Emma (Thomas) Carvalho

Emma Thomas was born on 16 August 1894 somewhere in the San Joaquin Valley 

near Fresno, California.  

She was the 5th of 11 children. 

Her parents were Manuel Perreira Thomas and Maria Rosario Rodriques, 

both from Pico Island, Azores. 

Both parents immigrated in 1894.

The Thomas family worked hard

and became quite well off for immigrants.

Back row is: Amelia, Belle, Manuel Jr., Rose, Emma Front row: Grandma is holding Uncle Frank, then I think it is Lucy, then Grandpa is holding Alice. Elvira has not been born yet.

Emma was a serious child, and grew to be a serious adult. 

I rarely remember her laughing out loud. 

That is not to say she wasn't kind. 

She was, in her own quirky way.

She was a loving great-grandmother who doted on me, 

and I loved her dearly.

Emma with one of her sisters, always dressed so beautifully!

I think one reason Emma wasn't very happy

was because she was stuck in an arranged marriage 

with a man not of her choice.  

The story, as she told it to me, went like this:

Her father had hired a young man, 25 year old "JJ" Carvalho, 

to work on the ranch.  

Emma, at 15, was curious and friendly.  

One evening, she had gone to collect eggs and saw JJ in the barn, 

milking the cows.  

He said hello to her, 

and they began a conversation.  

It was all innocent, 

and she certainly was not romantically interested in the worker, 

who was 10 years her senior.

However, fate was to intervene.  

Her father happened by, heard them talking, 

and stormed into the barn.  

He grabbed Emma's arm and announced, 

"There will be no lovers here!"  

A few short days later, Emma and JJ were married! 

Later, I would find letters and postcards to each from former "friends" 

who perhaps they would have rather married.

I would also find in Emma's possession 

her marriage portrait,

with Grandpa torn off!

JJ and Emma at their wedding. Notice his tanned working hands.

Being stuck in a marriage he didn't want 

may have been what drove JJ to drink so heavily,

 there's no way of knowing now, 

but he did have a passion for drink. 

That didn't make for a happy marriage.  

In those days, however, the man was the boss, 

and Emma's job was to cook, clean, and do as her husband told her to do.  

She was a very strong woman,

who often worked right beside him on the ranch, 

which grew over time into a thriving business. 

Soon they produced apricots, walnuts, corn, wheat, and had a small dairy. 

That ranch, over the years, provided work for many Portuguese immigrant cousins!

In time, they had a family of their own to care for.

My Grandma Mary was the eldest, followed by my Uncle Alfred, and then my Aunt Alice.

Back row: Alfred, JJ. Front row: Mary, Alice, Emma

As was common in those days, families lived close together. 

My Grandmother Mary's property bordered her parents' property, 

so I spent a lot of time "out at the ranch" 

which meant running between the two places.  

Grandma taught me a lot of things; 

how to butcher and clean a chicken, 

how to milk a cow, 

how to dig for worms, 

how to process apricots with sulphur for drying, 

how to make Portuguese Sweet Bread, 

Portuguese Beans, 

Soupas, 

Vina de Olhos, 

and Cuerves. 

She also "let" me sweep the floors, scrub the tub, and help her wash dishes and clothes.  

Grandma did have a vicious sense of humor. I find myself smiling as I remember ...

I remember her always making me tie up my hair 

before washing clothes in her old wringer washer, 

which she'd drag out of the shed once a week.

 It looked a lot like this one:

If I forgot to tie up my long hair, 

I'd hear the story for the 100th time about  how 

"I knew a girl once who didn't tie up her hair. 

It got caught in the wringer and pulled all of her hair out of her head!"

That scared the snot out of me!

I'd run inside and tie up my hair!

She taught me the realities of living on a farm!

I guess I was about 5 or 6 years old.

My Grandma Mary and Grandma Emma and I were going to drive 

to a nearby town to visit Aunt Alice. 

I had been watching a nest of eggs hatch, 

and there was one egg left.

I could hear it pipping inside.

I begged to take it along.

Finally, both grandmas relented.

We wrapped the egg up in one of Grandpa JJ's old socks,

and I took it along in the car,

holding it carefully in my lap.

The egg hatched while the women were visiting,

and I had so much fun playing with the new fluffy chick.

I named it "Tardy."

I played with that chick every day.

A month or so later, 

I went back to Ma and Pa Cato's house (where I lived).

I then took a trip to visit my mother down south for a couple of months.

(It must have been summer vacation)

Upon returning and going "out to the ranch" to visit,

one of the first things I asked was, 

"Where's Tardy?"

Grandma Emma got a twinkle in her eye

and guffawed!

She looked me in the eye and then said, "Where's Tardy?"

"You want to know where Tardy is?  I'll show you, come on!"

I followed her out to the washing porch,

where she opened the big deep freeze and pointed to a package 

wrapped in white paper.

"There's Tardy! 

He's in there waiting for your Avô's dinner!"

I was shocked!

But I didn't cry.

It was just one of the important lessons you learn

when you grow up on a farm.

You don't name your food!

For years, there was no indoor plumbing out at the ranch.

When it was finally put in, people (including me) still used the outhouse

if we were working outdoors.

This was a real problem for me because Grandma had geese

and those suckers were MEAN!

I don't know if you've ever been around a flock of geese,

but they can be more frightening than a barking dog.

They hiss, and wave their wings, and they can stand up quite tall!

Whenever I needed to use the outhouse,

I'd have to go through the geese.

And in order to get back to the barn,

I'd have to go through them again.

Needless to say,

I spent a lot of time inside the old wooden outhouse,

coming up with escape plans.

To this day, I'm more afraid of geese than spiders!

Emma with my cousin, Vern Lee, my brother Mark, and Me on Christmas about 1956.

Little girls can get really dirty on a farm,

so every few days Grandma would tell me to go into the casinha,

where she would run hot water 

in the giant cast iron tub and I'd get a bath.

She would scrub me until I was red,

washing my face, hands, feet and legs,

at which point she'd soap up a washcloth and say,

"Here!  Wash your coo!"

Didn't take long to learn what my "coo" was!

Soon I'd hop out into a fluffy towel and get dressed,

just to get dirty all over again.

I still remember the scent of the soap . . .

Grandma always wore a dress.

I don't remember ever seeing her in pants, ever.

She wore a big white bib apron over her clothes when she was working.

When she dressed up, she always wore a pretty sparkly pin on her lapel.

My Grandmothers had always promised me I would inherit their jewelry.

When my Grandma Mary died, 

my uncle's wife hid away the best of grandmother's costume jewelry.

She told me what I saw in the drawers was all there was,

then after I left,

she sold it on Ebay.

I found the auctions and

I had a friend buy my grandmother's favorite pins and earrings for me

so I do have them and treasure them.

I have one for each of my granddaughters, 

when they get old enough to take care of them.

Emma and JJ's 50th Wedding Anniversary was a big event.

Friends and family came to help celebrate.

I have the guest book and I remember so many of those people...

they're all gone now.

JJ died when I was 8 years old.

It was a very sad time for me.

Grandma stayed out at the ranch,

and I'd go out and stay with her whenever I had the chance.

I'd wait and window and can still see her 55 Buick coming up the road.

That thing was like a tank! 

In fact, Grandma drove it until she was quite old.

And then, as often happens, there was an accident, 

which was not her fault.

One bad thing about living in the Valley is the tule fog.

It can be so thick that you literally have to roll the window down

and stick your head out the window

to be able to see the white line

Driving in tule fog!

Grandma was coming home from church one Sunday morning in heavy fog.

She stopped at the corner of Elder Avenue and 10th Avenue, 

opened her window, 

and listened. 

She saw nothing.

She heard nothing.

And so she turned left onto Elder.

She felt a bump - just a bump...

A guy on a chopper doing over 100 mph hit the front of the car.

He flew over the car and hit the only telephone pole within a great distance.

It killed him instantly.

It also caved under the front left wheel of the car,

and my Uncle refused to have it fixed.

He thought Grandma was too old to drive.

Boy that made her mad as a wet hen!

She insisted it wasn't her fault... and it wasn't.

A week or so later, 

I went out to the ranch.

I was worried about what she might be thinking.

She had, after all, killed someone.

I thought she might be depressed.

Aunt Alice said she wasn't talking much.

So I asked her, "Are you ok about the accident?"

Her response?

"That damned S.O.B. shouldn't have been going 100 miles per hour in the fog!"

I just had to laugh out loud!

That was Emma!

Here we are visiting a few weeks after the accident.

Emma, her great-granddaughter (me)

and her 3 great-GREAT-grandsons (my sons)

She was out digging weeds when we arrived.

The wrecked car is in the background to the left.

As Grandma Emma got older, 

she spent some time at Grandma Mary's house.

Grandma Mary had moved to Nipomo, over at the coast,

and the weather was easier on Grandma during the winters.

She spent time pulling weeds and working in the yard,

or cooking and cleaning.

She wasn't one for sitting around.

With my brother, Mark, who died that year in a plane crash.

As with all of my wonderful Grandparents,

it was a sad day for me when she died.

She lived to be nearly 94 years old,

a good, long life.

I often think about those carefree days out at the ranch

and wish I could return

to smell the cows,
to hear the meadowlarks in the early morning sunshine,

and to feel the hot dust wafting up between my bare toes

as I run out to play in the cornfields

or to look for kittens in the haystacks.

When my sons or I cook Portuguese food

if I close my eyes,

the fragrance works just like a time machine,

and I'm transported in an instant.

Life was good back then.
Growing up in the 50's in Hanford was good.

Wasn't it?

Yes, it surely was.

A simply precious time.

Growing up in Hanford, California in the 1950's

I was born in Hanford, California, a small town in the San Joaquin Valley on the 2nd day of August in 1952. I weighed 8 pounds 9 ounces. I was a healthy baby, but was born breach after a very difficult labor. My mother's name was Gloanna and my father's name was Marvin. She was 19 and he was but 17 when I was born. My mother named me Deborah Ann, and my name came from a movie star who was famous at the time, Deborah Kerr. The name Deborah means "bee" and the name Ann means "favored grace." I never really liked the name Deborah, but mom continues to call me that. Pa (Chap Cato) called me Debbie or Ann. Many friends call me Annie.

High school in the 60's was fun! We had mini skirts, bellbottoms and white lipstick, and we (literally) ironed our hair to straighten it. When I was in high school, all the girls were putting peroxide on their hair, then laying in the sun to give the hair highlights. I tried it and my hair turned bright orange. I was called "Rusty" for years and my ex-husband still calls me that. Then when I was living on a commune in the 90's, I was given another name. Having all these names can get confusing, and my gosh, my descendants will have a heck of a time tracing me!

Hanford was a wonderful place to grow up. Think Andy Griffith and "Mayberry" and that was Hanford in the 50's. Everybody knew everybody and nobody locked their doors. We went to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night and that Armona Methodist Church was the center of our community. It was filled with friends and relatives who had migrated from Missouri and Arkansas years earlier.

Hanford was created by the Southern Pacific Railroad and named for paymaster James Madison Hanford, an executive with the Southern Pacific Railroad. A small town, Hanford is located in the southern portion of the San Joaquin Valley near the San Joaquin and Kings Rivers. It's about 30 miles south of Fresno and 80 miles north of Bakersfield.

Hanford in 1877

Incorporated in 1891 and named the seat of Kings County two years later, this little town grew from a sleepy sheep camp to become a center for business and government while also maintaining its agricultural tradition in ranching, dairy farms, grapes, and cotton. My great grandfather JJ Carvalho first came from the Azore Islands to Hanford to work as a shepherd.

Hanford experienced a number of fires that devastated large areas. The need for fire protection was one of the reasons for incorporation in 1891. In that same year, an electrical generation plant opened bringing with it electric lights!

The Mussel Slough Tragedy


I remember passing a historical marker every Sunday on our way to church in Armona. Known locally as the Mussel Slough tragedy, an outbreak of gunfire in 1880, seven miles northwest of Hanford, California, brought to a head a long controversy between settlers on railroad lands and the Southern Pacific Company. In the end, seven men were killed.

In 1866, Congress voted to give the Southern Pacific Company a huge land grant in California to help subsidize a rail line. If the company met the terms and built the line, then it could sell the odd-numbered sections in the grant to cover costs. Southern Pacific encouraged settlement of the grant lands with promotional pamphlets that promised the land would eventually sell for $2.50 to $5.00 an acre, without additional charges for improvements. These prices were close enough to government rates to convince people to settle the arid Mussel Slough district beginning in the late 1860s. Within a few years the cooperative efforts of hundreds of families helped irrigate thousands of acres, and in 1880 the area boasted a population of four thousand people centered around the towns of Hanford, Grangeville, and Lemoore. By then, however, land ownership in the district was hotly contested.

In the mid-1870s, Southern Pacific stunned settlers by announcing that it would charge market value, $20 to $35 an acre, for homestead lands within the district. The prices were well above those stated in the pamphlets and above what the company charged in other areas. Hundreds of families who had already improved the land were told they could either pay the established prices or vacate. At first the settlers responded nonviolently by petitioning Congress to enact a law to force the railroads to sell the land at the government rate of $2.50 an acre. They also argued that the railroad should forfeit the land because it had violated its contract terms by not completing an agreed-upon rail line. When these efforts failed, six hundred Mussel Slough residents formed the Settlers' League on 12 April 1878. Although initially nonviolent, the league's approach shifted after Southern Pacific brought suit against settlers living on lands in odd-numbered sections. Beginning in November 1878, masked vigilantes rode through the district at night, intimidating residents who sided with the railroad.

Tensions peaked in spring 1880, when Southern Pacific brought suits of ejectment against twenty-three members of the Settlers' League. The league responded with heightened vigilance and posted warnings against the purchase of railroad lands. On 11 May 1880, Southern Pacific took advantage of the settlers' preoccupation with a league-sponsored picnic and sent the U.S. marshal Alonzo Poole, the land appraiser Walter Clark, and the residents Walter Crow and Mills Hartt to dispossess several settlers. The four met a group of league members in a wheat field near Hanford. Although the railroad men were heavily armed, they were severely outnumbered. Within minutes an argument erupted, followed by a sudden burst of gunfire. The source of the first shots was unclear, but in the end Hartt and five settlers were killed. Crow initially escaped but was caught and killed by an unknown gunman later in the day, thus bringing the death toll to seven. After the tragedy, tensions relaxed significantly. Some settlers purchased the lands they occupied, but many did not. In 1886 the Mussel Slough area was renamed Lucerne Valley. (From Dictionary of American History)

The Imperial Dynasty

The Imperial Dynasty family includes five generations of Chinese Americans. Front row from left: Sherrill Harris, Richard Wing (the restaurant's founder and an award-winning chef) and Arianne Wing. In back are Leilani Wing-Shimizu and Jennifer Wing. 

Photo from Tomas Ovalle/The Fresno Bee

Hanford is also known for "China Alley." I remember many dinners at the old China Cafe. We'd park in the alley and walk in, find a booth, and order some of the best Chinese food I've ever eaten!

And then, there was the more expensive and famous Imperial Dynasty Restaurant. This is a 100 year-old Chinatown which was preserved by Chef Wing's family. Many famous people, including US Presidents, Eisenhower and Truman, Mao Tse-Tung and Chiang Kai-shek have eaten here. Amtrak actually had a train that came in from both directions just so people could come to Hanford to dine! That restaurant made our tiny town of Hanford famous!

European monarchs dined there. Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek once sent ambassadors to try the famous escargot. Ronald Reagan ate there when he was governor of California.

One family ran the Imperial Dynasty Restaurant for an amazing 123 years!
Wing's grandfather opened up shop in the tiny city of Hanford's Chinatown in 1883, selling bowls of steaming noodles for five cents. Wing began cooking when he was six — peeling onions, washing bean sprouts and shelling shrimp.

Wing left Hanford during World War II to join the Army. And in 1945 he caught the attention of Gen. George C. Marshall, who asked Wing to accompany him to China as his personal chef.

"It was like a fantastic dream for me," Wing says. "Imagine for a humble Chinese cook to be offered this wonderful privilege to be assigned to the great five-star general."

That assignment also included being a food taster for Marshall, who was allergic to shellfish and strawberries. Wing tasted food from kitchens in Europe and Asia, where he carefully watched chefs and compiled his own recipes. During this service to Marshall, Wing also cooked for Presidents Roosevelt, Truman and Eisenhower.

When he returned to Hanford in 1958, his mission was to bring fine dining to California's rural San Joaquin Valley. He transformed his grandfather's noodle house into a five-star restaurant, decorating it with intricate jade carvings, and tasseled Chinese lanterns.

Wing's menu boasted Cornish game hen and poached salmon, with egg fu yung as the only obvious Chinese dish. Soon, the Imperial Dynasty attracted diners from all over the world to the cow town. A group of wealthy New York businessmen used to fly in once a month just for the escargot — a garlicky recipe Wing took years to perfect.

After so many years, Wing decided he was tired, and the fourth generation of Wings did not want to take over the restaurant business. So the Imperial Dynasty closed its doors for the last time. (From an article by Sasha Khokha)

* * *

I lived in Hanford with my maternal grandparents, Chap and Inez (Hall) Cato.

We lived on Ivy Street in Hanford in three different houses. The first home I remember was on Ivy Street between Douty and Irwin Streets. It was on the north side of the street and had a big front porch with steps going down to the sidewalk. We lived there only a short time. This is the house we lived in when I was kidnapped! (another story for another day)

The home I remember the most vividly was at 212 West Ivy Street, and was the home I loved. It was a white wooden house with a front porch and grey steps. My grandmother decorated the porch walls with begonias and geraniums, and we had a porch swing where we'd sit and watch as the neighbors walked past in the afternoons. We had a nice grassy front yard to play in and two giant sycamore trees to shade us. Our back yard was fenced, and there was a dovecote built on to the unattached garage by the folks who sold my grandfather the house. The west fence was shared with my great-grandparents, Ada and Benjamin Hall, and there was always something going on between those two yards, whether it was gardening, a barbecue dinner, or a sleep-out under the beautiful starry skies of the Valley.

One of the joys of my childhood was going to Superior Dairy with Grandma Carvalho to get a strawberry milkshake.  My grandparents sold their milk to the dairy, and I remember a big truck coming to pick up the fresh milk from Grandma. It was transported in aluminum cans. I remember them being about 3 feet high. 

This is a toy, but looks just like the milk truck that came around.

 Superior Dairy opened in about 1929 and was run by the same family for years. They were known for their generous helpings of excellent quality ice cream, and for their good service. 

It looked just like this when I was a child -  I'm 63 now.

 There's a certain clean cold smell when you walk into a place like this. It smells of sugar, of cold freshness, of rest from the harsh summer heat. In my days, we could still go in barefoot, and the icy floor felt so good after walking on the soft melting tar roads. It was a real treat, and I looked forward to returning as an adult, maybe to relive those old memories. 

But there's a truth in the saying, 'You can't go back.'

Sadly, when I visited Superior Dairy a few years ago, the current generation was not keeping up to the standards of their grandparents and parents. The ice cream coolers were dirty, the floors and booths were filthy, the bathrooms were gross, and the servers were frankly, quite rude. A shame, but this wonderful place is headed for failure if someone doesn't pick up the ball. I'd be surprised if it's still open. If it is open, they need to get online and read their own reviews because word gets around...

We knew all our neighbors in those days. Donny Avila was one of my best friends and playmates. He lived across the street with his mother and father. 

Donny was Portuguese.  We had that in common. I was half-Portuguese and my father's family was a member of the same Hanford Azorian community. Donny was the youngest of a large family and was a late-in-life child. He was adored by his loving mother, Edna. I was jealous that his mother loved him so much, because my mother was absent.  I used to tell my grandmother he was spoiled. He was very entertaining and as all boys that age, could be annoying as hell! I didn't know anyone that could afford dance lessons back then, but Donnie did! To me, he seemed to love church and tap-dance more than anything in the world!

Donny and I would play together well for hours, hop scotch, jumprope, hide and seek, sculptor. Then one of us would get bossy and a fight would break out. We'd yell at each other and I'd tell him to go home!

Donny had a voice that could cut through stone, and he'd run and stand on the other side of the street, waggling his butt and screaming, "Ma! Pa! Sis-Boom-BAH!" He was making fun of the fact that I called my grandparents "Ma" and "Pa." Boy, that got my goat!

I'd get mad, run across the street, and chase him, and the fight would escalate, sometimes to blows. He'd run home crying, and I'd spit on the ground and swear never to speak to him again.

However, with no other children on our block, we soon made up and the cycle would begin again. Sometimes my grandpa would get so weary of hearing us fight, he would disallow me to play with Donny and oh, that would break my heart! No matter how angry I was at him, I didn't want to be told I couldn't play with him, because I secretly knew we'd make up like always.

Donny had a funny little saying that I remember clearly. His mother was Catholic, as most Portuguese immigrant families were in the 1950's and much of the Portuguese person's social life revolved around church. One thing that made me laugh was when I would drop food on the ground, and if I went to pick it up, Donny would stop me, warning, "Don't! The DEVIL kissed it!" His face would be so serious, that my hand would stop in mid-air as I contemplated which was worse, Hell or throwing away a good cookie?

Donny had recurring earaches, and his mother would cure them by lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag, and blowing the hot smoke into his ear. She swore by this treatment, and I thought it was the funniest thing! Edna Avila could also blow a perfect smoke ring, and she'd entertain us with one ring after another as she finished out the cigarette. Whether it was the smoke that cured Donny's earache or whether his mother's smoke-ring show simply distracted him, I have no idea. But whichever it was, it worked.

I still remember the sound of his cries and of the ambulance siren the day Donny's elderly father passed away. It was heartbreaking and one of the first times I really felt love and compassion for a friend.

Donny made me laugh, and he made me cuss, but he also made my heart happy and I cherished his friendship. I wish I could reconnect with him today and spend time remembering the golden hours of our childhood on Ivy Street. I hope he is well and happy. (PS: Since writing this, I've reconnected with Donny on Facebook! He has grown up into a very handsome man and is doing just fine!)

My aunts and uncles and cousins all lived nearby and I have lots of stories about them all. (Watch out cousins!) But those are for another day.

I guess that's enough of a walk down memory lane today.

I'll be visiting Hanford again in March.
My mother still lives there.
Not much has changed.
Sometimes it feels like you're living in a time warp.

I miss the parades, and the Saturday matinee at the Fox Theater. I miss the cow and fresh-mown hay smell that fills the air each morning, and the sound of the meadowlark in the fields. I miss floating down the river in an inner tube and swimming in the canals. I miss ice cold watermelon in the hot summers, picnics at Mooney's Grove, and cherry cokes at the Glider Inn. I miss swamp coolers and evenings on a blanket in the grass with a sweet tea in my hand. I miss the Portuguese festas and the smell of my grandmother's sweet bread baking. I miss that loud old horn that blew every day at noon for my entire childhood, and swimming at the Plunge. I miss the smell of the corner store and barefoot summers. I miss playing outdoors until dark; the freedom and the innocence of growing up in the 50's.

I don't miss the blare of train whistles waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. It's still so foggy in the winter than you have to drive with your head out the window to see the white lines of the road, and there's not a lot to do there but chew the fat with friends.

But it is and always will be "home."

Here are some fun photos of Old and New Hanford:

Civic Auditorium "Then"

Civic Auditorium "Now"

Carnegie Library "Then"

Carnegie Museum "Now"

Fox Theater "Then"

Fox Theater "Now"

Inside the Fox Theater. I spent many Saturday afternoons here!

Post Office Then

It's now a bank.

Railway Station "Then"

And Now

Old Postcard View of 7th Street

I used to love to go to the ice house with Pa to get ice for making homemade ice cream!

Family Resemblance

I just had to post these two photos of my grandmother, 

Inez Hall Cato, and my granddaughter, Emma.

I sure think they look alike!

And here is my a photo of my mother next to a photo 

of my granddaughter Hayden. 

Even though Hayden's mom is Vietnamese, 

I see my mother in Hayden's face.

  

Dora, Luke, and Ben Part 2

Today, I'm going through some old genealogy files 

and I found this letter from Mildred Collins, 

with another funny story about our grandparents.

Those kids remind me of the Little Rascals!

I'll leave in the information on the dates

in case anyone needs them

* * *

If any of you print or copy this tree, 

here are a few more notes you may want to add: 

Dates of death include: Mary Josephine - October 8, 1950; 

George Lukes - August 13, 1964; 

Benjamin Harrison - April 11, 1963; 

Dora Agnes- May 20, 1982. 

Austin and Emma died of typhoid fever. 

I think Grandaddy nearly died too 

and there is a now-funny story about Uncle Ben, Aunt Dora, 

and Grandaddy 

(on his first foray out of bed after nearly dying) - 

It was time for Aunt Dora's organ teacher to arrive 

and she had NO intention of sitting down for that lesson. 

Instead, they all went out to play.

They happened on to some green apples and ate several....

Grandaddy passed out 

and the two siblings just knew they had killed him off. 

Dora and Ben dragged his body home 

and they all had a good laugh after he revived.

Letter to Diana Pearson

I thought some of you might be interested in seeing how we did genealogy before computers. This is a letter I wrote to Diana Pearson, who was researching the same family lines as I. There is also some good information in here that some of you might be interested in. There is a very poignant story about Laura Lee Kissinger that I will share in my next blog post. Any of you related to Grandma Ada Hall might be interested.

* * *

Diana Pearson
July 30, 1992

Dear Diana,

It was so exciting to receive your package in the mail!  I sure appreciate the response.

The photograph of nancy Kissinger is astounding!  She and Laura could be twins.  I wonder if the rest of the family shows such a resemblance to each other? Perhaps I can have my husband take a photo of it if you are interested. I'm afraid to send it for copying as it is my only photo of Laura Lee.

I'm also sending some photographs of pictures I have of Ada Kissinger Hall when she was a young woman, then at a later age. She was a very beautiful woman, and bears a striking likeness to your Aunt Sarah Soward and William Riley Soward. She aged gracefully, and I remember thinking her still beautiful the last time I saw her at age 96/97.  She had such a sweet personality, never a bad word about anyone, and always willing to help.  Her eyes smiled all the time, with a combination of innocence and mischievousness. I can't explain it.  I lived with her daughter, my grandmother Mildred Inez Hall Cato, right next door for many, many years.  I used to love to go to Grandma Hall's house. There was always something to do, whether it was building a clothesline tent or cutting paperdolls from the catalogs she saved for us kids. She would let us do things that our parents wouldn't sometimes.  She'd let our "boyfriends" come over and talk to us, and serve them ice-water or lemonade when our parents didn't want us talking to boys. She let us wear make-up and use hairspray. Once, I remember her holding her sides and laughing because my cousin Janie and I got all "dolled up" and dressed up to go downtown, then left bare-footed. She thought that was so funny that we spent all that time putting on makeup but didn't wear our shoes.  She was really a fun-loving person, and I loved her very much.  She worried about me finding "a man."  I was divorced with 3 children for about 10 years, and every time I'd visit her, one of the first questions she'd ask was, "Did you find yourself a man, yet?"  I'd say, "No, grandma, I'm doing just fine without one!" and she just cackled!

I believe I told you the story of her birth in the last letter I wrote. Laura Lee Kissinger apparently had a rough life after Ada was born. She rarely spoke of the past, due to the scandal of Ada's birth. In speaking to various family members, they weren't "mean" to Laura and Ada. They just didn't discuss it. Mildred Hall Collins, of Ash Flat, Arkansas, is a cousin to my grandmother Mildred Inez Hall Cato. She has told me that her mother and grandmother always told the children that the baby (Ada) was Orlando Paden's (Laura's husband) child, and that he just took off with the boys and left her alone and pregnant (with Ada).  Ada herself has told me the story of Thomas Soward, so I tend to believe that.

According to my grandmother, Laura Lee always lived with them. Apparently, she lived with HER parents until they died. When her mother died, she went to live with Ada and her husband, Ben Hall. She was described as a very sweet, loving person who was good to everyone. My grandmother Inez said Laura loved to tell witch stories to scare the kids!

In the 1920's, Luther Paden, one of the sons of Laura Lee and Orlando Paden, sent Ada a train ticket to California. There was a reunion of sorts, and eventually Luther, Arthur, and Ada became very close. However, the wives of these brothers were said to have been quite rude to Ada and her children, believing her to be illegitimate.

Do you have any information on the Thomas Soward story? If the Robert T. Soward in Campground Cemetery is Ada's father, he was 20 when she was born. Laura Lee was 29, and he died within a year of Ada's birth. I'm 9 years older than my husband, so I believe this is a possibility.

There is an uncanny likeness between Ada and Sarah Soward and William Riley Soward. The eyes are especially alike. Also, Odell is very similar in looks to my Uncle Ralph Hall.

Back to Laura, she was babysitting my mother and uncle when she took a fall and broke her hip. She then developed pneumonia and died. She was 75. She is buried in the cemetery in Armona, California.

I asked my grandmother Inez if she remembered much of Laura's mother. She did remember the old homestead, and the house she lived in. She said it had one big room with a huge fireplace and a sideroom they used for a kitchen. It was like a mountain cabin. She said she remembered going there when her grandmother Sarah Jane died.  She said her body was laid out in a pine box casket set up on two chair baks. There were candles lit. My grandmother was very young, and very frightened.

I don't have any Roberts in my ancestry yet, but I do have a Margaret Ann KYLE.  I wonder if she could be related to your Mary KYLE (#9 on Chart #8)?  I've asked Mildred Collins, who has much of the Hall genealogy. Do you have the addresses of the Roberts cousins who are compiling genealogy for that line?

Well, Diana, I need to get going. I went off and left my pedigree/family group workbook at home, so I'll just be sending photos for now. I'm going camping this weekend. I'll copy and send the group sheets and pedigree on Monday. Sorry for the delay.

I hope you will continue to correspond. My husband and I are taking a genealogy trip in March. We will be traveling across Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Oklahoma, then back up to Idaho and Oregon. Perhaps we could stop by for a night and share stories.

Write soon.
Sincerely,
Deborah

(handwritten note at bottom)
Diana-
Do you have any information on the other brothers and sisters of Laura and Nancy? What became of them? Also, there is some confusion about Sally Cox and an "Elizabeeth" who was also married to Matthias. William and Rachel were Sally's children - then in the next census, he's married to an Elizabeth. Any info on this?
Thanks!
Bye

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