The sky swivels together from an easel
Of pale crimson and murky blue steel.
From here, the world is just a pebble
Riding along with
Virginia
(Nature) Shenandoah by K. Jared Hosein
Of pale crimson and murky blue steel.
From here, the world is just a pebble
Riding along with
(Nature) Shenandoah by K. Jared Hosein
Manuel Childs joined the Army during the First World War, as did many of the young Valley men. His birth name was James but everyone preferred to call him Manuel. And when he came home from France, Manuel's dark hair was white. Not from age, but from witnessing the horrors of trench warfare, bayonet attacks, machine guns and mustard gas. One day, Manuel said, "Austin, I hope you never have to fight in a war. The things I saw, well, that was as close to hell as I ever want to be."
Not long after his homecoming, Manuel met the younger Hilda Wright. They married in 1919 and began to plan a life together. Making enough money to raise a family wasn’t easy with limited work available but Grandpa Manuel was strong and sturdy much like Austin Senior. But where Curly was tall and sinewy, Manuel only stood about 5’7” and carried a few extra pounds. When no work could be found in the Potts Creek area, Manuel trekked to the coalfields of Beckley, West Virginia. The commute was long and sometimes dangerous, as open trucks bounced along heavily rutted roads, sometimes pitching everyone into a creek or a tree. Eventually, he got a job at the Westvaco Paper Mill in Covington and made enough money to buy their first home in Jonestown. Their first daughter died not long after birth from pneumonia, somewhere around 1920. She was buried at the Lone Star Cemetery, in the old section that sits just behind the chapel.
Not long after his homecoming, Manuel met the younger Hilda Wright. They married in 1919 and began to plan a life together. Making enough money to raise a family wasn’t easy with limited work available but Grandpa Manuel was strong and sturdy much like Austin Senior. But where Curly was tall and sinewy, Manuel only stood about 5’7” and carried a few extra pounds. When no work could be found in the Potts Creek area, Manuel trekked to the coalfields of Beckley, West Virginia. The commute was long and sometimes dangerous, as open trucks bounced along heavily rutted roads, sometimes pitching everyone into a creek or a tree. Eventually, he got a job at the Westvaco Paper Mill in Covington and made enough money to buy their first home in Jonestown. Their first daughter died not long after birth from pneumonia, somewhere around 1920. She was buried at the Lone Star Cemetery, in the old section that sits just behind the chapel.
They recovered from this loss, and Hilda gave birth in 1921 to Lawrence. Then came Arnold a year later, followed by Juanita, Austin's mom. All three kids were born at the home of Doctor Bowles. He lived not far away, on the Potts Creek Road between the sixth and seventh bridges, just off the road. He was a real country doc, taking care of everyone in those parts. The closest hospital was in Covington, and that involved a treacherous drive on the bumpy Potts Creek Road. Unless you had real serious complications, you had your baby at home or at Doc Bowles's place. Today, a sign can be found nearby noting the area as Jonestown.
Unlike many in the Potts Valley area, Grandpa Manuel didn't own a truck. He drove a 1937 silver Chevy, and took really good care of it. "It looked like a gangster’s car with the canvas roof, soft felt interior, tear drop headlights and wide riding boards," Austin remembered. "It’s still around, you know, someone in Florida owns it now."
Grandpa was always good to Austin and he never called him by name, "Just called me ‘boy’ but in a good way." Years later, after Grandpa passed, quite a few relatives said he always favored Austin more than his other grandchildren. "Maybe it was because my Mom and Dad didn't live together," Austin opined, "I know that I was the only grandkid allowed to pick grapes from the vines he planted behind their home." While Austin Senior visited his son quite a bit, "I suppose after living with Grandpa for a while, I kind of tried to emulate him and his mannerisms."
"Like my Dad, Grandpa ruled with a soft hand, and they remained steady and calm in every situation," recalled Austin. He tried to get along with everyone but Grandpa had one exception: His brother. Grandpa's father, William Clinton Childs, grew up in the Potts Creek area and married another local, Amanda Wright. She gave birth to two sons, James Manuel and William Clinton Childs, Jr. (usually referred to as Junior). Manuel and Junior had a long standing grudge, and around here most folks lived and died by the feud. Where Grandpa worked hard for his money, Junior lied and cheated for his gains. He somehow amassed enough money to drive a nice car and even install running (indoor) water at his house, most of it without seeming to work much. At one point, Junior was forced to leave the Commonwealth of Virginia for seven years in order to avoid prosecution for bootlegging charges, not an uncommon transgression in the region.
"Hellfire, Junior's been dead for many years and I still hold a strong hatred. Meanest man I ever met in my life. Damn black sheep of the family if there ever was one. I'll never forget that day when Grandpa's father lay dying (I used to call him Grandpa Bill -- he was Manuel's dad so I don't remember much about him)." Austin remembers Junior standing outside the bedroom as he said, to no one in particular, “Well, it’s time for the old man to die.” Still a child, Austin "kicked that bastard right in the shin. He cussed me out as he limped away."
Hatred in a man is something he can't get rid unless he wants to. And Junior was all hate. With some emotion, a dark remnant of something done sixty years ago, Austin learned that Junior had poisoned his dog, Champ. A good dog, brave and loving, friendly to all. "I never knew why that good dog died and missed him terribly. I consider it a miracle from the Lord that I didn't find out about until many years after. For as sure as the sun comes up and goes down, I would have shot that SOB." [Any man that poisons a pet for no useful reason is punished according to his deeds.] And, Austin continues, "Junior's son, Bubby, wasn't any better. A real SOB and blowhard just like his father. I felt no remorse when Bubby died from a heart attack."
His grandmother, Hilda, was a wonderful lady. She was giving, loving, a good wife and mother, and a great cook. Beneath her stern schoolmarm eyeglasses was a proud woman, strong in many untold ways. Like most women back then, she tended to the home, cooking and clothing. Washing was done by hand with the clothes laundered in a large tub before being wrung out and hung outside. "I used to even take baths in the same water, mainly because it was still warm. We didn't have running water so Grandma used to heat it up on the stove."
Grandma had her moments. One day, when he was about 9, Austin walked to a nearby farm for a visit, but forgot to tell her. "So, I'm walking down Jonestown Road eating an apple when Grandma found me. She had cut a switch for herself and, well, I got a whoopin’ all the way home," he recalled, "But she was so nice she ended up making me a special pie that evening. She made her point and I learned to let her know where I was going and even more important, how to let go of anger."
"Like my Dad, Grandpa ruled with a soft hand, and they remained steady and calm in every situation," recalled Austin. He tried to get along with everyone but Grandpa had one exception: His brother. Grandpa's father, William Clinton Childs, grew up in the Potts Creek area and married another local, Amanda Wright. She gave birth to two sons, James Manuel and William Clinton Childs, Jr. (usually referred to as Junior). Manuel and Junior had a long standing grudge, and around here most folks lived and died by the feud. Where Grandpa worked hard for his money, Junior lied and cheated for his gains. He somehow amassed enough money to drive a nice car and even install running (indoor) water at his house, most of it without seeming to work much. At one point, Junior was forced to leave the Commonwealth of Virginia for seven years in order to avoid prosecution for bootlegging charges, not an uncommon transgression in the region.
"Hellfire, Junior's been dead for many years and I still hold a strong hatred. Meanest man I ever met in my life. Damn black sheep of the family if there ever was one. I'll never forget that day when Grandpa's father lay dying (I used to call him Grandpa Bill -- he was Manuel's dad so I don't remember much about him)." Austin remembers Junior standing outside the bedroom as he said, to no one in particular, “Well, it’s time for the old man to die.” Still a child, Austin "kicked that bastard right in the shin. He cussed me out as he limped away."
Hatred in a man is something he can't get rid unless he wants to. And Junior was all hate. With some emotion, a dark remnant of something done sixty years ago, Austin learned that Junior had poisoned his dog, Champ. A good dog, brave and loving, friendly to all. "I never knew why that good dog died and missed him terribly. I consider it a miracle from the Lord that I didn't find out about until many years after. For as sure as the sun comes up and goes down, I would have shot that SOB." [Any man that poisons a pet for no useful reason is punished according to his deeds.] And, Austin continues, "Junior's son, Bubby, wasn't any better. A real SOB and blowhard just like his father. I felt no remorse when Bubby died from a heart attack."
His grandmother, Hilda, was a wonderful lady. She was giving, loving, a good wife and mother, and a great cook. Beneath her stern schoolmarm eyeglasses was a proud woman, strong in many untold ways. Like most women back then, she tended to the home, cooking and clothing. Washing was done by hand with the clothes laundered in a large tub before being wrung out and hung outside. "I used to even take baths in the same water, mainly because it was still warm. We didn't have running water so Grandma used to heat it up on the stove."
Grandma had her moments. One day, when he was about 9, Austin walked to a nearby farm for a visit, but forgot to tell her. "So, I'm walking down Jonestown Road eating an apple when Grandma found me. She had cut a switch for herself and, well, I got a whoopin’ all the way home," he recalled, "But she was so nice she ended up making me a special pie that evening. She made her point and I learned to let her know where I was going and even more important, how to let go of anger."
Grandma regularly attended the religious services held each Sunday at the small white meeting room in Jonestown. She often went alone for Manuel, although kind and considerate, was not one for Sunday services. Religion comes in all forms, and while Hilda found comfort in the church, Grandpa did not. "It made no difference 'cause Grandpa was closer to God than most ministers," Austin explained. One of Manuel sons, Lawrence, ended up becoming a minister in California. When Grandma's father became ill, she took care of him right there in the meeting room until he passed away. That meeting room is still there and "I guess folks still use it. We used to have traveling pastors and ministers drop in from time to time." There were many similar unnamed small chapels and meeting rooms strewn throughout the Valley, and served by rotating or visiting ministers. As for Austin's religiosity, "I attended a service there once and that was enough for me. "
In the late 1950s, Grandpa retired from his job at the Westvaco Mill. He and Grandma sold their home in Jonestown and moved to Hampton, Florida. It was a short stay. He didn't take to the insects and heat very well. When they returned to Jonestown, Grandpa decided to build a new home right across the road from their first house. Austin remains amazed that these folks, now in their 60s, had the courage and energy to build a home. Even more amazing was the indoor plumbing. Since outdoor pipes did not exist, water was pulled up from the ground through a well pump. The pressurized water would flush the contents into the nearby septic field. "You know, the tomatoes Grandpa grew over the septic field were the best. In fact, everything grew better there."
