My Grandparents were Wallace Henry and Serepta Cox. They were my mother’s parents who gave
dad the land to build his house.
We lived directly behind them in a two-story cinder block house. I know now what a blessing it was
to live so close, to at least one side of my third generation. I have so many memories of them that I
consider priceless.
They were both born in the late 1800’s and married in
December of 1919, only two months after his military discharge from the
Army. Granddaddy had served in
World War I as a military policeman in France. He had many occupations as he traveled around the Southeast
seeking income for his young family.
Grandmother would often joke every time they passed through a small
town, “Wallace said he helped build that plant”! They grew up in harsh economic times. Granddad was forty-one years old when
the depression hit. By that time,
he owned a dump truck and was able to make ends meet hauling whatever he
could. He was able to open a small
grocery store in Alabama City, near their house on Dozier Street. Mother said he didn’t make much money
because he would over extend credit to those who were in desperate need.
He closed that store and opened a larger one near the Dwight
cotton mill at Canterberry Station.
By the time I came along in 1958, he had retired and was only selling
Watkins products, and those mostly to the black community near Forrest Cemetery
in Gadsden. My early driver
training was helping him deliver orders to his clients.
He loved to go fishing. He would walk out to our house and ask Mom if I wanted to go
fishing. Of course, I always
did. His favorite spot was Lack’s
fish camp, on the low side of the dam at Leesburg. He liked to go early and fish till mid-afternoon. We’d tie up, usually not too far from
the dam. He fished with three rods
to my one. We rarely left with an
empty cooler. He would clean and
cook the fish when we got home.
Grandmother always refused to cook fish. She didn’t like the smell of it cooking but she usually ate
some.
She was probably the best cook I’ve known. Her back door was the kitchen door and
I was there often. I still
remember the blackberry and apple cobblers she would make. They were just the best! I remember eating simple lunches such
as pinto beans and cornbread, butter beans and rice, or just a tomato sandwich. She would cook a big spread with
mother’s help if company were coming. Oddly, Granddaddy always fixed breakfast. I’ve always known that, but for some
reason I have always given her credit for those great leftover biscuits I grabbed,
as I passed through the kitchen.
I probably spent as much time at their house as I did at
mine. I remember watching Bonanza on
TV, along with Hawaii 5-0 and Perry Mason. Granddaddy would also listen to the Braves play baseball on
the radio while Grandmother sewed or cleaned house.
My Grandfather served as an elder at the Sansom Avenue
Church of Christ for over forty years.
He loved studying the Bible and I remember listening in on several conversations
with preachers, who came to visit and discuss scripture. He had cataract surgery when he was in
his eighties, and it distressed him that afterwards, he couldn’t read his Bible as well. Grandmother was a
member of the Sansom church but still had most of her Primitive Baptist blood
still in tact. She was from a Sand Mountain family named “Wootten”. Famous for their sacred harp singing or
“fa-so-la” as some call it. We
usually attended the Spring Decoration at Antioch Baptist and enjoyed the dinner
on the ground afterwards.
In our neighborhood, we knew everyone’s name on our side of
the street and most of those on the other side. We would sit on the front porch like greeters. If a passer by saw anyone on the porch,
they would usually stop and chat.
It was just a friendlier time with friendlier people. The front porch was also our family
gathering location. As the
youngest, I remember being the “gofer”. If someone wanted a coke from the corner store, I’d
take the money and run get it. Herdon’s
was at the end of our block and they sold drinks for 10 cents. They were in a coke display box filled
with cold water. You identified
the drink you wanted by the cap and then slid it to the end to remove. Bringing the empty bottle back also got
you three cents, so I could sometimes get a drink just by returning bottles.
I’ve been mind wandering a lot since working on family
genealogy again. We tend to think
of history as the Crusades, famous battles, or the birth of nations. Family history is a treasure that is
hidden in each of us. Don’t forget
where you buried it. Even more
important, new treasures are formed every day. Still got your grandparents? Go make some memories!
