.  My great aunt, Barbara Hall Allen is one of them.

When I think about my life, the ups and downs, Aunt Barb has been there for every one of them.
When I said goodbye to people I loved, she was there.
When I said, "I do" to the man God planned for me, she was there.
On my wedding day, my "something borrowed" was her strand of pearls.  I wore them close to my heart, and touched my neck every so often to make sure I didn't lose them.

As we journeyed along life, we took some twists and turns.  During one season, we were foster parents and always had a revolving door of kiddos in our home.  Many times, I would get a card in the mail with a check or I would see her out somewhere in town and she would slip a few dollars in my hand.  I would protest and she would say, "Charles and I support missions, and helping raise other peoples children is a BIG mission."  Their dollars, at any given time, bought clothes, school supplies, a meal at a restaurant, or a yearbook for children who would only be with us a short time and who would never know who Aunt Barb and Uncle Charles were.  They invested in children they didn't even know.  Everyone needs a cheerleader like that.

Charles and Barb celebrated 50 years of marriage and today, family and friends were invited to be a part of the celebration of that day.  The room resonated with the stories of the many lives they had touched... stories of people who, like me, had gotten a card in the mail or some encouragement as they traveled along their own journey.  What an honor it is to be a part of their lives and to have been a part of this day.  I have cried at the tenderness shared and laughed until I cried at the funny parts of their story.

At the end of the day, the big party is over, the food has been eaten, and the guests have gone home.  I sit here in the quiet of the evening, reflecting on this day and the years of memories with Charles and Barb.

I hope that, more than reflecting on a day, I can be a small reflection of the woman Aunt Barb is.  She is one of my biggest cheerleaders.  She exemplifies the Titus 2 woman and the Proverbs 31 woman rolled into one.  She is there, and in being "there" for all the moments of my life, she is quietly cheering me on to follow Jesus more closely and to be a better wife and mom.  She is there to tell me when I do a good job, to pray for me, and to make me want to set my sights a little higher than they are.  To be more.  To do more.  To love more.  Everyone needs a cheerleader like that.

Alexander Lowery (1831-1862)

Alexander was my great-great-great grandfather. Alexander was born in 1831 in Yancey County, North Carolina.

 

It is important to note that Mitchell County was not formed until 1861 so there are no "Mitchell County" residents prior to that day although they may have actually been in the Spruce Pine or Grassy Creek areas.  Mitchell County was carved out of Yancey, Watauga, Caldwell, Burke and McDowell counties.

 

Alexander was the son of James Lowery (1800-1860) and Barbara ? (1791-?)

 

James Lowery was the son of Alexander Lourie (1745-1840). I have not been able to locate the mother of James.

 

The first Alexander Lourie hailed from Dumdries-shire, Scotland and died in 1840 in McDowell County, North Carolina.

 

But... back to our Alexander Lowery (1831).  He married Rachel Louise McKinney Deweese on November 8, 1850. She was 34 and he was 19. Rachel was the daughter of Charles "Charlie 40" McKinney and Elizabeth Lowery.

 

Saying "I do" garnered Alexander a ready made family as Rachel had been married to Lewis Deweese and they had three children together:

Elizabeth Jane (b. June 20, 1837)(married Daniel Moses Washburn)

Nancy (b. February 2, 1842)(married William A Buchanan)

Mary (b. January 9, 1844)(married France Biddix)

 

After marrying, Alexander and Rachel have five children:

Elmira (b. 1852)(married Jesse Wilburn Biddix)

Aletha (b. 1854)(married Isaac Abram McGee)

Samuel Alexander (b. January 2, 1857)(married 1. Laura Loven 2. Mary Elizabeth Chapman) Beunavista (b. 1858)(married Joseph Todd McKinney)
John Fleming (b. September 28, 1960)(married Sarah Jane McKinney)

Samuel Lowery is highlighted because I am his descendent with his first wife Laura Loven.

In 1860, the Census takers came to McDowell County and Alexander Lowery is listed as a farmer and is 28 years old. Rachel is listed as being 36 years of age. The remainder of the household is listed as:
Barbary - age 7
Samuel - age 3
Buanevista - 2
Nancy Deen - 18
Mary Deen - 14

I assume that one of the girls either had a middle name of Barbary or this was a nickname. It is most probably Elmira as the ages would match. Nancy and Mary are the Deweese girls and it is important to note that spelling was not very accurate in those early Census records. I assume that Elizabeth Jane, at an age of 23, is already married and in another household. I am unsure about Aletha and believe that Rachel must have been pregnant with John Fleming.

On March 11, 1862, Alexander enlisted as a Private in the Confederate Troops. He lists his occupation as "farmer" and his age as 31 years.

On April 15, 1862, he enters the Confederate Army out of Camp Mangum, Raleigh in Company A of the 49th Infantry Regiment North Carolina. He marched under the Battle Flag of the 49th. The Battle Flag would eventually be captured at the Battle of the Crater.

On July 1, 1862 the 49th fought in the Battle of Malvern Hill, Virginia. The battle was bloody. The Union troops had cut down the trees around Malvern Hill and had a clear view of Robert E. Lee's troops. The swampy land below the hill slowed down the Confederates and they were beaten badly. More than 5,000 men died as a result of that day of intense fighting. Currier and Ives depicted that battle in one of their pieces of art but the idealic painting certainly fails in depicting the enormous amount of blood shed on that day.

Alexander Lowery was one of the gravely wounded in that battle. He was taken to the St. Charles Hospital (also known as General Hospital #8) in Richmond, Virginia and he would die there on July 6, 1862. He was buried in the Hollywood Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia.

The beloved Son of the South, Robert E. Lee once said, "It is well that war is so terrible, lest we should grow too fond of it." The Civil War stands out as one such war.

There is much debate as to the real cost of this war and the results of the bloodshed. In my studying, I have come to firmly believe that most events are directly tied to money and there were many financial reasons to start a war. There were many reasons for states to succeed from the Union.  Countless books have been written on the real causes of the Civil War and the basic premise is that there were reasons for the South to succeed and there were reasons for the government to force them to stay.

There are many valid reasons for states to succeed today and in 2013, several states have filed petitions to do just that. Rather than argue the reasons for succession, I shall instead go back to the quote from General Lee and wonder what the coming generation will believe about War. I know of the major conflicts... American Revolution, Civil War, two World Wars, the Korean War and the Vietnam War.

I teach my children about those crucial times in the history of our nation but they view war very differently than I do.  My children were very young when planes hit our buildings on September 11, 2001. They have not since known a time when we were not "at war" in either Afghanistan or Iraq.

War is complicated.
        There is always a political agenda of some sort.
                          There is always a money trail.
                                           There is always blood shed.

It is my hope that we would never take for granted the fact that "war is so terrible" and that we would never "grow too fond of it." Nevertheless, there will always be causes worth fighting for. There will be tyrants to take down. There will always be people who need to be saved at the risk of spilling our own blood. As long as those things remain, there will always be people like Alexander Lowery and the nearly 620,000 men like him who rise to the challenge and fought in a "civil" war that was not so very civil at all.   May we never take for granted that the soil we freely walk on was never free. It is drenched with the blood of men like my grandfathers, uncles, and cousins. It was never free and we would be wise to recognize that.

Mary and Martha Biddix

Two of the babies born to Melissa Ardella and Robert Marion Biddix were twins.

Ma and Papa would have two sets of twins, Mary and Martha as well as Carter and Sam.
The following came from an interview with my grandmother, Marion Ardella Biddix Hall and was from stories she had been told by her Mama:

"Martha lived for about an hour and Mary lived about four days. I don't know what was wrong with them - whether they were premature or what. Mama had a little gray gown my Grandmaw Biddix had made for one of the twins. It was straight and had red binding around the neck. I don't know what they were buried in but Mama kept that gown in the trunk."

Both are buried in the same grave and with the same stone at McKinney Gap Cemetary on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Granny, Piano Music, Floyd Cramer and Bonnie Tyler

I come from a long line of musicians. The heritage of being a mountain girl is one of life played out to the pickin' of a guitar, banjo or fiddle. Attending the Biddix family reunions meant two things... there would be great food and there would be music! Great uncles Graham, Ralph and Carter would pull out the instruments and the music would commence.... country, gospel, bluegrass, folk songs... they could play anything.

The Forbes/Burleson family was another story. The long-standing joke of my Daddy's has been that the only thing they played was the radio and even it had static! In the midst of that was my grandmother, Elsie Marie Burleson Forbes and her love for piano music... particularly that of Floyd Cramer.

Granny Elsie died when she was 48 and I was three. I do not remember her and yet her dream lives on in me. You see, she wanted her grandaughter to play piano! My dad talked about her love for beautiful piano music and how she would sit and listen to Floyd Cramer playing in her living room on 33 1/3 vinyl record albums on a console stereo. Years after her death, those records would become some of my most cherished memories.

Our living room was a "formal" room with 1970's gold shag carpet, real lined gold drapes, orange and gold floral furniture, a console stereo and tall piano like you might find in a honky tonk! If you were "company" you could go in the living room. I could also go in there to practice piano but it was not a place to just play or hang out. The rare, fun and cherished memories are when we would go in there to sit, as a family, and dad would take the flower arrangement, what-nots, and lace linens off that big console. He would slide the two doors on the front, revealing the speakers and he would play those big dusty records for us. It was there that I too, fell in love with Floyd Cramer as the melody of "Last Date" or "San Antonio Rose" would play through the white noise, scratches and pops of the old record!

It was on that big old piano that I would sit and practice... sometimes voluntarily and sometimes forced, as I would work on my lesson practice for the week. For years, my grandmothers dream seemed it would never come true as I stayed in Book One year after year after long, laborious, and boring year.

With Floyd Cramer in the back of my head, my desire to play... I mean REALLY play... took flight.

For months, I played "Bill Grogan's Goat (wump wump wump wump) was feeling fine (bong bong bong bong) ate three red shirts (wank wank wank wank) right off the line (wump bong wank plunk)" and with each passing note I grew to detest - no HATE - Bill Grogan and his stupid goat. I did not want to play Bill Grogan's Goat and knew the piano held more than those boring notes!

It was then that the voice of Bonnie Tyler entered my little world. The year was 1978 and I was seven years old. "It's a Heartache" hit the radio and I HAD to learn to play! Bill Grogan would have to wait on verse two to find out what happened to his goat because I had to master the piano part of "It's a Heartache" and needed to figure out how to make my seven year old voice sound like Bonnie Tyler and that raspy pack-a-day sound that she had. I practiced and I sang and I played and I listened to her song over and over and over again. Finally, I got it right.

My piano teacher shook her head as week after week, I just could not master the Bill Grogan piece. Finally, I shared, with splendor and excitement, Bonnie Tyler. To my dismay, she was not impressed and informed me that my only heartache was the waste of time and money because I would not play what was on the page. Sigh..... It comes as no surprise that I was eventually kicked out of piano lessons and never made it out of Book Two. I have no idea how much money was spent on those futile lessons.

A wonderful lady came into my life in ninth grade. She had a Bonnie Tyler voice and her studio was filled with smoke as she taught lessons. She was a fiery older woman and had taught at Julliard in her younger years. An amazing talent who asked me to play for her as she stuck a piece of music in front of me. I fumbled my way through some obscure classical piece and just knew that she would not take on a student like me. Then she pulled the music away and said, "now play what you want to play" and so I did... the music in my head rather than the stuffy sheet music on the piano. When I stopped playing, she took a long drag on her cigarette and said, "to play by ear is a gift from God. I can work with that. Yes, I will teach your girl." Sooo.... week after week, mom took me to her little studio in Simpsonville, SC and paid her and week after week, she worked on a little musical interpretation, notes, fundamentals and theory and a LOT on ear, chords, progressions, keys and hearing. She agreed to forego the stuffy recitals if I would play in church and so I began playing for our services.

After some time, she said she had taught me enough for a while and that I needed to work on what I had learned. She said that at some point, I would want to learn more and that as I progressed more, I would know what it was that I wanted to learn. Many years later I went back to her studio and it was there no more.... another little shop had taken its place. I cannot remember her name but am forever indebted to her for affirming that I would not be a colossal loser because Bill Grogan's Goat was problematic but that God has given me a gift that needed to be nurtured.

Today, I still play in church and love to sit down and play something I just heard on the radio. The old piano still looks like it could be in a honky tonk somewhere, but instead, my childhood piano sits in my formal living room where my little girl plunks out notes. I think Granny Elsie would be proud and even though I don't sound like Floyd Cramer, I think she would like what I play. I also think she would be happy that I have some Floyd Cramer on my iPod... with a little Bonnie Tyler mixed in!

Sisters

Mee Maw had 12 brothers and sisters but the funniest relationship was the one between her and sisters Dee and Geneva.

Mee Maw was quiet and reserved. She didn't talk a lot at church or around people that she didn't really know. She was a minimalist.... loved the look of crisp white curtains against a white uncluttered wall... sparse furnishings and not much in the way of clutter. Dee and Gen were polar opposites.

Dee was chatty and the matriarch of our family. When Dee spoke, you listened and if you knew what was best for you, you did what she told you to! Her house was always full of people and children to the point that she lost track of who she was talking to. If she looked in your general direction and hollered, you had best come running... even if she had no idea who you were and went through the list: "Diane, Venita, Joan, Sharon, Carolyn, Sylvia".... "uh, Dee, my name is Melanie" to which she would respond, "you know who you are, now come here!" I think there were so many people in her house that she probably forgot which kids were her own and which ones had been there so long or so often that they just took up residence!

Dee always wore an apron and I don't know that I ever saw her without one. I suppose that is because she was usually in the kitchen and was famous for her strawberry-rhubarb pies and the BEST peanut butter pies ever! Campmeeting rolled around every summer and Jack would drive her to the dining hall where she would start handing pie after pie to be taken to the kitchen for the evening meal. If there was a piece left when you got through the line, you were in for a real treat! The one non-treat in her kitchen was pickled beans and corn! YUCK!!! And quite a surprise if you were expecting regular beans and corn!!! I was a child when I bit into that concoction. There was a traveling evangelist at her table for dinner that day and I KNEW better than to spit it out! I chose my veggies very carefully after that in the off chance that something might be pickled!

Where Mee Maw was quiet in church, Aunt Dee was a shouter! When the Holy Spirit moved her, she would begin to cry and then she would start to testify! That would lead to walking and I can remember her walking the floors and shouting... giving thanks to the God who had carried her through. She had a faith that was real and a joy in the Lord that was electric. I can imagine her shouting in heaven now... and probably calling the angels by the wrong name as she goes through the list until she gets it right!

Geneva was also a collector. Gen kept stuff that she might need someday.... 100 green plastic containers that strawberries came in "just in case".... snuff cans that might be useful someday...funny stuff that made her little eclectic home a neat place to be!

Mee Maw never fueled my interest in genealogy because she just wasn't that interested. She wasn't big on dates and didn't have many pictures in her house. Family history was just never a passion of hers. My great aunt Geneva, however, was a different story! Aunt Gen forgot more in her life than I will ever know about my family. Where Mee Maw didn't care and Dee would forget the names, Geneva could tell you who you were, what date you were born on and what day of the week that was.... "Little Mel, you were born on Saint Patricks Day 1971, the 17th of March, that was a Wednesday... Wednesday's child is full of woe"... she just knew the details about all of us... and there were a LOT! She could tell you who you were related to for generations, stories about the past, who we looked or acted like, and details that everyone else forgot! Walking through the cemetery at "decoration" was an education if Geneva were with you because she brought life back to the ancestors and she kept their stories alive. I think that is why I write the stories down. Geneva never did and the stories and people are too precious to not leave that legacy for the generations that follow. We come from good people... hard workers... honest people with character... and our children need to know that... it gives them something to work toward.

What Gen failed to write down, she made up for in the treasured photos she left us with. Gen's first camera was a little Kodak Brownie and many of our precious and priceless family photos of the past were taken with that little camera. She spent a fortune making copies of other peoples pictures and amassed quite a collection of photographs from the past. Many of those we were able to scan and they live on today. Gen would have loved what we could do with scanners, digital cameras and computers! She loved pictures and she and Dee were quite a contrast to my Mee Maw. At Mee Maw's house, the living room was white walls with a framed piece of wall art over the couch. One wall had five pictures in stair step formation of her five daughters in descending age. For many many years, that was it! Dee's house was quite the contrast... there were so many pictures of family on her wall that I could not tell you what the living room walls were made of or even what color they were!

With the many differences, they were sisters at the heart of it. They argued, laughed, remembered, lived, grew up, and shared. They were different enough to be unique but alike enough to have a bond that lasted until they began to, one by one, make their journey home. I like to think that their eternity is filled with laughter and remembering! I'm glad I was a part of that inner circle that got to watch their relationship!

Mee Maw with her sister Gen and daughters Rita, Elizabeth, and Joan