A young man approached his father and announced he was going to marry Rachel who lived in the next hollow; “You can’t marry up with that gal son”. replied his father. “Why not”, answered the young man. “Well son, your mother doesn’t know this, but Rachel is your half sister”.
The young man returned to his father a week later and again announced his intentions on marrying a young lady. “Since I can’t marry Rachel, I decided I’m going to marry Sadie who lives down the creek”. “Son”, his father said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, but once again, you can’t marry Sadie, she, too, is your half sister, but your mother knows nothing about any of this”.
In frustration the young man went to his mother and told her he just didn’t know what to do, because he was in some way kin to all the girls he spoke about with his father.
His mother told him, “Son, marry whomever you so desire, because your father doesn’t know it, but he is not your real father anyway”.
The Preacher and Chris Swapped Wives
Prior to opening this chapter of childhood encounters, I wish to recount a conversation between my wife and a teacher in the Dickson County Public Elementary Schools, the year, 1979.
My wife attended a P.T.A. meeting and in conversation with the teacher, was advised Dickson County led the state in cases of incest. Needless to say, my household was shocked when this information was revealed to us. However, when I went into the town, which was rare, I had noticed more of, what I would call, “retards” than I cared to see. One would have thought “Deliverance” (The Movie) had jumped off the silver screen and landed in Dickson, Tennessee. So, this information pretty well gave credence to my observations.
For some unexplainable reason I had decided to move from Nashville to Dickson County, retreating to a more rural setting, away from the frantic pace of urban dwelling. Supervision in “Network Facilities” at Bell Telephone was pressure enough. This routine of having to travel such an extended distance from home to work, work to home, and the constant unexpected “call outs” when problems developed in the communications facilities late at night, taught me a valuable lesson; my stay in Dickson County lasted only eighteen months. I moved back to Nashville.
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Living on the Maysville Road, (it was called the May Road in my childhood days) was an itinerate “Primitive Baptist” preacher. Down in one of the hollows off the Maysville Road, lived a Spanish American War Veteran, who was rumored to have charged San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders.
What I remember most of old Chris, the rough rider, was at the end of World War Two, when a motorized cycle called a “service cycle”, came on the scene.
Chris owned one of these contraptions; and the peculiar sound from the engine revealed who was coming off the May Hill whenever Chris was traveling through. This was also true of rattles on all motorized vehicles at this time. We could lay in the dark and identify who was passing in the night, by the distinct sound of their conveyance.
Chris would have both hands in a death grip on the handle bars, elbows bent, body straining forward, goggle covered eyes in a “tunnel vision” looking straight ahead without his head ever turning, even slightly. You could shout “HELLO” to Chris and he wouldn’t even turn his head or take a hand off the handlebars to wave. I remember once throwing a rock at him and hitting his backside with it and he never even slowed down. Of course later he told the spinster school teacher about my actions and I received a thrashing. Chris never did like me, the feeling was mutual.
Old Chris, as I have heard the story, awoke in the middle of the night and claimed he had a vision from the Lord. “He was told to trade wives with Roy, the Baptist Preacher”. Next morning, Chris walked with his wife over to the preacher’s house to fulfill the Lord‘s Command. He related to the preacher what the vision had commanded.
Old Roy, the preacher exclaimed, “Well, if the Lord told you that is what is to be done, then it is His will that we do it”, and they traded wives.
From information I could gather by listening, a group of the local citizens were going to Chris’ house to lynch him when a local constable on horseback rode up and told them they had better disperse and go home, which they did. This action saved the day for old Chris.
The woman who accompanied Chris home on that wife swapping day, was kin to a woman married to one of the unholy McClurkan Clan. This particular McClurkan was a distant cousin of my particular McClurkan bunch and not a whole lot of information was spoken above a whisper, at least not when I was within hearing distance.
There were people in the hills, hollows and surrounding communities who were “kinfolk” to me. I never knew, nor had any knowledge of the relationship until the last decade of the Twentieth Century. Some of these kinships I didn’t want to know about, however you can choose your friends, but you cannot choose your kinfolk. About the only thing I ever have had in common with my father’s side of the family was the surname.
I never knew anyone who associated with Old Chris except people the spinster school teacher talked bad about, which was normal with the matriarchal society of the crippled grandmother’s offspring. Many times the cripple grandmother would admonish her daughters, when they were congregated, and “bad mouthing” folks.
I rarely heard, if ever, any complimentary remark vocalized about anyone. I was told, not too long ago about a Sunday visit from one of the one room school teachers in another community. (There were four one room schools in the valley, “Tick Grove, Union Hollow, Edgewood and Wesley’s Chapel”.)
The Tick Grove teacher, on arriving, was greeted by the matriarchal society with all the accolades, warmth, affection and positive heartfelt embraces for which anyone could ever wish.
The teacher, Bud Gibbs brought another fellow with him on this particular visit and when they were departed Bud’s friend remarked, “My but they sure do make you feel welcome”, “I believe they were really glad to see us”. Bud Gibbs replied, “Yes, but when you leave you had better leave in a hurry or you will hear them talking about you”. That is what I’m doing here, getting a little revenge and ”talkin’ about ‘em”.
I liked Mr. Bud Gibbs, he had an old 1931 Chevrolet Roadster Car with a “rumble seat” in back and sometimes he would come by, load me in the rumble seat and take me for a short ride. My, that was the best treat a country boy could ever have.
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