Never think that this article is intended as ridicule or belittling of any individual or any group of people. Although it is somewhat amusing now, the fact is I look back over the years and I remember with awe, and highest respect for those people who were regarded by many as hillbillies. The true meaning of the word is
A person from the backwoods or a remote mountain area. But over time it has become a disparaging term for an unsophisticated or very ignorant person. I readily accept the true definition but thoroughly reject the other inferences. I grew up in the rural hills of the deep south and would have been, without a doubt, referred to as a hillbilly by many people.
Those who are old enough to remember the early thirties and before, will understand much of what I say, but the younger generations find it difficult to imagine. In fact, it has been difficult for me to realize the immense changes that have come into place. So come along with me and let me explain some of the things that were normal and customary then as opposed to now.
Male attire, from little boys to older men, consisted of denim overalls and long sleeve shirts, if bought shirts, made of cambric, but many wore home made shirts made from flour sacks or even guano sacks. Men did not wear short sleeve shirts. Many of us, starting at an early age, would roll our sleeves up to about 3-4 inches of the shoulder. People wore hats. Men were not well dressed without a hat, and all wore hats while working in the hot sun. Youngsters never wore shoes from May to September, except for church, funerals, etc. I hated hats. I was a young rebel and would not wear one unless my mother threatened me. So, now I pay for that. I sometimes develop minor skin cancers that have to be removed. I have dark ugly moles and spots on my head which I am told is a reward for getting too much sun in my early years.
The rural community I lived in was named Gnatville. Yeah, thats right, Gnatville. If you lived there, you did not have to question the origin of the community name. It was about 8 miles to the nearest small town and the road that was then the thoroughfare, was barely wide enough for horse or mule drawn wagons to pass. One would have to pull over partially into one ditch while the other slipped slowly and carefully by. The ruts in the clay roads were 4 to 8 inches deep. There were no bridges except over those creeks that were very deep and/or too rough to cross by fording. My Dad owned a model T Ford car, several years old yet one of the very few cars in our area. Those cars had a top speed of about 35 miles per hour, but on our roads, one could only drive about 10 to 15 miles per hour.
Living conditions were very poor, almost primitive as compared with today. Most houses were built with whatever materials could be gotten, often much of it used lumber with previous nail holes in it, much of it unfinished rough lumber and only rarely were the houses painted. We lived in a large home with a wide hallway right down the middle of it. Some of the rooms were without inside walls and partial ceilings. The floors were wide ill-fitting boards which had cracks between them that, in some cases, you could see the ground below. A chimney built between two rooms offered a fireplace in either room which furnished our heat in winter.
Sanitation facilities were nil. No indoor plumbing whatsoever. No facilities for bathing, so our body hygiene equipment consisted of wash pan, soap and a washcloth. Stinky outdoor toilets about 50 yards from the house made life fairly miserable in the event of bad weather, night calls or upset stomachs. Or even moreso, a combination of those. No regular toilet tissue. So conservation of any brown paper bags, catalogs, newspapers or non-slick magazines was paramount.
Laundering of clothes was another extreme chore for the woman of the house. Especially with the size of most hillbilly families. My mother gave birth to ten, two of which died in infancy, but she raised the other eight of us and kept our clothes fairly clean. But due to the amount of work involved, they usually only washed clothes one day per week. And a days work it was. It consisted of scrubbing them on a rub board, boiling them in a pot of soapy water and then rinsing them, by hand through two tubs of water. Then hanging them on clotheslines to dry. It may not sound like a lot, but when there are eight children and two adults clothing for a week, think again. And any spare time for the rest of the week was spent in ironing those clothes. I can vouch for it, when my mother was sick or any other reason, it usually fell my lot to do that wash. I often prayed for her quick recovery.
Many of you have heard of the old one room schools. We were uptown, we had a two room school. Two teachers. A large pot bellied stove in each room. Gnatville was a large community and there were a number of large families in it. Every student walked to school. The school was located in a fork in the road so there were children from 3 directions up to 2 miles distance. We were extremely fortunate, living only about one fourth mile from the school. Attending school with all the other children in the entire community over the period of years builds a camaraderie that is not soon forgotten. The friends of mine some 65+ years ago are still dear to my heart...the ones that still survive. Some, very few, still live in Gnatville.
Character(s)
Most folk in the early thirties, at least in Gnatville were poor, some extremely poor. The great depression was in full swing. But in spite of that, those people were honest and honorable. You had no need to fear if you left machinery or foodstuffs in some building without a lock. I know of no thieving that ever went on in Gnatville. No, in fact, if the community knew of any one who became in dire need, due to an illness or some such problem, the community would come together and help in any way they could. It was wonderful to grow up in surroundings where you felt that everyone was
good. There were some who would not work as hard as others, and there were some who worked hard but were simply poor managers, but including them all, they were moral. I actually grew up thinking that
everyone was good, but with one shock after another I became sadly enlightened. I can recall some amusing, some sad, incidents with our neighbors and I will share a few with you.
My father, an accomplished carpenter and brick mason, although work was scarce, earned a little better living than some of the people in Gnatville, but fortunately, not enough more to cause any of us to gain any superior feeling over others. But he was able to purchase a 105 acre farm which had our big house and 2 small renter houses. One of these houses was very small, about 18 feet by 18 feet as I recall. It had a large living/bed room combination and a small section about 5-6 feet wide, also the length of the house which was the kitchen and storage. It was such a sorry little house that dad would not try to rent it to anyone. But one time a pitiful old fellow came and begged him to let him move into it. So he did and charged him no rent at all. This turned into a saga of some proportion which I will relate to you briefly.
It develops that old Tom (I'll call him Tom though not his real name) wasnt as old as he appeared. I never did see him clean shaven, or with a long beard. He apparently cut it once every week or so with scissors. He was unkempt and dirty and surprisingly, when he moved into the house, he had a nice decent looking wife. No beauty but assuredly not in his class. Until this day, I do not know what old Tom did to put food on the table. He kept a few scraggly old chickens which had to scratch (literally) for a living. And he also raised a very small garden with hand tools. But I never knew him to have a job. He dipped snuff and allowed it to ooze out the corners of his mouth and creep down his chin. The little house was off of the road, about half mile behind our house. He would come over some days and wait for the postman to come by. Our rural carrier was very dependable and you could almost set your watch by his arrival. Approximately 3: P.M. and always between 2:30 and 3:30. But old Tom would come about 11:00 and sit out at the road under our walnut tree, and sleep until he arrived. We also had a weekly peddler who drove an enclosed truck with groceries for sale. In those days, they would accept chickens, eggs, or even home made butter in lieu of money. Occasionally, old Tom would bring one of his scraggly hens over to meet the peddler and buy snuff with the chicken money.
Toms habit of arriving long before the expected time for the postman, also brought him far too early for the peddler. And I have to tell this, one day he came over with a chicken and sat under the walnut tree with the chicken across his lap. Another neighbor with his two sons, came by in their wagon and seeing old Tom, they stopped and was passing the time of day with him. I walked out to talk to the boys while their dad talked to old Tom. Anyway, after talking a few minutes, their dad said to old Tom, Say Tom, do you know that that old hen has relieved herself on your overalls? (Only he said it much more crudely than that) Tom normally moved in slow motion but this time, he jumped up muttering as normal and said, Im a good mind to kill the @#@* & thing right now. But my neighbor warned him that the peddler would not buy a dead chicken. So Tom settled down and pulled a handful of weeds to wipe his overalls.
But all did not continue well, or funny, with Tom. His wife always stayed at home, and could almost be called a recluse, and whenever she was seen, she always looked very unhappy. And then one day Tom came over to the house wanting my dad to drive him into town because. his wife was about to have a baby! So my dad did and soon the doctor came and drove over to Toms house. A little girl was born to them and no one could hardly imagine such a thing for such an impoverished couple. One would have thought that Tom was at least nearing 60 years old and the woman probably around 50. But life was about to sour for old Tom even more.
When the child was about 6 months old, a truck came one day, through the edge of our yard to get onto the field road leading to Toms house. Although motor vehicles were seen rarely on our country road, a truck was even more rare, yet we paid it little attention. Then in a couple of hours, it came creeping back across the field road loaded with their furniture and household goods. The driver and Toms wife with the baby were in the cab of the truck and another man was standing on the driver side fender holding onto the open window. Tom was on the passenger side of the truck also riding on the fender. The truck came to a stop in the edge of our yard and Tom stepped off the fender, crossed the yard and came up our back steps to the porch and asked to speak to our mother. She came to the door and Tom told her that they were moving back near his wifes people and that her brothers had come in the truck to move them, and that his wife had asked him to come and express their thanks for all we had done for them. As he was telling mother that, the truck was slowly moving toward the road at about this point it speeded up. My mother told Tom that they were leaving him . He turned and retraced his steps back down into the yard and started shuffling as fast as he could and yelled Hey but the truck had now turned into the road and was moving faster. The last we were able to see of Tom was as he disappeared over the small hill west of our house. We never heard from the family again. Although I was small, I still remember the episode and I believe the answers behind it all were quite obvious, though we never knew the details.
