Tag: Memories (Page 1 of 2)

Photo Proves ‘Big Un’ Was Truly Giant of a Man

February 4, 2026 / Delbert Reed / 0 Comments

Written by Delbert Reed (Reprinted with permission)

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Ester-Big-Un-Reed-1-866x1024.jpeg

^{Siblings: Elliott Reed, Evaline Reed, Ester (Big Un) Reed}

I’ve heard tales about a somewhat famous great uncle of mine all my life. Some of them have seemed a bit tall, if you want to know the truth.

His name was Ester L. Reed, and he was something of a Paul Bunyan character, capable of great physical feats of strength, by all account.

Ester was one of 11 children of W.W. “Wes” Reed and Omie Davis Reed of the New Lexington community in northern Tuscaloosa County. His brother, Ellis V. Reed, was my grandfather.

Uncle Ester was called “Fatty” Reed in a few of the stories I have heard, but most of the time he was referred to simply as “Big Un.”

“Big Un” was the biggest and strongest man in Tuscaloosa County for most of his life, according to the sales and the newspaper account of his death I recently came across. He died on the last day of February, 1943, at the age of 39.

His death was front-page news in the March 1, 1943, edition of the Tuscaloosa News, alongside news from all fronts in World War II, food rationing, a shortage of manpower on the nation’s farms and General Claire Chennault’s famous Flying Tigers doing battle with the Japanese in China.

I have recently acquired a photograph of “Big Un,” Uncle Elliott and Aunt Evaline, and the photo proves that he was indeed a giant of a man.

The newspaper story listed Uncle Ester’s weight at 495. The photograph makes me believe he was between 6′ 2″ and 6′ 5″ in height.

At the time of his death, Ester Reed lived on Highway 43 near New Lexington, not far from where he grew up on a farm on what is now known as Reed Mountain Road. He worked as a farmer and at Will Crump’s gin in Samantha, according to family lore.

It was at the gin that he showed off his strength while loading 500-pound bales of cotton on trucks. It was said that he simply backed up the bales, grabbed each side with a cotton hook and leaned forward, lifting the bale and walking away with it. Several eyewitnesses have recounted that feat to me.

While researching a news story several years ago near New Lexington, an old timer in a country store, on learning my name, asked me if I had ever heard of “Big Un” Reed. When I told him that he was my great uncle, he told me a story that “Big Un” often told about himself that bears repeating.

As the story went, “Big Un” was napping on his front porch one hot summer afternoon after a hard morning in the fields. Two strangers, driving along the road, stopped suddenly at the sight of the big man and backed the car up directly in front of his house.

“Is he dead?,” one of them reportedly asked the other. “Sure, he’s dead,” the other answered, “look how he’s all swelled up.”

Uncle Ester was said to be a jovial, well-liked man, and according to the newspaper headline, he was widely known in Tuscaloosa County. Here is the newspaper account of his death:

“Ester L. Reed, Tuscaloosa County’s largest man, died early Sunday at his home in the New Lexington community after a brief illness. He was 39 years old and weighed 495 pounds.

“Mr. Reed reportedly died of a heart ailment. He had been ill for about two week.

“By reason of his large size, Mr. Reed had become widely known throughout West Alabama. During recent years he had appeared at many schools in this section as the “bride” in “womanless” weddings. About two years ago, he served as the bride in a womanless wedding staged at the Alberta City School. Judge Herbert L. Findley was the groom in the ceremony that attracted a tremendous crowd.

“It never worried Mr. Reed for the curious to ask questions about his size. In 1939, he was summoned as a juror in the circuit court, but there were no seats in the courtroom large enough to accommodate him. A special bench was placed in the courtroom for him. At that time he weighed 414 pounds.

“I never was very small, “the jovial Mr. Reed told a reporter for The News while serving on the jury. He said he weighed 270 at age 11.

“Tales of the man’s strength have become almost legendary in the northern section of this county. Five years ago at a cotton gin in the New Lexington community, Mr. Reed backed up to a bale of cotton that weighed 560 pounds, shouldered it and walked away, it was reported.

“Reed himself admitted that he picked up three 200 pound sacks of fertilizer and walked 31 steps with the load.

“He had been ill but few times in his life, admitting recently that he hadn’t been sick enough to take any medicine in 21 years.

“He has resided in Tuscaloosa County all his life. He is survived by his widow and five children, four boys and a girl.”

A special casket had to be made for Uncle Ester, and a part of the front of the house had to be removed to get his body in and out of the house.

The unpainted clapboard house in which Uncle Ester lived stood for several years after his death, and Daddy would always point it out and tell us a story about “Big Un” when we passed by.

Thanks to the rare photo and newspaper story, I now know he was all I’d heard he was, and I also have a clue as to why I tend to be a little on the heavy side.

^{(Printed in Northport Gazette, November 29, 2001, written by Delbert Reed – reprinted with permission)}

Samantha Siblings Answered the Call During WWII

June 19, 2024 / Delbert Reed / 0 Comments

Reprinted with permission (Printed in The Northport Gazette , Oct. 9, 2011)

Three siblings from the Samantha area of northern Tuscaloosa County, inspired by patriotism and opportunity, joined the Navy in 1943 to help America in the Allied defense against aggressive Axis powers Japan and Germany during World War II.

The siblings were Otis, Mary and Ouida Freeman, and they were typical of the millions of young men and women who joined the war effort following the Japanese attack on Pear Harbor, Hawaii, on December 7, 1941, which drew the U.S into the war. They are also among the millions of U.S servicemen and women being recognized by a grateful nation on Veterans Day November 11.

Otis, the next-to-youngest of six children, left the tenant farm where his family lived to join the Navy on May 26, 1943, the day before his 18th birthday. Mary, a few years older, joined the WAVES (Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service) a few months later and Ouida did the same in October 1943.

Otis spent 30 months in the Navy before being discharged on December 7, 1945, following the surrender of Japan three months earlier to end the war. He served aboard a ship in the Pacific Theater struck the U.S. Third Fleet in the Philippine Sea. The typhoon sunk three U.S. destroyers, damaged nine other ships and destroyed 100 aircraft while taking the lives of 790 seamen.

Otis returned home for only a few years before joining the Army in 1950 for a seven-year stint. He served on the front lines in Korea with the 45th Infantry Division 1951-53, earning the Army Commendation Medal, Korean Service Medal with two battle stars, United Nations Service Medal with three overseas bars, Good Conduct Medal and National Defense Service Medal. He also served in Japan and as an instructor at West Point during his distinguished Army career. He achieved the rank of sergeant first class before being discharged on November 19, 1957.

Freeman operated a logging business and served as a Primitive Baptist minister from 1957 until death on September 2, 2002. His wife Billie Faye Watson Freeman and his sons Randall and Mitchell continue to operate the logging business today.

Mary said she left her job as a sales clerk at S.H. Kress in Tuscaloosa to join the WAVES soon after Otis joined the Navy because “there was nothing much else to do and the Navy paid $50 a month with everything furnished.” She spent two years, five months and 20 days in service and said what she learned during that time was equal to any college I might have gone to.

She was sent to Hunter College in New York for basic training then on to Dallas, Texas, Naval Air Station, where she spent most of the remainder of her tour in administration work. “I didn’t like New York much,” Mary said. The people there didn’t have any manners. I like Texas; the people where were friendly. But it was 110-112 degrees in the shade and they didn’t have any shade,” she joked of the hot Texas summers.

“I went to the Navy to help out,” Mary said on the eve of her 90th birthday last month. “I was a pencil pusher, but they had to have pencil pushers, too. It was the best move I ever made. There were 3,600 sailors and we started out with 12 WAVES, so they played a lot of tricks on us. They once sent me all over the base looking for a skyhook for a rear spar,” she laughed.

“I typed up orders for the men when they were shipped out,” Mary said of her administrative duties. “Most had orders for San Diego, which meant they were heading to the Pacific. It made you feel bad, but you had to do it,” she added. Mary added that she met famed aviator Charles Lindbergh and boxing champion Jack Dempsey while in Dallas in addition to seeing the sights of the town. “I had some exciting times,” she said.

Mary was transferred to Norman, Oklahoma, during her last few months of service and was there when the war ended on August 14, 1945. “Everyone partied and carried on, but I didn’t do much of that,” she said of the Japanese surrender. “I just started thinking about going home. They tried to get me to stay in but I wanted to come back to Alabama and that’s what I did.”

Mary was discharged in November 1945 and worked at Bryce Hospital for ten years, attended Shelton State Community College and taught adults to read for several years before retiring. She married Gordon Hagler of Northport in 1946 and the couple had three children, Robert G. Hagler, Jr., Sue Stone and Amelia Mallett. Gordon Hagler died in 1985.

Ouida, the youngest of six Freeman children, joined the Navy on her 20th birthday, October 13, 1943 and said it was the best thing that ever happened to her. “I had worked at the paper mill for two years but I realized I was going nowhere, so after Otis and Mary joined, I decided to join, too,” she said.

“I grew up in a sad situation,” Ouida said her her childhood during the Great Depression. “My mother died when I was three and my father worked out of town a lot and was only home on weekends. My older sister Zuma had to quit school at age 13 and raise five younger siblings pretty much on her own. I always thought kids who had two parents were the luckiest people in the world. Nobody can tell me about poverty. I’ve been cold and hungry and it was sad, but I never got bitter and I never questioned those things. Life has certainly not been boring and I just thank God that I am still alive,” she added.

Ouida also had basic training at Hunter College in New York before being transferred to Washington, D.C., for the remainder of her Navy duty. “I worked in communications and had a top secret security clearance, but I have no idea how or why I was chosen for it,” Ouida, at age 88, said last week. “Our entire living quarters were fenced in and we were not allowed off base. Security was tight,” she said

“We were told that if we ever told what we were doing we could be committing treason,” Ouida added. “They said they would treat us just like men who committed treason and shoot us and I took them seriously. We had to put our hands on the Bible and swear that we would never reveal what we had done during the war. Never being able to discuss what you did with anybody was hard, but I never opened my mouth about anything I did,” she said.

Ouida was discharged from the Navy soon after the end of the war and spent the next several months traveling the east coast selling magazines with a friend from Virginia she had met while in WAVES.

“I was planning to go to a fashion design school in Chicago but my friend talked me into going on a blind date with a pilot, and we were married three months later, “Ouida said. “I just followed Richard around and took care of our three children (Richard Jr., John Gordon and Sheila Gene). “I enjoyed every bit of it,” she added. Hann’s last assignment was a a Navy ROTC instructor in Birmingham. The Hanns moved to Eutaw in 1994 and restored an 1840 home in which Ouida sill lives today. Hann died April 17, 2001,

Richard’s only brother, Eugene, was killed in Pearl Harbor,” Ouida said. “He was a seaman on the USSA Oklahoma and Richard had been on the ship with him until being sent to flight school just a few months before the attach,” she added.

Ouida said she learned to sew as a child and has designed and made her own clothes throughout her life. She also enjoys travel and is currently planning trips to China in 2012 and Romania in 2013 as she writes a memoir of her life.

Printed in The Northport Gazette , Oct. 9, 2011

Reprinted with permission

Delbert Reed

Summertime Means Birthdays Galore

June 17, 2024 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 0 Comments

We celebrate a lot of birthdays in our family. Especially during the summer months. The weather must have been cold in October and November. Currently we have sixty-seven family members. Daddy and Mother’s downline. My hubby gets a little overwhelmed with all the comradery sometimes. He and I had similar upbringings about a lot of things but we did not have the same experience with birthdays. He says his birthday is just another day. I will never forget the look on his face when he opened the door to 50-60 family and friends yelling “surprise” on his 60th birthday. It was priceless!!! It was his first birthday party. “Daddy’s coming around to Momma’s way of thinking.”

Haven’t we all been taught that God has a plan for each of us? So, if you think about it, the day God chooses for us to come into this world is the day He sets our personal plan into motion. That makes it a VERY special day. There are two great days in a person’s life – the day we are born and the day we discover why. It sometimes takes a long time to become young. To me old age is always 20 years older than me.

“God brings about birthdays, not as deadlines but lifelines. He builds them into our calendar once every year to enable us to make an annual appraisal, not only of our length of life but our depth. Not simply to tell us we’re growing older but to help us determine if we are also growing deeper.” Charles Swindoll

When the hour glass runs out of sand, you can’t turn it over.

Growing up our family birthday celebrations started the minute you woke up on “your” day. Messages, singing, music, special songs, balloons, cards and of course there’s your favorite cake and parades with marching bands! Well, maybe not parades but almost. We were off the hook from doing any chores. For me, being born in July, meant I didn’t have to shell peas that day. Haha. Not much has changed as adults.

Gotta get busy planning some birthday parties. What are birthday traditions in your family? Leave a reply below.

Thank you! Let’s make it a great day!

Always Keep “The Son” in your eyes

Becky Williamson-Martin

My husband, Benny and I live in Samantha, Alabama, a small community in Tuscaloosa County where I was raised. Together we have 4 children, 11 grandchildren and 1 great-grandchild. Nothing has given me such a sense of ultimate enjoyment and fulfillment after being a mother as the presence of my children’s children and as I approach the top of my family tree I intend to embrace that status. My life’s journey has taken many detours but it brought me home and I have the honor and privilege of living in the home where I grew up. A home that is full of love and life lessons passed on from my parents, Johnny Lewis & Doris Rebecca Wyatt Williamson. Someday someone else in my lineage will have the same honor of living on Shepherd Hill and continuing the rich heritage handed down to me. My favorite season is bird chirping season. I believe there is magic in ordinary days. My favorite place is home. — http://beckywilliamson-martin.com/

Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12

Overflowing Well on Campground Road – a Samantha Landmark

September 23, 2023 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 15 Comments

Several weeks ago a client, who is a longtime Hale County native, asked me if I was from Samantha. I told him yes. That I grew up there and live there now in the house I grew up in. Why, I asked? He wanted me to tell him about the “famous” overflowing well that has healing powers. Famous? Healing Powers? Hmm, that was a new one on me. I really didn’t have too much to tell him, except that it existed and lots of people get water there.

That night I told Benny about that conversation and he said, “you should write something about the overflowing well”. He’s always encouraging me to write. But I didn’t give it much thought for a while. Then, several weeks later a picture of a beautiful little girl standing at the well filling a water bottle popped up on my Facebook feed with a caption that said, “Nanna, it’s a miracle”.

Pictured is Adaline Alexander. She is the daughter of Joshua Alexander and Jonica Poe. She is the granddaughter of Wanda Smith. Photo credit: Wanda Smith

I decided it might be interesting to write a little blurb about it. It made me think about how things can become so familiar that we don’t see them, but to someone else who hears about it or sees it for the first time, will be curious and have interest in knowing more of the details. Sort of like when you travel hundreds of miles to vacation or camp somewhere when we have the exact same thing in our back door almost. Anyway, I began asking longtime community residents questions about the history of the overflowing well on Campround Road.

I started first with my family. My oldest brother, Larry, didn’t seem to know much more about it than I did except that it was on the property belonging to the Tierce family. He said I would need to talk to an “old” man in the community who could probably give me some history of how it came to be. He thought for a minute and said, “wait, I am an old man. Maybe, you need an older man”, and he suggested Mr. Skeet Boone because we all know Mr. Skeet knows everything. 🙂 Mr. Skeet didn’t know any details about the history, just that it had always been there.

Same with Ricky and LaWanda – that it has always been there. LaWanda knew more details about the Tierce family. John and Lura Tierce were the original owners but they have been gone many years. I attempted to find and did reach out to several Tierce descendants but was unable to connect with anyone. LaWanda asked her oldest brother, Wade Gilliam, about how the overflowing well came to be. Bingo! We hit pay dirt – or water in this case. Wade said when the road was built there was a spring or more of an artesian well in the middle of the road, so the County had to pipe it so it would run in the ditch. Now, I’m no geologist or expert on these sorts of things so I went to google to learn more. What I learned is that Artesian water is always under pressure to reach the surface. While spring water may emerge through pressure, it may need to be pumped. Springs become artesian when the water flows to the surface without the aid of a pump. I reached out to the County to see if there were any records from when the road was built and was told they only have records starting when the roads were changed from Rural Routes to named roads.

Next, Benny and I visited with Buster Bolton. Buster has lived on land for many years near the overflowing well that also borders Campground Road. Buster confirmed that when the road was being built, the county helped John Tierce pipe it. He said that from time to time the pipes will get stopped up from leaves and trash and that his son, Todd, will help keep it cleaned out. Buster shared a memory of eight or ten years ago when there was a serious drought one summer, folks would be lined up all the way to the Cabiness House to get water.

We were talking to my son, Shane, about our visit with Buster and our discussions about the overflowing well. Shane said that when he played football at Northside High School, before Carrolls Creek water was available, their water boy would fill the water coolers from the overflowing well. He said the school water had Sulpher in it and was undrinkable so the water from the overflowing well would taste so good when they were hot, tired and beat up during practice and games.

More times than not, when you pass by the overflowing well on Campground Road, you will see someone filling up water bottles, empty milk cartons, coolers and/or big tanks. It is a continuous flow of cool, clear water that serves our community freely. I can’t help but think about Jesus’ words to the woman at the well “…Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” John 4:13-14 NKJV.

Thank you to all who took the time to talk with me about the overflowing well. Special thanks to Lee Rutley from Moundville and Miss Adaline Alexander for inspiring me to take a second glance at this community landmark. And thank you to my sweet hubby for always encouraging me. Although this little blurb is just a bunch of my jumbled together words and I didn’t find any evidence of healing in the water, I have so enjoyed talking with you. Your stories and memories have caused me to pause and think about times gone by. We had such a wonderful visit sitting in the shade talking with Buster about life in Samantha and remembering some folks no longer with us. As time goes by so quickly I have come to love and appreciate history, especially when it is connected to me and my family and friends. Please share any memories you have about the overflowing well on Campground Road in Samantha, Alabama.

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes.

Becky Williamson-Martin

Six Handshakes Rule and Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet Cake

September 6, 2023 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 2 Comments

Six degrees of separation is the idea that all people are six or fewer social connections away from each other. As a result, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. It is also known as the six handshakes rule. This story about Mrs. Maxine’s recipe for Iron Skillet Cake might be a good example.

My son, Shane, married Mrs. Maxine Norris’ granddaughter, Misty, 24 years ago. A few years ago he was telling me about how much he liked Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet cake and that’s what he wanted for his birthday. Misty got the recipe for me and I made it and it was delicious!

Fast forward. We have potluck at my church every Wednesday night and I’m always trying to think of different things to cook. I love the good, tried and true “old” family dishes that have been passed down through the generations. I remembered Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet Cake and flipped through my binder that holds all my favorite hand-written recipes to find it.

It was such a hit among the Wednesday night church crowd that I barely took home a crumb and folks were running me down as I was going out the door wanting the recipe. So, now the church ladies are going to make it for their families who will hopefully share the recipe and it will be passed down to their children and grandchildren. Although I didn’t really know Mrs. Maxine, I think it is so wonderful how we are connected – and a little bit of Mrs. Maxine’s memory lives on. Once again, food, has connected us. 🙂 Remember, Jesus broke bread with his disciples? So, there is a really good reason for it, right?

Mrs. Maxine passed away eleven years ago and we are talking about her. Thank you Mrs. Maxine for sharing your family with mine and for sharing your legacy with us all. Her sweet obituary stated that she was a true example of Proverbs 31. And I believe she was too.

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes!

Becky Williamson-Martin

P.S. As it turns out, the Wednesday that I took this cake to church was the day before Mrs. Maxine’s birthday. I had no idea

Stories and Articles – Samantha Living

Samanthaliving.com
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Mrs. Maxine’s Iron Skillet Cake

For more family connections I have posted her obituary below :

“SAMANTHA Maxine Dobbs Norris of Samantha died March 13, 2012… Burial … Nazareth Primitive Baptist Church Cemetery…

She was preceded in death by her husband, Wilson Norris; her parents, Eddie Brondle and Celia Dobbs; and her brother, Julian Dobbs.

Survivors include her children, Sheila Watkins (Lynn), Emery Norris (Becky), Gail Willis (Billy), and Sharon Wells (Gary); her grandchildren, Chad Watkins (Jennifer), Ginger Roberts (Jamie), Leo Watkins, Kobe Watkins, Jeff Norris (Kelly), Misty Smith (Shane), Lance Willis (Darlene), and Tyler Wells; 10 great-grandchildren; her brothers, Buford (Sally), Solon (Vera), W.D., and Raiford Dobbs; her sisters, Loyal Farley, Christine Wiggins (Dan), Betty Stival, and Joan Turner (Dan); her sister-in-law, Mable Elliott; and several nieces and nephews.

Our mother was a true example of Proverbs 31, a gift to her family as well as others. She never met a stranger.

We add special thanks to our wonderful caregivers, Gladys Donaldson, Kathy Renfroe, Terry Bynum, and Julie Nicholson for becoming like family in their care of mother.”

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes!

Becky Williamson-Martin

Jones Mill Pond

August 7, 2023 / Nell Oswalt Naugher

^Information ^{compiled from} ^{tales told by the “Jones Family”}

Contributor: Nell Naugher

JONES OR REUBEN’S MILL

In the 1870’s, Elijah Marshall Jones and his wife, Josephine Roberson, with their family left Tallapoosa County, Alabama, with a destination of northern Tuscaloosa County and

southern Fayette County. Being millers by profession, they were in search of suitable

locations for gristmills. The gentle headwaters of Binion Creek in northern Tuscaloosa

County was the choice location for the Reuben Jones family while the rest of the family

traveled on to locate on Bear Creek which is located west of Newtonville. Perhaps there

was already a mill on this property when it was procured from LeGrand Shepherd; how-

ever, it became known as Jones’ Mill.

Grandpa Rube set about building the first of several ventures on the property located in

Section 9, Township 18S and Range 11W. Local fieldstones were used to construct a dam across the creek to harness the massive energy of the water. The millhouse was built below the dam. Rosetta Jones Oswalt Logan, daughter of Rube, related to her daughter-in-law, Clara Mae (Jim) Oswalt, the story of how her dad and several men took 2-4 wagons and stayed about two weeks on North River to “harvest” rocks for the huge grind stones. The rocks were crafted into huge, round grinding stones with a hole in the center for the shaft to be fitted into.

Visions of a huge overshot waterwheel can be disregarded because the wheel was located

in a sluice box where it lay horizontally under the building. Water was let loose to go rushing down the box to turn the giant wheel which turned the cogs to which the millstones were attached.

People of the community would bring their shelled corn in sacks to have the it ground

into meal by the two huge rocks. You had a choice of coarsely or finely ground meal. Vandie (Lasco) Jones preferred the coarse. She also liked for the corn to be ground slowly so that the rocks did not cause too much friction and cause the meal to get hot and cause it to have a flat taste. The ground product was put back into the sack in which the corn was brought in. The hard covering of the corn, or bran, was left with the meal. It had to be sifted out before the most delicious product, corn pone, could be made with buttermilk and baking soda. The bran was not wasted; it was put into the slop for the hogs. As payment for the grinding, a portion of the meal was retrieved for the miller.

Along with the gristmill were a cotton gin and sawmill. Lasco Jones, a grandson,

remembers the day he had to take his Uncle Sam Jones to the hospital when his arm became entangled in the gin. Lasco had to sign for the doctor to remove the mangled

limb below the elbow. Uncle Sam did not let this injury slow him down. He went on with his life – scaring us kids with the nub of the arm, farming and driving a school bus.

Clara Mae remembers making mattresses in the gin.

The sawmill made the lumber from which the original New Hope Baptist Church was constructed. It was located on the old Fayette Road, just south of where the present

church now stands.

The isolated community received mail that was picked up at Berry and delivered by

horseback. Reuben came to the rescue once again. On September 13, 1880, he became the first postmaster of Reuben , as was in so many cases, the location was named for

the postmaster. The postoffice was in operation until November 10, 1905 when it was

removed to New Lexington. It was located in the store which was located across the

road from the mill.

Many imbedded memories remain with the few remaining people who visited Jones

Mill. The pond became a holy place as new converts from Phillips Chapel Freewill Baptist, Macedonia Baptist, Concord Baptist, New Hope Batptist or Concord Baptist

Churches were baptized. It became a place of great enjoyment as kids and parents

alike enjoyed the swimming hole as portrayed by our local artist, Willie Frank Logan.

Information gathered by Nell Oswalt Naugher and Estelle Jones Bolton Barger.

Painting by Willie Logan

_________________________________________________________________

Additional contributions by Nell Naugher

Grandfather Reuben owned approximately 1500 acres of land in this area and passed it on to his children. Louvinnie, Reuben’s second wife was paid $400 for her part. The children deeded all the real property to Sam Jones and he in turn made deeds to each child. This was done to save cost and expense of recording long deeds.

Uncle Sam Jones, one of his children, lost his hand and part of his arm working in the cotton mill, and enjoyed terrorizing us children with his arm.

For years the mill ground corn, ginned cotton, and sawed logs. My mother remembers making mattresses at the mill. At one point the cotton mill closed, but the old mill continued to grind corn,. You could make a real corn pone from this meal.

There was no money in those days and the miller would take a portion for grinding. Over the years, the mill had several owners and operators. Some of them were: Grandpa Reuben and all his children, Floyd Jones, Sam Jones, Mr. Anner Freemen and Mr. Hosea Camp.

Resident men would gather here to grind their corn, chew tobacco, dip snuff, discuss the news of the day, talk about crops, and tell stories. I would imaging some of them were real stories and some were exaggerated.

It was here I took my first boat ride. My brother, James and I were going to Grandma’s (Reuben Jones’ daughter, Rosetta), and Mama cautioned us to “stay away from the mill pond”. As we passed, James noticed a flatbed boat tied up above the same and suggested we take a ride. He paddled up-creek until he had to roll his pants up, get out of the boat and push us out of the mud. He paddled back downstream, tied the boat and we continued with our trip to Grandma’s. It was years later before we told our parents.

We knew when we got to Grandma’s she would have left-over biscuits and slices of salty ham in the old wooden safe (cabinet) that had tin in the doors. And we would be HUNGRY!

Also, I remember going with my dad to get corn ground into meal. We had a safe that Grandpa Logan made. It had a bin on either side in the bottom. The let side was for a bushel of flour and the right side for a bushel of meal.

A few hundred yards southwest of the mill, a Deserters’ Den was constructed. Men who did not wan to to into service hid out here to avoid serving in the Civil War. It was a mound with a rock levee surrounding it. Someone mentioned that the men made shoes or repaired them.

The mill pond like other bodies of water in the area was also used by churches to baptize new members.

I remember young people gathering at Jones Mill Pond to go in swimming. The artiest who did the drawing The Old Jones Mill was one of those teenagers. When I contacted him (Willie Logan) to see if he had done a painting of the mill, he stated he could do it from memory.

In these days, time was plentiful and life was sweet.

Do you know anyone who was baptized in Jones Mill Pond? We would love to hear about it.

Jones Mill Pond is located on Jones Mill Road just off Old Fayette Road: https://goo.gl/maps/1wm8HmsYK2bxoq9v6. It is near Williamson-Jones Cemetery

Rev. Ike B. Cannon recalled as one of the last street preachers

July 24, 2023 / Delbert Reed

By Delbert Reed

First printed in The Tuscaloosa News on October 4, 1995.

Reverend Ike B. Cannon was the kind of man they used to make Hollywood movies about, and I always meant to write a story about him and what made him the way he was. I regret that I never did, and he has been dead four years now.

A vivid black and white memory of Reverend Cannon has been stuck in my mind for more than 40 years. He was one of the last street preachers in West Alabama, and I can see him even now, red-faced and dark-eyed, mopping sweat from his brow with one hand while holding his Bible high over his head with the other, hoarsely shouting The Word to a small crowd that came and went throughout the late August Saturday afternoon in front of P. E. Robertson’s Grocery on Main Avenue in downtown Northport.

In the 1940s and 1950s, Cannon preached not only in Northport but also at the Tuscaloosa County Courthouse and on the Courthouse Square in Fayette and anywhere else the opportunity came. His was a rugged, familiar face in such places, and his daughters played the accordion and most of the family joined in to sing gospel songs and hymns.

Cannon preached for more than 60 years before his retirement and death, according to family members. He was pastor of several Baptist churches in northern Tuscaloosa County, where he spent his life, and served as pastor of two churches, Friendship and Sterling, for more than 30 years at the same time.

Cannon also had a radio ministry for a time in the 1950s and held revivals throughout West Alabama in churches, tents and brush arbors. He preached any time and any place he could. It was his calling, and he always answered.

“It never mattered to him what denomination a church was, he would always go and preach if he was invited,” his daughter Kate said recently. “But he was an ordained Missionary Baptist preacher.”

“The churches would be packed to hear that old man, too,” youngest son Jerry, who wears the same sharp features of his half-Cherokee Indian father, recalled with a fond smile.

“But he never made any money preaching,” said J. C. Cannon, the oldest son. “There was no money to be made in those days. He farmed to support his preaching.” Kate, on the same subject, said she remembered selling eggs on Saturday so he could buy gas to drive to church to preach on Sunday.

Cannon, born in 1907 near New Lexington, spent much of his young life as a tenant farmer, but in 1945 he bought the Samantha-area farm his family still holds onto today. He and Mrs. Cannon had nine children of their own and generously adopted and raised five others, supporting the large family with the farm.

“He was the best man who ever lived,” said Jerry,

“He was always a preacher,” Kate said. “I can never remember him not being a preacher. And he always took the family wherever he preached, even in the old days when we traveled by mule and wagon. I can still remember sleeping on a pile of quilts in the back of the wagon on the way home after dark. Those trips always seemed so long,” she added.

Cannon was not only a farmer and preacher; he was a talented musician, too. “He could play any instrument he picked up,” said Kate, who spent years playing the accordion on the street and the piano in church before turning the job over to her sister Carolyn.

In the 1950s, Cannon drove a big, long, black car with loudspeakers mounted on the top. The car was a 1946 Ford, according to Jerry. The younger children often sat in the car or played about on the street nearby while their father preached. The older girls and Mrs. Cannon usually joined in on the songs unless Mrs. Cannon was busy selling produce at the Farmer’s Market.

Cannon’s children, now in their fifties and sixties, remembered him for me recently, trying to help me understand why I have held onto this memory of him for so long. It is a picture of a time and a man handsome and tanned from working the fields and with a calling few of us could ever understand. My goal had been to find the man or myth that had created that lasting memory.

“I’d like people who didn’t know him to know how good he was,” Kate said. “He helped a lot of people. He kept a lot of people from going to hell. He always told a joke or funny story to get your attention when he preached, then he’d give you the fire and brimstone,” she said with a wide, proud smile as tears glistened in her eyes.

Cannon performed scores of weddings through the years, often at his home and at all hours of the day and night. He also visited the sick, even when he could no longer drive himself, and he preached many, many funerals.

“He was a good man,” Kate repeated. “I remember he brought some relatives to our house during the big snow of 1940-41 to keep them from freezing and starving.”

“He was the best man who ever lived,” said Jerry, looking away toward his youngest son, Ike, playing happily nearby.

As a boy of 12 or 13, I stood at the edge of a small congregation, some of whom leaned against nearby storefronts or sat on the fenders of dusty cars parked along Main Avenue in Northport, listening to the music and the preaching of Reverend Cannon.

I don’t remember a word he said those many years ago, or the songs the girls sang, but I remember the man with the coal-black hair and red shirt. And I remember the message, because I know now that Reverend Ike B. Cannon was himself the message.

Written by Delbert Reed, contributor
Delbert Reed
byDelbert Reed

Mama Confession

July 14, 2018 / Christina Williamson Eads

by Samantha Native Christina Williamson Eads

There are days that feel so unproductive. 😣 Days that I accomplish nothing on my mile-long to-do list. I look around my house and see all that needs to be done – laundry to fold, dishes to wash, floors covered in toys and dust. Just to name a few.

I foolishly had many idealistic expectations when I became a stay-at-home parent. Our home would be spotless. I’d whip up a gourmet meal every night. I’d have time for cute Pinterest projects and reading and exercise. This hilarious list goes on (I’m literally laughing 😂). But the truth is, raising young children is no easy task! Who would have thought I wouldn’t have time to do things I want to do?! Even if those things are good, productive, necessary things like maybe take a shower or mop the kitchen floor. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Life isn’t always what you expect it to be, which is something I struggle with handling. But the Lord is teaching me so much through motherhood. Like having a grateful heart despite the challenges I face. Perspective is everything, and these boys won’t be babies for long. I will blink and Sam will be in middle school. Logan will be driving. 😭 They won’t need me as much. Or at least not in the same ways. Part of me is already mourning over this fact. But another part of me is looking forward to a little more peace and quiet. 😏

Until they grow up before my eyes I’m determined to spend each day soaking up the boo-boo kisses, adorable giggles, silly word pronunciations, and that precious sweet baby smell 👶🏼. Some days I might not get much done besides keeping these little boogers alive, but maybe that’s enough sometimes, because they are worth every showerless day. Every sleepless night. Every mess. Every tear. My own personal agenda doesn’t matter compared to these kids. Being their mother is at the top of my to-do list. And what a sweet, worthy task it is. 💙

Printed with permission

Christina grew up in Samantha. She lives in Trussville, Alabama with her husband Dusty, and their two sons, Logan and Sam. If her words encouraged you, please let her know by leaving comments below.

Mama Confession by Christina Williamson Eads

Sam & Logan Eads

J. T. Taylor Recalls Trials and Triumphs of Life, by Delbert Reed

August 29, 2017 / Delbert Reed

 by Delbert Reed.  (Originally published in The Northport Gazette, March 24, 2004).

I could tell the man was on a serious mission by the way he marched directly into my office and looked me in the eye.

“Are you Delbert Reed?” he asked in a tone that made me stammer a bit before confessing that I was. “I’ve been looking for you for over 35 years,” he said, finally offering a smile that told me that he probably wasn’t heavily armed.

He told me his name was J. T. Taylor and that he had been reading stories I’ve written since the sixties and wanted to meet me face to face. Then his story and our friendship began.

“I grew up at the foot of Reed Mountain and knew a lot of your family,” he said before quickly naming several of the 11 children of my great grandfather Wes and Leona Davis Reed who grew up on Reed Mountain just north of Haygood Methodist Church in northern Tuscaloosa County.

“I knew Etta, Elliott, Ed, Evaline, Ester and your grandfather Ellis,” Taylor continued. It would have been a real trick if he had been able to continue with the names of Ethel, Elbert, Elmer, Effie, Essie and Ella. “I knew Wes Reed, too; I knew all the Reeds,” he said.

I proudly told Taylor that I actually have Wes Reed’s dinner bell and that it was given to me by the late Carl Harris nearly 30 years ago. “I remember that bell,” Taylor said. “It was on a pole in their yard and I remember hearing it ring many times.”

Taylor quickly called off dozens of other names I’d heard all my life, and mentioned places I’d known about but had all but forgotten through the years. Before our first visit ended, Taylor promised to show me the site of the old Reed home place on Reed Mountain one day, and he did so last weekend as we talked about our roots and our lives.

The Taylor family grew up about a mile and a half down the “mountain” from the Reeds, and there were ten Taylor children who helped Jim and Stella Gilliam Taylor work their 120-acre farm. Six of the ten survive today, including Wiley, nearing 94; J. T., 79; Martha Donour; Brazzie Rogers; Maxie Bryant and Gladys Franks. Martha has even returned to the old Taylor farm where she lives today in the same house in which she was born and raised.

“I joined the Navy in 1943 and got out in 1946,” Taylor said, proudly noting that he even returned to Gorgas High School after his Navy tour and earned his diploma.

Taylor was in Japan from November 1945 until March 1946 and visited Hiroshima (the site of the world’s first wartime atomic bomb blast on August 6, 1945) “eight or ten times” and Nagasaki (the site of the second atomic bomb blast on August 9, 1945) once.

“I still think they (the military) used us as guinea pigs,” Taylor said of his visits to the cities devastated by the bombs. “My feet and hands broke out in blisters—bad blisters—for years afterward. It started in the spring of 1946 and finally cleared up in the mid-seventies. My feet were sore for 30 years and I had nightmares that my feet were rotting off.”

Taylor, though only a youngster at the time, recalled the difficult years of the Great Depression, especially 1930-31. “I guess we were well off,” he said. “We had plenty of peas, cornbread and sweet milk. And we played baseball in John Tierce‘s pasture down by the creek.”

Taylor spent several years working at Gulf States Paper Corporation in Tuscaloosa before landing a job with the Postal Service in 1955. He stuck with the job for more than 30 years before retiring in 1985.

“What have you been doing since then,” I asked. “Oh, I’ve been busy,” he laughed.

Taylor did admit to having run into a few bumps in the road of life, including having trouble with alcohol for many years and having his first wife leave him after more than 30 years of marriage.

“I used to drink regular,” he said with a serious look in his eye. “I drank every day; I was an alcoholic and I still am, but I’ve been sober 26 years. But for 20 or 25 years before that I drank every day. Alcohol was the best medicine I could find for my arthritis,” Taylor added. “It was hard, but I quit. It took me three or four years to get back to a normal life, but the last 16 years have been wonderful,” Taylor added.

(Originally published in The Northport Gazette, March 24, 2004)

James (JT) Taylor 8/28/1938-3/4/2015

James (JT) Taylor died March 4, 2015 at the age of 76, at home in Bonnie’s arms. Click here to read obituary.

Samantha Living would like to thank Delbert Reed for sharing this story. We appreciate his journalism and interest in the Samantha Community. We invite your comments below or send them and any photos you might have to editor@samanthaliving.

Please comment below

August 14, 2017 / Norman Naugher

by Norman W. Naugher

A while ago, we had the opportunity to visit with Norman and Nell Wright in their home. They shared a wonderful written story of the life of Norman growing up in Samantha. The writing is attached at the bottom of this page.

Playing dominoes with friends

Cowden home, old Byler Road (Old Highway 43)

The photos were captured on our visit.

“…This writing is dedicated to my wife, Nell, who almost had to get a knife and cut me open to extract these stories. To my son, Marty, whom she said would enjoy reading it, to my daughter, Jan, who keeps us all together, and my parents who had a hard time raising me…” Click here to read Norman’s Story

If you enjoyed reading Norman’s story, please leave comments below and let him know.

Becky Williamson-Martin

Visit to Reed Mountain Awakens the Imagination

August 9, 2017 / Delbert Reed

by Delbert Reed
 Reprint -- Published in The Northport Gazette, April 7, 2004

I had to go back to Reed Mountain in northern Tuscaloosa County last week. Something drew me there to stand at the old home place of my ancestors and look out on the wide, breath-taking vistas to the East and wonder about the history of the Reed family.

There is little left to prove that anyone ever lived at the site now except a few rocks, likely from the foundation or chimney, and a thriving wisteria vine, which was covered with bumblebees on the late afternoon that I visited.

I listened for sounds from the past, like the tolling of the old dinner bell or the chopping of wood, and I watched for wispy images of people I might know as the sun began to cast shadows on the hill, but there was none of either.

I could see, though, why someone would want to live on Reed Mountain. That spectacular view toward the faraway bottomland beside the small, clear stream below had me dreaming for a moment, too, although the place is generally poorly suited for farming in many ways. Those red-land hills and hollows are far more suited for hunting.

But my great grandparents Wes and Leona Reed raised 12 children to adulthood on the place and farmed a large area first owned, by all accounts, by Wes’s father Thomas Reed, the first Reed known to have settled in the country near Haygood Methodist Church. Thomas likely walked or rode a mule or wagon from Georgia if he was typical of the Southern Scots-Irish settlers. All I know of his wife is that her name was Parthenia Moore and that she was from the Moore’s Bridge area.

I imagined the large Wes Reed family meal time and wondered just how much food they had to grow and can to manage through the winters. I wondered just how many biscuits Omie, as Leona was called, had to cook each morning before sending her family into the fields.

Wesley Washington Reed was just 16 years old and Leona Elizabeth Davis only 15 when they married on December 16, 1886, according to family records. My grandfather Ellis, born on December 20, 1887, was the oldest of the children, and he was 25 years old when his grandfather Thomas Reed, born in 1847, died in 1913. The youngest child of Wes and Omie Reed was Elliott, born in 1907. Three children were born dead, including two after Elliott’s birth, and another died at age three.

A photograph of Wes and Omie standing together shows tanned and hard-working people, and a similar photograph of Ellis and my grandmother Viola is quite similar. They seem to be typical of the proud, poor, rural Southerners of the early 1900s.

My dad had an old scrapbook that included several old receipts showing purchases by Wes Reed from the late 1800s until his death in 1938. One was for a yoke of oxen for $30 on May 13, 1897; many were for fertilizer and taxes; one was for a one-ton Ford truck purchased from Tucker Motor Company in 1923 at a cost of $451.40; another was for $9 as “full pay for his child’s tombstone.” Wes had signed some of the notes and mortgages with an “X” for his mark, indicating that he could not write his name.

Unfortunately, there are few photographs of the Reed family from the early days, but there are enough to trace a family resemblance, and there are markers at Haygood Cemetery that help trace the family back in time.

Fortunately, though, the dinner bell from the old Wes Reed place survives today, thanks to the late Carl Harris. That same bell that called the Reed family from the fields or marked a death in the community rests safely in my storage shed, and I promise soon to display it proudly for the memories it holds, for the hands that rang it, and for those who heard it ring so many times.

“I heard that dinner bell ring at 11 o’clock every day for years,” Brazzie Taylor Rodgers said in recalling her years as a neighbor of the Reeds. “Omie always had dinner ready at 11 o’clock. Wes Reed was a good man,” she added. “He walked by our house early nearly every morning on his way to the store to get a box of snuff, and I was at his house the day he died.”

The old Reed place on Reed Mountain was sold many years ago to some large corporation, probably a timber company, and the old house destroyed. When I visited, the timber around the old house place had recently been cut, leaving the area scarred and ugly except for the view across the valley eastward.

But the Reed place was surely a glorious place once, with hunting dogs and teams of mules and oxen and cows and a large family to care for it all. I’d like to think Reed’s Mountain in the old days was much like the mythical Walton’s Mountain depicted on television and that the Reed family was just as happy and loving as the Waltons.

I’d like to think those 12 children grew up with good memories of life on Reed’s Mountain. And I wish I had thought to ask them to share them with me years ago. Now I can only imagine how it must have been.

(Originally Published in The Northport Gazette, April 7, 2004)

Samantha Living would like to thank Delbert Reed for sharing this story. We appreciate his journalism and interest in the Samantha Community. We invite your comments below or send them and any photos you might have to editor@samanthaliving.

Please comment below

Samantha, Alabama 1963: Cabaniss Grocery John Manley Cabiness is standing to the left. His father, Oscar Cabiness (with glasses), is standing in the doorway.

The Old Cabaniss Store is Only a Memory Now

July 7, 2017 / Delbert Reed

The Old Cabaniss Store is Only a Memory Now

By Delbert Reed
Published in the Northport Gazette June 19, 2002

I went looking for a bit of the past last week, following a newspaper advertisement to the old, deserted stone store on Highway 43 in Samantha built by Oscar Cabaniss in 1939 and operated by the family for 45 years. I had hoped to buy some small item from the store just for the sake of history.

But there was no sale after all. No one showed up to open the doors of the crumbling old store to the dozen or so people who showed up, just as I had, searching for a piece of history and perhaps a memory or two.

I peeped into the darkness of the store through the bars of a broken window, trying to see just what might be left after nearly 20 years of abandonment and decay. I wasn’t expecting much, and I am sorry to say that I saw even less among the dust and spider webs.

But I did remember a few visits there from far in the past when Cabaniss’ Store was the big city to me. I was just a barefoot boy of seven then, playing in the dusty fields along Wolf Creek as Daddy, Mother and a mule named John struggled to feed themselves and four small children as a tenant farmer on the old Espy Mill place.

The old store was a familiar place to me from my childhood on as we lived in ten similar tenant houses within two miles of the store during the 1940s. Daddy, older brother Lonnie and I walked to the store several Saturday afternoons a year in those days. Lonnie and I sometimes drank a NuGrape and watched the older men playing checkers while Daddy talked about the crops and weather with the neighbors. I always filled my pockets with soft drink bottle caps picked up from around the front of the store as we started back home and Daddy usually carried a 25-pound sack of flour over his shoulder.

We proudly rode a borrowed wagon loaded with cotton past the store in the autumn of 1947, headed East to the gin near the Samantha Post Office with what amounted to the product of a year’s hard work, and we likely stopped at Cabaniss’ Store for another NuGrape on the way back home. Years later, from 1952-73, Mother or Daddy stopped at Cabaniss’ Store every day for 22 years to deliver a newspaper to the store, and I was with them a lot of those days to get another NuGrape.

Now I hear that the old store, located just a stone’s throw from Northside High School, may be torn down to make way for a modern convenience store. It is inevitable, I suppose, but it seems a sad ending for the once-grand old general store that proudly served the people of that community from 1938 until 1983.

The store was built in 1938 by Oscar Cabaniss, who ran it until turning it over to his son, John Manley, in 1955. John Manley had been a part of the store from the start, having helped his father build it and run it from his teen years on. Oscar continued to spend time at the store until his death in 1968 at the age of 76. John Manley operated the store until his retirement in 1983. John Manley and his sister, Margaret Crump of Northport, recently sold the store and property..

John Manley, now age 80 and living in Northport, recalled this week that the store once handled almost anything anyone needed, including groceries, clothes, shoes, gloves, feed for livestock, plowlines, nails, horseshoes, tires, tobacco, plows, gas and oil. The store also served as the Beat 4 polling location for many years, and it was a general community gathering place where gossip and news–and sometimes even a bottle—were passed around.

John Manley recalled that former governor James E. “Big Jim” Folsom stopped at the store once about 50 years ago as he passed by on his way to visit his in-laws, who were from nearby Berry.

According to John Manley, many of the rocks used to build the walls of the store were taken from a quarry near North River, not far from the old Gorgas School. Other rocks used in the foundation were taken from the fields on Reed Mountain, he said.

“The Reeds (the author’s great-grandparents Wes and Omie Reed and their 11 children and dozens of grandchildren) piled them up at the edge of the fields and we hauled them in there by the truck load,” John Manley said, recalling that the truck used was an International.

John Manley also recalled that the first gas he ever sold was to Crockett Kyzer, a well-known farmer and basket maker from the area. He said that sale came in 1936 at another nearby store his father operated before building the stone store in 1938.

The old stone Cabaniss store holds many memories for John Manley, and he and his children and grandchildren have kept a few items from the store for themselves. Still, he isn’t overly sad to see it finally sold. “I guess it eases my mind a bit in some ways,” he said of the sale.

“It’s a different ball game now than it was in 1936,” John Manley said, noting how times have changed. “At one time I knew everybody who lived on Highway 43 from Berry Junction to Stone Hill in Northport.” And there is no doubt that everyone who traveled along Highway 43 knew that old stone store and its owners Oscar and John Manley Cabaniss, who served their community well for almost half a century.

Now it appears that the store will soon be gone, with not even a bottle cap left behind as a souvenir for a barefoot boy who thought of it as the big city itself more than 50 years ago.

This story is a follow up to a previous blog “Who Remembers Cabaniss Gro.” Published on June 26, 2017 on Samantha Living.

1963: Cabaniss Grocery in Samantha This rock store stood at the corner of Hwy 43 North and Northside Road in northern Tuscaloosa County. The store replaced one that was once part of the Stagecoach Exchange at what was then called ‘Marcumville’.

Samantha Living would like to thank Delbert Reed for sharing this story. We appreciate his journalism and interest in the Samantha Community. We invite your comments below or send them and any photos you might have to editor@samanthaliving.

We invite you to comment below

It’s the 4th of July – What Does that Mean?

July 4, 2017 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 0 Comments

Independence Day. Barbeque, hot dogs, beach parties, baseball games, and fireworks. But what does “Independence Day” mean?

The Fourth of July is our country’s birthday. The day our country’s founders declared independence from Great Britain. This meant they would no longer follow the orders of Britain’s king. To do this was extremely dangerous. At the time, Britain had one of the world’s strongest armies, and to go against the king was a crime punishable by death. But the king’s laws were unfair, so our founders decided it was worth the risk of war to win the freedom to govern themselves. In 1783, the new United States won that war, which we now call the Revolutionary War.

Why does the flag have those stars? At this time of year, American flags are easy to spot. Point one out to your grandchildren. Explain that each part of the flag stands for something. The 50 stars stand for the 50 states. The 13 stripes stand for the 13 British colonies, which declared their independence on July 4, 1776. It’s a symbol — a way to show the world what we stand for. It also shows that we are connected to one another — that we’re on the same team. And because the flag is special, we treat it with respect.

What makes our country special? That one thing that makes our country special is that it guarantees us certain rights, or freedoms. We use these rights every day when we pray (or decide not to), read a newspaper, or meet and talk with friends. We can do these things because our country guarantees us the freedom to practice religion the way we want, say or write what we want, and go where we want. These rights are spelled out in the U.S. Constitution and its Bill of Rights. Which rights are most important to you?

What does the government do for us? We pay taxes to our local, state, and national government so that, among other things, the government can build and maintain facilities that reflect our values. Education is important to us, for example, so we build schools. Safety is a priority for us, so we put up traffic lights. And we want open places where we can gather, so we set aside space for parks. It provides the people who help the community, including police officers, firefighters, crossing guards, librarians, postal workers, and sanitation crews.

What can we do for our country? Our country is like a family: Everyone has to pitch in or it doesn’t work. As members of the U.S. “family” — in other words, as citizens — we all have certain responsibilities, like going to school, voting, and obeying the law. Being a good citizen also means taking care of the country, by keeping it clean, looking out for people in trouble, and staying informed about the problems that we face. Of course, actions always have more impact than words, so set an example by dedicating some of your time to volunteering in the community.

What does it mean to be American? In countries like China or Ireland, most residents share a common culture or ethnicity. But the United States is different. Here, what people share is a common idea — that people should have the freedom to live the way they want, and to work and earn money the best way they can. These freedoms have inspired people from all over the world to come to this country and become “Americans.” This is a profound idea many may never have considered and it should make us feel especially proud of our country, as well as more connected to other Americans of different backgrounds. It can also lead to a discussion about our own family’s journey to the United States. Why did your relatives come? Why did they stay? Every family’s story is part of the country’s story. Make sure you AND your grandchildren know yours. Comments below.

God Bless America
God Bless Samantha

Happy 4th of July

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes.
Becky Williamson-Martin

Article Source

July 1, 2017 / Delbert Reed / 3 Comments

By Delbert Reed

(Reprint -- Published in Northport Gazette, June 4, 2003)

I saw the stranger walking through the mall and guessed correctly that he had a story to go with his black hat and clothes and guitar and that hungry look in his eye. I had seen plenty others like him plodding along Music Row and Broadway back in my Nashville days. And to tell the truth, I’d seen the same look in the mirror a time or two.

“I’m looking for some work playing and singing,” he answered when I asked if I could help him. “I need a job and I’m not able to do much of anything else.”

Jack McCaffrey is his name, and although he shows the wear and tear of hard times beyond his years, he hasn’t given up hope quite yet. But if it’s true that artists do their best work when they suffer, McCaffrey just might be about to write that hit song he has always dreamed about.

“I don’t like to play in bars, but I’ll play anywhere right now,” McCaffrey said. “I’ve got to survive. I’d play at the North Pole if the Eskimos would listen to me.”

A self-proclaimed poet, songwriter and musician, McCaffrey is 59 years old, with more hair on his chin than his head and a nasty cigarette habit. “I spent my last three dollars on cigarettes,” he admitted with a bowed head. “I know I shouldn’t be smoking; my brother died of lung cancer.” But on a hot summer afternoon a few days ago, cigarettes and music was about all that kept McCaffrey’s modest Tuscaloosa apartment from being a lonely place as we continued an interview started the day we met at McFarland Mall.

“I’ve written about 200 songs,” he said, offering to sing one for me he had written in 1982 while visualizing himself as a successful musician out on the road. “I wrote the song for my wife. It’s been ten years since I played it; I hope I can get through it,” he said before singing a not-so-bad little ballad with a few memorable lines about big dreams and a broken heart.

“I’m working on a contemporary gospel song with a blues beat now,” McCaffrey said as he sang a few lines of a song he called “Rock Me, Jesus.” None of McCaffrey’s music is recorded or written down. “It’s all in my head,” he said.

By my standards McCaffrey really can play and sing a little, and sometimes a little is all it takes if the breaks fall your way. Whether he can make it in Nashville or even Tuscaloosa could be simply a matter of luck, although McCaffrey has almost given up on giving Nashville a try.

McCaffrey carries a list of 150 songs in his guitar case and claims he can play and sing all of them on cue, although he had only one formal music lesson in his life. His songs cover 50 years of music and include rock, country, gospel or whatever else one would care to hear. He can also play several instruments, he says, “but I don’t really play the piano; I bang on it.”

“My grandfather, John Williams of the Samantha area just outside Northport, was my inspiration,” McCaffrey said. “He played the bass fiddle and sang bluegrass music. He claimed to have some Indian blood, so I claim to be half-Irish and half-Indian. I’m Irish enough to like a drink of whisky and Indian enough to go on the warpath,” he continued with a wry smile. “That’s why I don’t drink anymore.”

McCaffrey’s mother helped start him on his musical career by teaching him to play a ukulele at age seven. “I worried her to death with that thing singing songs I learned off the radio,” he said. “My older brother had a guitar, but I couldn’t get my hands on it until he joined the Navy in 1956. I taught myself to play and played a lot with a buddy named Ronnie Wheatley.”

McCaffrey and Wheatley played together for several years, working in Birmingham night clubs after working at EBSCO Industries together in the daytime. “We played every club in Birmingham in the sixties,” McCaffrey said proudly. Wheatley still works at EBSCO while McCaffrey is disabled, but they both still enjoy their music.

A Catholic, McCaffrey attends Holy Spirit Church and sometimes plays music at a local Church of God. “I don’t earn any money, but the Lord blesses me for it,” he said.

McCaffrey has children and grandchildren in Birmingham, where he spent several years in construction work, and carries their pictures in his guitar case. He is divorced from his first wife and separated from his second, something he finds painful to talk about. He has been in Tuscaloosa for three months.

“Here’s one of my favorites,” McCaffrey said, breaking a somber mood and patting a bare big toe as he played a current patriotic song made popular by country music star Toby Keith.

McCaffrey’s father worked in construction and moved a great deal, allowing Jack to experience life in Alabama, Louisiana, South Carolina and even California, where he said he even attended school with some of the Mouseketeers of Walt Disney television fame for a while.

McCaffrey’s brother, John McCaffrey Jr., lived in the Samantha area on their grandfather’s old place until his death. His widow, Betty, still resides there, according to Jack.

Today, Jack doesn’t often dream of that elusive big break. He’s just hoping to find a paying gig so he can sing his songs and see better days. “If I don’t I’ll starve, he said without a smile as he gently strummed the guitar he was holding onto like it was his only friend.
(Northport Gazette, June 4, 2003)

POSTSCRIPT: I couldn’t help liking Jack McCaffrey, and his music, too, for that matter, and I visited him several times over a month or so. I even bought him cigarettes and a can of soup a couple of times when he ran out of money between disability checks. In an effort to try to help him, I bought a small cassette recorder and had him record some of his songs for me to take to a friend in Nashville who had connections in the music industry there. “If you see Martina McBride, tell her I love her,” he said as he handed me the tape a week or so later. I passed the tape along but never heard anything about it from my friend. I saw in the newspaper a year or so later where McCaffrey died, taking his songs with him except for a line or two I still remember from the one he wrote for his wife and the one I’m writing about his Martina McBride line. (Delbert Reed)


Samantha Living would like to thank Delbert Reed for sharing this story. We appreciate his journalism and interest in the Samantha Community. We invite your comments below or send them and any photos you might have to editor@samanthaliving.com

The Barbee School which taught from first to seventh grade was located near Samantha in northern Tuscaloosa County from about 1907 to the early 1940s. After students completed the seventh grade, they were awarded diplomas and encouraged to continue their education. However, students who lived in the rural communities had farm and home responsibilities and transportation was mule or horse and buggy. Photo shows the graduation class for the 1913-1914 school year. The teacher, Annis Estelle Griffin, is on the back row in the white shirt. To her right is Carl Harris. To Harris' right may be Paul Howell.Submitted by John N. Harris.

Historical Barbee School

June 30, 2017 / Delbert Reed / 1 Comment

From Delbert Reed.

Barbee School Reunion Offers a Lesson in History

(Written by Delbert Reed – Published in Northport Gazette, June 18, 2003)

Historical Barbee School

You’ve probably heard stories told by your parents and grandparents about how they walked three miles in the snow and rain to school as youngsters. If you haven’t, you should arrange to attend the next Barbee School reunion, where you can hear the stories of the good old days from those who lived them.

A small group of former Barbee School students gathered recently at the home of Nell Howell Sheffield in Northport to recall their times together as schoolmates at the former small elementary school near Northside High School. Those attending the May gathering included Sheffield, Mary Freeman Hagler, Clytee Rogers Holloway, Lowell Skelton, Faye Maddox Boone and John Aris Harris.

“I’ll bet no six people ever had a better time that we did,” Mrs. Hagler said of the reunion. We waited until most of us were gone before we started getting together, but if we can we’re going to get together again next year and reminisce some more,” she said. The Barbee reunions have been going on for six or so years and were started mainly by Loy and Woodrow Wilson.

Barbee School, according to history relayed by John Aris Harris’s son John, was named after James and Sarah M. Barbee, who settled in the area in 1818. The school was located about a mile west of Barbee Creek and about two miles west of Northside High School. It was formed in 1909 by the consolidation of Friendship School and the Deal School and closed in 1942.

Mrs. Hagler lived east of Barbee School on the Bart Brown Road for much of the time she attended the school 1932-38 and walked through fields, pastures and woods and even across a foot-log bridge across Barbee Creek to schools with siblings Otis, Clay, Martha and Ouida.

“We had some good times there,” Mrs. Hagler said. “We had a few fights, too, but not often.” Mrs. Hagler’s memories of her days at Barbee include the school closing twice because there was no money to buy coal for heat during the winter.

“They brought our teachers out from town on Sunday evening or early Monday morning and they boarded with my Aunt Ida Cabaniss across the road from the school during the week and went back to town on Friday afternoons,” Mrs. Hagler said.

The Barbee School remembered by most of the former students had three or four rooms with two grades in each room. Earlier, a one-room school had stood on the site, according to some former students. “I saw a picture of the old school and I’m pretty sure it was only one room,” Mrs. Hagler said. “It looked like an old crib.”

Mrs. Boone attended Barbee School for six years starting in 1933 and later graduated from Talladega High School before earning master’s and doctoral degrees from the University of Alabama. She worked as a nurse and teacher until her retirement in 1990. Mrs. Boone has attended several Barbee School reunions and recalls elementary school friendships with Nell Howell Sheffield and Loy Wilson.

Skelton started school at Barbee in the mid-1930s and went there through the sixth grade before attending Etteca and Gorgas schools. Skelton’s brothers Adrian, Shorty and Gordon and sister Louise also attended Barbee, as did Skelton’s father Clarence. Skelton, retired from B. F. Goodrich after more than 42 years, is nearing age 75 and still has many friends from his days at Barbee.

Mrs. Sheffield lived less than a mile from Barbee School in what was known as the old Deal home during her childhood. The house, which burned in 1980, was located near one of the two stores her father (Paul Howell) operated for many years. “That old house was made from wide, hand-hewed planks; we wouldn’t have taken anything for it,” Mrs. Sheffield said.

“I remember my first-grade teacher was Miss Ruth Rice,” Mrs. Sheffield said. “She later married Horace Brown and we went to church with them at Chapel Hill Baptist Church. “Another teacher recalled by Mrs. Sheffield was Marian Scrivner, who boarded with the Howells.

“I remember Miss Rice giving us a picture to color in the first grade and I colored a woman’s hair green. Miss Rice said she had never seen a woman with green hair. Forty years later we saw a woman at church with green hair and she (then Mrs. Brown) remembered that fist-grade incident and remarked to me that we had finally seen someone with green hair.”

Mrs. Sheffield’s brother Paul B. Howell also attended Barbee for a few years. Both of them laster graduated from Tuscaloosa County High School.

Harris, a retired telephone company employee who lives in Moundville, attended Barbee for three years starting in 1938 when it had 30-40 students in six grades. He also attended Samantha and Gorgas schools “I still have my first-grade report card,” Harris said proudly. “I carried it to the reunion and my first teacher’s name (Margaret Tatum) is on it.”

Mrs. Holloway lived about two miles north of Barbee School at the head of Wolf Creek near Haygood Methodist Church and walked along a path through the woods and fields to school with friends from the Rice and Nuchols families.

“I can remember being freezing cold when we got to school and gathering around the pot-bellied stove to get warm,” she said. “It was hard living, but there were good days. Everybody loved everybody and everybody helped everybody else during crop time or sickness. We lost our farm and were sharecroppers some, but I’m proud of my raising,” Mrs. Holloway added.

Mrs. Holloway began work at Jitney Jungle Grocery in Tuscaloosa in 1956 and retired from Food World in 1991.

Most of the Barbee School students grew up on farms in the community and many of them came from sharecropper families left poor by the Great Depression of the 1930s, as Mrs. Hagler pointed out with pride. “I’ve lived a full life for a poor girl,” she said. “But I’ve had friends and people I cared about and who cared for me. What else do you need?

Samantha Living would like to thank Delbert Reed for sharing this story.   We appreciate his journalism and interest in the Samantha Community.  We invite your comments below or send them and any photos you might have to editor@samanthaliving.com

Submitted by Anita Bailey – Estel Williamson (Freeman) Barbee School 1936 (Anita’s Grandmother

The Barbee School which taught from first to seventh grade was located near Samantha in northern Tuscaloosa County from about 1907 to the early 1940s. After students completed the seventh grade, they were awarded diplomas and encouraged to continue their education. However, students who lived in the rural communities had farm and home responsibilities and transportation was mule or horse and buggy. Photo shows the graduation class for the 1913-1914 school year. The teacher, Annis Estelle Griffin, is on the back row in the white shirt. To her right is Carl Harris. To Harris’ right may be Paul Howell.Submitted by John N. Harris.

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Rt. 1, Box 152

June 29, 2017 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 6 Comments

by Becky Williamson-Martin

Apparently I have always had a love for or maybe taken ownership of the Samantha Community. Recently, we did some remodeling on the home I grew up in. I came home one day during during the remodel and the carpenters asked me if I drew on the walls when I was a kid. Then they showed me the “art work” they found on the ceiling of a closet they were tearing out.

Rt 1, Box 152, Samantha, Alabama 35482

While I do not remember creating this “masterpiece”, I do remember hiding in the top of that big closet many times to try and scare my brother Ricky (pay back you know?). I also recall having a thing about drawing mailboxes as a little girl. Maybe that was a result of daddy always teaching us the importance of putting down roots. Or maybe I am a horrific artist and that’s all I could do. But my biggest fan, my Momma, said, “you have to frame it”. So we now have a mounted piece of sheetrock from the closet.

I often hear folks from the Samantha Community say they live in Northside. This is always a bit comical to me. Having grown up in Samantha and going to Northside School, I always think to myself, “do they live in the school”? I guess younger folks don’t remember or those who moved here over the passed few years didn’t know this but before the postal service restructured everything our address was actually Rt. 1, Samantha, Alabama 35482. I still remember our address was Rt. 1, Box 152. It just sounds funny to me having grown up here when I hear people refer to Northside as the community. To me it’s a school.

Mailbox topper – “Johnny Williamson, Rt. 1 Samantha”

A few years before daddy passed away, I came to visit him and found him in the barn working on “something”. During our conversation I noticed an old mailbox topper hanging on the barn wall. It was covered with dust and spider webs. He granted my request to take it home. At that time, I lived near Lake Tuscaloosa. I took it home and restored it and I proudly displayed it on my back porch, Johnny Williamson, Rt. 1, Samantha, even though I didn’t live in the Samantha community at that time. My heart and all my childhood memories are still connected to Samantha. I can’t help but think that mailbox topper had some historical value for daddy, too. After all, he had kept it all those years.

I believe we should be proud of our roots. Even if some of the memories might not be good, where we came from helped make us who we are today and hopefully we learned from it all, even if we moved away. So, for me, I am proud to say I’m from Samantha, Alabama and I now live in Samantha, Alabama. I am also proud to say I attended Northside School in Samantha, Alabama – home of the Rams. After all, we do still have a zip code and a Post Office located on Northside Road. What are your thoughts? Comment below

Samantha Post Office, Samantha, Alabama

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes!
Becky Williamson-Martin

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Hope Chest and Father’s Day

June 18, 2017 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 2 Comments

I saw this post on Facebook this week. Caption read Remember the Hope Chest? I remember the day daddy took me to Weems Furniture in Fayette to buy one for me when I was a young girl. I still have it. It no longer has a lid but I’m still using it. It has had a purpose in my house since the day we brought it home. Currently, I have it in the children’s corner of my house being used as my grandchildren’s toy box.

Cedar Chest Daddy Bought me

Daddy was a man of few words most of the time, but he knew how to make the important things, the important things without having to talk about them. As I recall, Mother mentioned it to him one Saturday morning that I wanted a Hope Chest. It wasn’t uncommon for me to go to Fayette with him on a Saturday. I would often tag along in his old dirty truck, smelling of diesel fuel and gasoline and sawdust on his Saturday errand day going to saw shops and tire stores. We always stopped in somewhere for lunch. I loved going to Lofty’s Cafe. That was the best hamburger I ever had. He would usually run into folks he knew and they would talk about “you momma and them”, gardening and logging. This particular Saturday he “asked me” to go with him. Our first stop was Weems Furniture. He tells the sales lady we are there to purchase a “Hope Chest”. She ushered us to the row of chests lined up on the side wall. Some with dark wood, some with padded lids, some more “fancy” than others. And there was this one, plain cedar chest at the very end, which is the one I liked. He paid the lady and as the young man was coming from the back to load it, Daddy just picked it up and took it the truck. I always thought he had the biggest muscles and he was always doing things like that to remind me. 🙂

Reliving my memories of Daddy and my cedar chest and it being Father’s Day stirred up other thoughts and sweet nuggets of precious memories of him. It’s sort of funny how when you are living the moment it doesn’t seem significant at all, but later as you touch it again, you see (and feel) it differently. For instance, Daddy, was always breaking or losing his reading glasses. He would fall asleep in the recliner reading and sit on them or they would get crushed somehow. He would repair them in his special way by tying whatever he had available to make them stay on his head. 14 pair of reading glasses were found in the house after he left us. Some with those special ties.

Daddy’s Glasses

When I saw him wearing those glasses I would think it was funny or silly or wonder why in the world does he do that! Now I have them all in his box that he kept notes with phone numbers or whatever. I guess most people would have just thrown them away, but to me it’s a connection to him – sort of fills that “missing him” part in my soul. It’s the “real” things he did that I love so much. Those things that made him unique.

Another example of that unique repair work he would do, is his nut cracker. He never enjoyed TV much so he often would crack nuts at night to be doing something productive waiting on the sun to come up. A lot of men repair everything with duct tape. Not daddy. He used medical tape. Probably because he had a lot of that on hand because he usually had some sort of injury. LOL He wrapped medical tape around the big nail and continued on with his cracking nuts. I just couldn’t throw that away either.

Daddy’s Phone Books

Then there’s his phone books. He wore out some phone books I will tell you. Proof that he stayed connected to folks. He was interested in knowing about them. He spent hours on the phone at night reaching out to his friends and turning strangers into friends. He made opportunity. (Galatians 6:10).

To those who still have your dads – I promise you that those things which you think embarrass you or cause you to shake your head or roll your eyes about your dad – those quirky things he says or does – will someday be a precious memory that you embrace and that you will long to relive.

To those who have said a temporary good bye to your dads, I ask you – “do you agree”? Please feel free to share your memories in the comments below.

Daddy’s Glasses, Phone Books, Nut Cracker and hammer

The greatest man I ever knew!

by Becky Williamson Martin

In memory of Johnny Williamson (4/19/35-6/30/13)

Daddy in the swing on his porch

Daddy’s hands

Days Gone By Seemed Much More Simple

June 5, 2017 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 2 Comments

Memories of Growing Up in Samantha

OUCH!!!!!!

I was reading the article by Joshua Becker: “Those Things By Which We Get Embarrassed“ and he made this statement: “What if, instead of being embarrassed because our house is too small, we became embarrassed over the amount of unused space within it?”

As I read this article I thought about my visit with a dear neighbor, Jesse Ann, this past weekend. She lived next to us when we were small and has continued to maintain her parents’ house next to daddy’s (my house), even though they have been gone many years. She spends Wednesdays and Saturdays each week at the old homeplace. What a wonderful visit we had – talking about days gone by and some more recent memories of daddy, which brought us both to tears. The Weavers were such good neighbors. Oh the magic of ordinary days!

Old 1930s church. A gift from Jessie Ann Weaver Langston

The inside of the little farm house still looked much like I remembered it as a child growing up. The beautiful pine wainscot paneling in the “front room”. Jessie Ann gifted me with some absolute treasures that belonged to her parents that I will cherish and I hope my children will too after I’m gone, knowing “the history” behind them and the memories attached. A couple of old (1930) churns and other collections that she wanted me to have.

Among them were two old books about the history of Fayette.

150 Years of History of Fayette

Sitting there in the small farmhouse having conversation with Jessie Ann, I thought about how life seemed so much more simple in days gone by. Memories came to me of running barefoot along the path from our house to theirs. She must have thought I was such a country bumpkin. “Probably still does”. It seems that people were much more relational then. And even though life was hard, the hurried pressures of day-to-day life that we live under now were non-existent.

Outdoor Fun in Fayette County in the Olden Days Followed The Simplest Form

We have enjoyed reading the stories about the history of Fayette – some from the 1900 – such comical entries in the local paper about events such as “fisticuffs” and items like “demijohns” which I had to seek the definition. As I was reading those stories it was even more magnified how much more connected folks were then and my soul longs for that. They worked hard “together” and they celebrated accomplishments together. It seems to me that folks were less interested in themselves and their personal interests. It was more about “community”.

You know, I guess we can just “wish” for a simpler life with days of enjoying lemonade with our neighbors after a hard days work OR we can purpose to create those times in our own life today.

Somehow, I think we believe it’s either one or the other – work OR play. But one huge important thing our daddy taught us – work and play go together! “Many hands make the work load light!” And even fun. Make a party out of everything!!

To quote Johnny Williamson, “It’s very simple. Now I didn’t say it was easy, but it’s simple. You just have to make up your mind to do it.”

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes.

Becky Williamson-Martin

A little interesting history

18 Year Old ‘Doctor’ Began Brilliant Career in Fayette, by Marguerite Tarwater Callahan

A reprint of Memories of Growing Up in Samantha from Stuff That Works Blog posted on 9/11/15 by Becky Williamson-Martin

A Graduate’s Prayer

May 19, 2017 / Samantha Living / 0 Comments

We are publishing the prayer below at the request of several parents who have children graduating this year.

A Graduate’s Prayer

Father I have knowledge
so will you show me now
How to use it wisely
and find a way somehow
To make the world I live in
a little better place.
And make life with its problems
a bit easier to face. . .

Grant me faith and courage
and put purpose in my days
And show me how to serve Thee
in the most effective ways
So all my education,
my knowledge, and my skill
May find their use fulfillment
As I learn to do Thy will . . .
And may I ever be aware
in everything I do
That knowledge comes from learning –
And wisdom comes from you.

May God bless and watch over all the graduating seniors. Please leave your comments or well wishes for your graduating senior below.

Congratulations Northside Class of 2017

May 12, 2017 / Samantha Living / 1 Comment

Northside High School, Samantha, Alabama
Principal:  Mrs. Cindy Long 
Graduation Exercise: May 15, 2017 @ 7:30 p.m. in stadium 
Valedictorian and Salutatorian will be announced at graduation ceremony 

School Colors: 
Navy Blue, Columbia Blue and White 
Mascot: Ram 

Class Officers 
President: Stella Wilson 
Vice President: Anny Barrentine 
Secretary: Amber McCarley 
Treasurer: Karlie Colburn 
Parliamentarian: Samuel Newcomb
 
SGA Officers: 
President: Stella Wilson 
Vice President: Anna Barrentine 
Secretary: Samuel Newcomb 
Treasurer: Marian Bolin 
Parliamentarian: Karlie Colburn

2017 Candidates Listed Alphabetically

A Graduates Prayer

Shepherd Hill Opry Welcomed Guy Penrod

May 11, 2017 / Samantha Living / 0 Comments

Samantha, Alabama – Guy Penrod sang to 600+ guests at Shepherd Hill Opry this past Saturday. During his concert, which was very relaxed and intimate, he called his wife, Angie, on the phone to wish her a Happy 32^nd Anniversary. Angie kidded him about celebrating their anniversary with new friends while she

Penrod calls his wife Angie during concert

was home planting flowers. The crowd applauded when he bragged on how blessed he was to be married to “a good country girl”.

Penrod is one of the most in-demand touring artists in Christian music. His DVD, The Best of Guy Penrod is certified platinum by the RIAA. A vocal powerhouse, Penrod travels throughout the U.S. and abroad in addition to making multiple media appearances including radio’s “The Mike Huckabee Show,” RFD-TV’s top-rated “Larry’s Country Diner” and one of North America’s most popular Christian television programs “100 Huntley Street.” Additionally, Penrod hosts DayStar Television’s Emmy Award-winning “Gospel Music Showcase” program.

Known for his country styling, Penrod’s music has been applauded in the Gospel as well as country formats. He has appeared on “The Grand Ole Opry” and on numerous country recordings. His Hymns recording (Gaither Music Group/ Servant Records), debuted at #1 on the Nielsen SoundScan Southern Gospel retail chart and became the top-selling southern Gospel album of 2012. In 2011, he became a Texas Gospel Music Hall of Fame inductee; and he was inducted alongside the Gaither Vocal Band into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 2014.

Penrod certainly worked his charm on the crowd in Samantha. In addition to his beautiful voice, he has a wonderful repore with everyone he meets and you know immediately that he practices what he preaches – “loving folks”.

The band had some technical difficulties and Penrod asked to borrow a car to “run to Eat My Beats”. Without hesitation, a volunteer handed him the keys. It had a full tank when he returned, she said, “and it was probably on fumes when he left in it with all the running around getting ready for the event”.

Representatives from The Good Shepherd Foundation, who sponsored the event, said folks have already been inquring about when Penrod will be back to Shepherd Hill Opry.

Shepherd Hill Opry was built in memory of Johnny Williamson by his children on the property where he

Guests enjoy the sounds of Guy Penrod

called home and created deep roots. Concerts are held throughout the year. Well-known Nashville artists Lulu Roman (former Hee Haw Star), Allen Frizzell (Lefty Frizzell’s younger brother), Marty Raybon (lead singer with Shenandoah), Clinton Gregory Bluegrass Band, Jennifer Brantley, Gerald Smith, and Addison Johnson have performed at Shepherd Hill Opry as well as Donnie Lee Strickland and Shannon Knight formerly with The Gaithers in addition to many local artists. To find out more about Shepherd Hill Opry, visit the website at http://www.goodshepherdfound.org/shepherd-hill-opry.html or by calling (205) 233-3794.

Samantha’s Boone Brothers Once Made Baseball History

May 10, 2017 / Delbert Reed / 3 Comments

By Delbert Reed

I stumbled across a couple of names a year or so ago that brought back old and pleasant memories. The names were “Ike” and “Dan” Boone, former University of Alabama athletes who went on to make a little professional baseball history.

I immediately recalled that my dad mentioned the baseball exploits Ike and “Dan” from time to time when I was a youngster. Having grown up in the same community of Samantha in northern Tuscaloosa County as the Boone boys, Dad had idolized the brothers during the 1920s and 1930s just as I idolized Northport’s Frank Lary of the Detroit Tigers during the 1950s.

Formally, the “Boone boys” were James Albert and Issac Morgan Boone, Jr., the youngest of four sons of Mr. and Mrs. Issac Morgan Boone Sr. James Albert actually had the family nickname of Jim Bert but picked up the nickname of Daniel, or Dan, as a student at the University of Alabama and it followed him into his professional career. Issac Jr. was always known as Ike.

James Albert, born in 1895, entered the University of Alabama in 1915 and played football and baseball for the Crimson Tide, earning All-Southern honors as end in football in 1917 and serving as captain of the 1918 baseball team. He was described in the University student yearbook Corolla as “a quiet, lanky Ichabod full of grit and fight.” Another comment said James Albert was once injured in a football game against Vanderbilt and had to be physically restrained by doctors and teammates to keep him from returning to the game.

Alabama baseball teams of 1917-18-19 won SIAA championships with the Boone brothers, Joe and Luke

James Albert Boone in Cleveland

Sewell and Riggs Stephenson – all future major league players – among the team stars and and Lonnie Noojin as head coach. James Albert was a pitcher and outfielder while Ike was an outfielder.

As outstanding right-handed pitcher, James Albert signed a professional contract with the Atlanta Crackers in 1919 and posted a 16-7 record with Atlanta before joining the Philadelphia Athletics at the end of the season. In six seasons as a minor league pitcher, Albert was 72-64 with a 2.81 earned run average in 168 games. He spent four stints in major leagues, playing with the Detroit Tigers in 1921 and the Cleveland Indians 1922-23 before spending another decade as an outstanding minor player and manager. He had an 8-13 record in the major leagues with 25 strikeouts and two shutouts in 162 innings pitched. As a member of the Cleveland Indians in 1922, he again played with former Crimson Tide teammates Joe and Luke Sewell and Riggs Stephenson.

Boston Red Sox Photo

James Albert gave up pitching to play first base and outfield when he joined High Point, North Carolina, in the Piedmont League in 1926 and soon became the greatest hitter in league history by winning four batting titles in five and a half seasons in the league. He also served as player/manager of the team 1927-1931.

James Albert and Ike teamed up to make baseball history in 1929 by hitting a combined 101 home runs. Ike hit 55 in a record shattering season with the San Francisco Missions of the Pacific Coast League while James Alert hit 46 with High Point.

James Albert became player/manager of the Charleston, West Virginia, Senators of the Middle Atlantic League in 1932 and led the team to the league championship with 17 home runs, 92 runs batted in and a .349 batting average. He hit three home runs in the first game of the league championship series to help his team to a 6-2 victory on the way to a four-game series sweep. He ended his professional baseball career after the 1933 season. In 14 seasons (1919-1933) James Albert played with nine minor league teams, compiling a .356 batting average in 1,336 games with 214 home runs and 851 runs batted in.

Ike, two years younger, joined his brother at Alabama in 1917 and also played football and baseball. He was elected captain of the 1918 football team but the season was canceled due to World War I. He also served as president of the A-Club and Pan-Hellenic Council. Ike played end on the 1919 football team that posted a 9-1 record while scoring 280 points and allowing only 22. James Albert, after playing his first season of professional baseball in the summer of 1919, served as an assistant coach on the 1919 football team.

Ike began what some have called minor league baseball’s most outstanding career ever in 1920 when he signed with Cedartown, Georgia, after graduating from the University in the spring of that year. He hit .403 in 72 games with Cedartown in 1920 before moving to New Orleans of the Southern Association in 1921, where he won his first minor league batting title with a .389 average.

After appearing in only two games with the New York Giants in 1922, Ike played for San Antonio of the Texas League in 1923 and claimed another batting title with a .402 average while also leading the league in hits (241), doubles (53) and runs batted in (135). He is the last player in Texas League history to bat over .400.

Ike was called to Boston at the end of the 1923 season and had four hits in 15 at-bats. He returned to the Red Sox in 1924 and 1925. He hit .337 with 13 home runs and 97 runs batted in in 1924 and hit .330 with nine home runs and 68 runs batted in in 1925 before being shipped back to the minor leagues due to what one story described as “a lack of speed and below average fielding.”

After hitting .380 in 172 games with the San Francisco Missions in 192, Boone spent 1927 as a utility player with the Chicago White Sox. He returned to San Francisco in 1928 and in 1929 won the Pacific Coast League Triple Crown with a .407 batting average, 218 runs batted in and 55 home runs. The record-shattering season included 323 hits and a professional baseball record 553 total bases, with 49 doubles and eight triples added to his 55 home runs, in 198 games.

Ike Boone at UA, circa 1919

Ike was on his way to a similar season in 1930, hitting .448 and 98 runs batted in in only 83 games, before being called back to major leagues with the Brooklyn Robins for two seasons. All told, Ike spent all or part of eight seasons in the major leagues, compiling a .321 batting average with 371 hits, 26 home runs, 177 runs scored and 194 runs batted in.

Boone played with Toronto of the International League 1933-36, and was player/manager of the team 1934-36. He won the league batting title with a .372 average in 1934 and was voted the league’s most valuable player as he led his team to the lague title. He managed the Jackson, Mississippi, Senators in 1937 in his last season in professional baseball.

Overall, Ike won five batting titles in four different minor leagues. His .370 lifetime minor league average was a record. He was inducted into the International League Hall of Fame in 1957 and in 2003 was elected to the Pacific Coast League Hall of Fame. He lived in Northport after retirement from baseball and died at age 61 in 1958. James Albert Boone died in Tuscaloosa on June 11, 1968, at age 73. A surviving daughter of James Albert Boone, Betty Jane Jackson, lives in Steele, Missouri.

James Albert and Ike were among 11 children of Issac Morgan Boone Sr. and Norma Lee Boone. The boys were George, Will, James Albert, and Issac Morgan. The girls were Ethel, Leona, Norma, Adalee, Micah, Margaret and Virginia. George, Wiley and Issac all served in the Navy during World War I. James Albert also attempted to join the Navy, but failed the physical.

According to George Boone’s son, B.E. Boone, who lives in the Samantha Community today, the elder Boones recognized the value of education early on and donated ten acres of land to Tuscaloosa County as the site for the old Gorgas School in about 1914. They also saw that all their children graduated from high school and had the opportunity for a college education, B.E. Boone said.

Baseball talent has continued to run in the Boone family through the years. Joe Parsons, a son of Adalee Boone, played baseball at Gorgas High School and at Livingston University while Gary and Larry Mims, grandsons of Ethel Boone, played baseball at Northside High School and at the University of Alabama.

This article appeared in May 3rd, 2017 Edition of The Northport Gazette. Reprinted with Permission

A Look at the Past – The Wilson Farm

September 7, 2016 / Samantha Living / 2 Comments

The following is a reprint of an article that appeared in The Tuscaloosa News on December 8, 1952, submitted by Kerry & Mary Shirley.

Good Farming Pays Off for Wilsons

Fourth Generation on the Farm by Lucia Owen (staff writer)

“Back in 1924, when I laid out those terraces, the land was full of gullies waist deep”, B.R. Houston, county agent said, as he and Lenon Wilson of Rt. 1, Brownville, gazed out over the acres of cotton land that were now sowed down the row middles with vetch, and at the 20 acres of oats and crimson clover, showing as green as a thick carpet over the otherwise brown landscape.

Today the 320 acre farm is one of the best in the county and this year, a bad crop year for most farmers, has brought a brand new barn and rat proof crib for the Wilsons and 750 bushels of corn from 10 acres, and 12 bales of cotton from 17 acres and 750 bales of hay.

“I didn’t make any money,” Mr. Wilson said, “but I paid for this barn and have my corn and hay.” He also has three fat pigs ready to kill and 25 head of beef and dairy cattle, and Mrs. Wilson has a flock of chickens.

Mr. Wilson, the son of the late Mr. And Mrs. L.O. Wilson, is the fourth generation to farm the land, and he thinks Tommy, who is now five and one half years old will be a farmer too. Of the 320 acres on the farm, 150 are cultivatable, the rest being in timber. Mr. Holstein laid out the first terraces of his career as a county agent for Tuscaloosa County on this farm for the present owner’s father, and both know the improvements that have been made.

Mr. Wilson believes in a mechanized farm, and there isn’t a mule on his place. He practices the latest methods recommended by the Extension Service and thinks this may be the reason for his mysteriously high yield during the dry season just past.

On May 5 he planted 10 acres of Dixie 11 Hybrid corn, following a turning under of winter legumes. He fertilized with 250 pounds of 4-10-7 per acre and and side dressed with 100 pounds of soda after the second plowing. The corn was planted in three and one half feet rows in 15 inch drills and was plowed only twice. No rain fell on the corn until July 28, he said, but he gatherer end 75 bushels of corn per acre, and he opened his fine, rat proof crib to show it. His cotton did not do so well, nor did other patches of corn on the place.

In the cement block barn, measuring 50×54 feet, are stored the 750 bales of hay gathered from his farm. Ten acres of Kobe produced 300 bales and the remaining hay is services, Dallas and other grasses. The barn has cement fee troughs, and is built for a life time. The base is of cement blocks and the upper part is wood with an outside covering of tin.

The Wilsons have big hopes for next year. They plan to increase cotton acreage and other crops. “We’ll remodel the house then,” they said, looking at the quaint old home, surrounded by trees and box woods.

A GOOD FARMER, AND A LUCKY ONE – Lenon Wilson, of Rt. 1, Brownville, is pictured above with Mrs. Wilson, their son Tommy, and the family dog Chuck, as they lean on the gate that leads to their new concrete block barn and crib. That barn and crib, in the background is fairly bulging, too, with 750 bales of hay and 750 bushels of hybrid corn. A part of the beef and dairy cattle on the 320 acre farm can also be seen behind them. While most farmers were hit by the drought, the Wilsons succeeded in having an above-normal corn and hay crop and 12 bales of cotton from 17 acres, thou no rain fell until July 28. (Tuscaloosa Engraving Co. Photo)

The Wilson Farm is now owned by The Hughes Family as pictured below. Please leave your comments below.

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Information about Reed Family Requested

September 1, 2016 / Samantha Living / 0 Comments

Dear Samantha Living Readers,

I am new to Samantha and I just discovered Samantha Living. I don’t yet have a story to tell but I am working on one. I live on land owned by the Reed family and have been doing research on them. Etta Reed by all accounts was a kind and wonderful woman. One of 15 children. She passed away in 1976 and was still living pretty much as a pioneer woman. My home was built on her homestead site by her great nephew. If you or any of your readers know of this family I would love to have information. I have been able to trace them back for many years and they came to this area in the mid 1800s. Thanks for reading. My home is on Reed Mountain Road and based on stories from my son in law it is named Magnolia Hill – Etta’s Place. Thanks for your site. I retired here six years ago after living all over the country. I love this area and want to learn all of its history.

Regards, Jo Anne Gentine

Please send information to gentinej@aol.com, put in comments below or email to editor@samanthaliving.com

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Story of Two Sons

August 29, 2016 / Samantha Living / 1 Comment

I once heard the story of two sons who had a father who was a criminal and ended up in jail.

One son grew up to be a doctor.

The other grew up to end up in jail himself.

A psychology student was doing a term paper on how children who grow up in the same house, with the same rules and same daily lives could turn out so differently. He interviewed both of the sons and asked each of them the same question:

“What do you think is the primary, contributing factor of where you are today?”

They both gave the same answer, “With a father like mine, how else could I have turned out?”

So you see – in the final analysis it was their own behavior, choices and attitude that made them who they had become as men – not their father.

One son decided he would follow in his father’s footsteps. The other son made up his mind he would not.

Make good choices We can blame every one of our problems on everyone in the entire world, but in the end, it is our own behavior that will either make us or break us into becoming the person we need to be.

Formula to Know Right from Wrong taken from Pursuit of Holiness by Jerry Bridges:

Is it helpful – physically, spiritually and mentally?
Does it bring me under its power?
Does it hurt others?
Does it glorify God?

Samantha Living

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Simple Doesn’t Mean Easy

July 14, 2016 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 4 Comments

This newspaper clipping was found in my daddy’s things after he passed away. It is not dated, but I remember sending it to him when I lived in Kentucky. It is also torn – the missing word in the caption is “Liberals”. It is from The Daily Independent in Ashland, Kentucky. I haven’t lived in Kentucky since 2008 so it was written sometime prior. The article captured my attention because Daddy always taught us this concept when approaching a seemingly difficult task or problem. He would say something like, “It’s simple. You just have to make up your mind to it. Now that doesn’t mean it’s easy. But it’s simple.”

Now, Daddy referred to himself as a liberal because to him a liberal was someone who gave selflessly and generously and walked with those who were different (some might say undesirable, neglected, downtrodden, brokenhearted). He said Jesus Christ was a liberal. And he was right in that sense. Chuck Swindoll used the following quote by Charles Thomas (C.T.) Studd in a message I listened to this week about how it does no good to shine a light in the light – light is only seen in the darkness: “Some want to live within the sound of church or chapel bell; I want to run a rescue shop within a yard of hell”. When I heard this statement, I immediately thought of how Daddy lived his life. He sort of ran a rescue shop in a sense. The interesting thing is though, those folks often came to his door. It was not unusual to drop by daddy’s house in the middle of the day (a rainy day) and find several of daddy’s friends gathered around him having a deep theological discussion. They came to him because at some point he had touched them in their world – in their daily, normal walk of life and they knew he cared. Sometimes, Benny would get to listen in on the conversation. He would tell me, “We had church at your dad’s today”.

When I read this article, memories flooded my mind of the many long telephone conversations daddy and I would have when I was in Kentucky, about life and about God and daddy would share his deep revelations about a certain scripture. I also thought about how much truth there is in the words of this article.

If we can just take away the labels of liberal vs. conservative, left-wing vs. right-wing and simply look at the truth. Simple solutions to complex problems. “You might as well pull up your boot straps, and…”, more words from daddy. There is so much news inundating us every second of every day about how our government is corrupt and what all the politicians need to do.

CHANGE DOESN’T START AT THE WHITEHOUSE – IT STARTS AT MY HOUSE! And then in our own communities.

Let’s look for simple solutions, even if they are hard and let’s make our homes and communities better. Every community has it’s problems.

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes,

Becky Williamson-Martin

Please feel free to comment below

What Happened to Sundays?

July 12, 2016 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 4 Comments

Several weeks ago we traveled to North Alabama on a Sunday morning to visit Benny’s Mother who was very sick. This time of year I enjoy seeing how other folks have landscaped and manicured their yards, taking note of the beautiful flowers, trees and gardens. Normally, we would have been at church on a Sunday morning and periodically I would look at the clock and think about what my church family was doing at that particular time (in Sunday School or getting ready for worship). As we traveled along I started thinking about Sundays and how different they are from my childhood. Sundays are the only day I EVER remember my daddy lying on the couch. He would fall asleep reading the paper after we got home from church. Sometimes we would visit family, make homemade ice cream and have a washtub full of iced down Coke, Grapico and Orange Crush for the whole gang.

So many folks along our way that day were mowing their grass, working on their car, plowing their gardens or doing what I call “Saturday chores”. Some church parking lots were full, some had few cars and one was completely closed and the grass was grown up around it. What happened to Sundays? Can’t we check out of our daily routine just one day to give honor and thanks to our creator? To worship Him and rest our bodies and minds as He has instructed us to do? After all, since He created us He knows what our bodies, minds and emotions need. What I observed that day made me sad. Partially because I am guilty of abusing sacred Sundays, but mostly because I felt grief in my heart for the utter disregard we give to The Lord and what He has asked of us. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not legalistic about performing needed tasks on Sunday, but His Word instructs us to remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy and to rest. That’s only 52 days out of 365.

This past week, I was searching for 7th Heaven on Dish so I could set the DVR to record. When my granddaughter, Dakotah, comes to visit she likes to watch it and somehow all of the shows had been deleted. Ironically, the episode I “stumbled” on was an episode about Sundays. This is worth a watch. Lucy says, “We work 7 days a week or at least on the go 7 days a week and yet we wonder why people need drugs to relax. Could it be that we have lost 52 days a year to relax and enjoy our families?…Stressed, tired, irritable and no time to do the things I need to do and no time to do the things I want to do. We have lost our Sundays forever unless we make an effort to reclaim them.”

I suppose every generation longs for the “good ole days”. I’m no exception. How do we reclaim Sundays? It’s really very simple – we make a conscious decision to do so. Now simple doesn’t mean easy. Change is NOT easy. It’s like telling a drug addict to stop using. Yes simple – not easy.

It would be very interesting to hear how our neighbors and friends spend their Sundays today compared to Sundays from years past and how they line up with God’s word. Do you catch up from the past week? Do you prepare for next week? Do you attend church? Do you break bread with family? Do you visit the sick? Do you pray? Do you reflect? Do you work? Do you mow your lawn? No judgements please, just your personal activities of today and yesterday and your thoughts on Sunday.

Please share your thoughts in the comments section below!!

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes!

Becky Williamson-Martin

8/10/23 P.S. I heard Sundays in the South by Shenandoah while I was getting dressed this morning and I think it fits with my blog of years ago.

Millworker houses lined up in a row Another southern sunday’s mornin’ glow Beneath the steeple all the people have begun Shakin’ hands with the man who grips the gospel gun While in quiet prayer, the smell of dinner on the ground Fills up the mornin’ air, ain’t nothin’ sweeter around I can almost hear my mama prayin’ Oh Lord forgive us when we doubt Another sacred sunday in the south, alright

Oregonia Baptist Welcomes New Pastor

July 11, 2016 / Samantha Living / 5 Comments

Jimmy Holliman, Pastor, Oregonia Baptist Church – Samantha, AL

54 year old Jimmy Holliman accepted the call to preach at 52. With such a strong passion for evangelism, he thought that was God’s plan for him. He didn’t think he was being lead to pastor a church, until Oregonia called and he felt the Lord was leading him to accept. Jimmy says he grew up in church, but as is the case many times, life takes over and he was out of church for 18 years. He started working at Phifer Wire on the Sunday crew and before he knew it church and God were gradually pushed to the back. But God had plans for Jimmy and He sometimes uses different interests to draw us back to Him. Jimmy says his church started picking guitars on Sunday nights and he had an interest in learning to play so he started going, then back on Sundays. When asked did he learn the guitar, he responded, “I laid the guitar down and picked up my Bible”. He says he still wants to learn to play the guitar but for now his focus is on winning souls to Christ.

Jimmy enjoys being involved with Dax Lancaster’s Yet there is room tent ministry. (Missionaries to the USA, preaching the gospel of The Lord Jesus Christ to the lost in the highways and hedges and pointing them to a local church.)

Jimmy is a Bi-vocational Pastor. He works for Main Street Development. He has been married to his high school sweetheart, Dianna Holliman for 33 years. Dianna works at the Tuscaloosa County Courthouse in the Tax Assessor’s office. He attributes the staying power for their marriage to “knowing the Lord and divorce is just not an option. When two people get married they become one – you won’t have a whole person if you split them in two.” They have one daughter, Misty Herring.

Jimmy would like to invite everyone to attend Oregonia’s revival July 31-August 5. Ben Watson will be bringing the message Sunday morning and Sunday night. Brandon Vaughn will be bringing the message Monday-Friday. Services start at 7:00 p.m. with special music each night. Oregonia Baptist Church is located at 20369 Oregonia Rd.

Jimmy can be reached at (205) 242-0604.

Oregonia Baptist Church

Jesus in a Box? – A Samantha Landmark

July 7, 2016 / Becky Williamson-Martin / 1 Comment

Standing in line at the Dollar General in Samantha can be entertaining at times, and this particular day was no exception. I overheard a couple of fellas who had not seen each other since high school catching up. “Hey man, where are you living now?” “Oh, I live about one mile down that road in front of the Jesus statue.” I thought about that conversation on my way home and as I turned into my drive I stopped at the statue in my yard and thought about the story behind this local landmark. After the death of my grandmother, Pealie Mae Williamson, in February 1998, my daddy, Johnny Williamson, was inspired to create a representation of the 23rd Psalm. It was her favorite scripture. A Cypress log was chosen for The Good Shepherd Statue because of the longstanding belief that the Cypress is the “gopher wood” (or kopher, which is the Hebrew word for waterproof) that Noah used to build the ark. Daddy worked alongside his longtime friend and local artist/sculptor, Willie Logan, to carve the 6-1/2 foot statue of The Good Shepherd.

It’s sort of amusing how you can become so accustomed to something that you no longer see it, or think about it. This statue has just been part of the normal landscape in my daddy’s yard for years. But, a few years ago I started noticing it when I would visit him. I developed a desire to know and understand what he saw, what his intentions were, and how he viewed The Good Shepherd Statue. I began to ask questions, and we spent hours sitting in the rockers on daddy’s front porch, shelling peas or peeling apples, as he tried to teach me.

Shelling peas with daddy on his porch

Finally, after a ton of my questions, he said, just read, Joshua 4. You see, my father was a great teacher, but he didn’t just simply give you all the answers. He was a deep thinker and that is what he wanted me to do: think about it, ponder on it, dig for it, and come to know it on my own. Local newspapers had done some articles in the past on the statue, and I dug them up. He had told those reporters, “The Statue is a testimony of my faith. It isn’t meant to be an idol. You don’t worship it, but it gets people to think and do good deeds.” Hmm, Good deeds. Well, I had certainly seen him do many good deeds over the course of my life. Time and time again, I saw my daddy give to others. He was selfless. I don’t recall ever hearing him say he wanted anything for himself. Giving to others was always on his mind. And somehow, he managed to know what their needs were. A friend told me once, “your daddy was like a magnet, you just wanted to be around him.

Daddy had a heart attack in March (2013) and died four months later. I had the privilege of living in his house with him during those four months. During many long nights, when he couldn’t sleep, he talked intently about life, pouring story after story into my heart and life that I will never forget. A few weeks after his death, I was looking through his books and found A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 by Phillip Keller. I could feel my daddy’s big hands on the book as I opened it. Reading this book helped me connect the dots of what daddy had tried to tell me and it gave me a new understanding of The Good Shepherd. I went back and read Joshua 4. This time I really read it with my heart’s ears. Joshua 4 teaches us to set up memorials as a testimony of what God has done and so that our children and others will ask us “what does this mean”? If provides an opportunity to tell others about Jesus – to tell our story. Since 1999 when it was erected, The Good Shepherd Statue has caused much conversation. Some understand it, some don’t. It has certainly fulfilled it’s purpose of setting down stones as memorials according to Joshua 4. Folks from all over the United States stop by to see it and take pictures. The sheep was stolen once, but thanks to some good Samaritans it was returned to it’s place next to The Good Shepherd Statue. Some call it Jesus in a Box. Daddy never really liked that term. He would say, “everyone knows it’s not Jesus, and you cannot put Jesus in a box”. If you are ever traveling along Highway 43 in Samantha, you are welcome to stop and pay a visit. Check in on Facebook. Take pictures and ponder the meaning of The Good Shepherd.

His sheep know His voice.

Ricky Williamson talks to Sheriff’s Deputies after they returned lost sheep to it’s place beside The Good Shepherd Statue

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes.

Written by Becky Williamson-Martin beckybamagal@gmail.com

Original printed March 2014 in Druid City Living

Links:

The Good Shepherd Statue at Pawpaw Johns

The Good Shepherd Foundation

The Little Closet Community Food Pantry – Samantha, Alabama

Shepherd Hill Opry

Articles connected to The Good Shepherd Statue

A Note of Thanks

July 4, 2016 / Samantha Living / 0 Comments

I generally don’t like “blanket” thank yous but I’m breaking my own rule. Thanks to everyone for all the phone calls, visits, gifts, songs, texts, cards, food and well wishes for my birthday. It was truly a great day of celebration. I am truly blessed with amazing friends and family. I feel so loved. I used to fib about my age and unlike most women who say they are younger than they are, I would tell folks I was 10 years older so they would think “dang she looks good for that age” LOL. (Yep vanity). But as the years have mounted up it’s hard for me to say I’m 66 so the time has come for me to be honest and honestly I have trouble remembering my real age now. Isn’t that ironic? Fortunately, vanity has faded AND I appreciate more of the real things of life now. SO, as I start day 2 of year 56 I vow to stay in the moment more and capture more of these days that are zooming away at such a fast speed.

I saw a sign in a gas station recently that said “free gas tomorrow”. It might take you a minute to let that sink in. There will never be any free gas at that station because tomorrow will always be today. So the moral of the story – BUY YOUR GAS TODAY!!! The future is simply history of all the todays. Whatever each day brings, whether circumstances are good or not so good, I will give that to My Savior, Jesus Christ – who holds it all in His Hands. All my gifts come from Him – even you, my friend. Happy 4th of July.

Always keep “The Son” in your eyes. Becky Williamson-Martin

Reprinted with permission (Printed in The Northport Gazette , Oct. 9, 2011)

Printed in The Northport Gazette , Oct. 9, 2011

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by Samantha Native Christina Williamson Eads

The Old Cabaniss Store is Only a Memory Now

This story is a follow up to a previous blog “Who Remembers Cabaniss Gro.” Published on June 26, 2017 on Samantha Living.

1963: Cabaniss Grocery in Samantha This rock store stood at the corner of Hwy 43 North and Northside Road in northern Tuscaloosa County. The store replaced one that was once part of the Stagecoach Exchange at what was then called ‘Marcumville’.

By Delbert Reed

Barbee School Reunion Offers a Lesson in History

This article appeared in May 3rd, 2017 Edition of The Northport Gazette. Reprinted with Permission

Good Farming Pays Off for Wilsons

Fourth Generation on the Farm by Lucia Owen (staff writer)

If our heritage and lineage wasn’t important why would God have put all those “begats” in the Bible.

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