Warm Sunday Afternoons and Aunt Jewel's Ice Cream

Jewel Seale Verrett (1905-1969)

I didn't know my 2nd great-aunt Jewel Seale Verrett  (my grandmother's aunt) very well. She was already an old woman when I was a little girl. The only thing I really cared to know about was that she sold scoops of sweet delicious ice cream to us after church. I'm sure she knew that those nickles she collected for those ice cream cones were meant for the church collection plate, but she took them anyway. Even though her house was only a stone's throw from Dixie Missionary Baptist Church, I don't remember her attending Sunday services. Her little house wasn't much to look at, but I was always fascinated by the little details it held. First of all, we had to climb over a fence to get into her yard. Well, we didn't actually climb, a set of steps had been built over the fence. So, we walked over the fence. The rooms inside the house were small and crowded with all matter of things. Some were interesting, other seemed a little scary to me. The walls were not covered with drywall or wood paneling. The studs were exposed and covered with wallpaper. There were pictures of people sitting erect and unsmiling staring at us. An odd wooden shelf built to fit perfectly in the corner of the room was filled with knick-knacks that look so delicate and were placed so precariously that the vibrations from a slammed door might cause them to crash to the floor.

I could tell that Aunt Jewel must have been a beautiful woman in her younger years. Even in her old age her caramel colored skin was firm and smooth. If I remember correctly, she had a few freckles sprinkled on each cheek and across her nose.

Aunt Jewel with her husband, Richard "Skitter" Verrett behind her

Her hair, although almost completely gray, was always swept up and neatly styled on top of her head. A homemade apron usually hid most of the front of her print house dresses, but from behind even a child could see that her figure had once been stunning.

She was intriguing to me. I wanted to ask about the people in the photographs on her walls. Were they her children? Had those knick-knacks been gifts from relatives in far away places? I wondered. But I was a child and I was to be seen and not heard.

When going through some of my grandmother's things, I found these pictures of Aunt Jewel. I was immediately transported back to dusty dirt roads, warm Sunday afternoons, girls in white dresses, and Aunt Jewel's ice cream.

Girls In White Dresses

Easter reminds me of little girls is white organza dresses gloves, patent leather Mary Jane shoes, and lace trimmed socks. And then the drive down a dusty red dirt road to a little white, wood framed church.

Afterwards we would hurry to finish the wonderful dinner my mother had made waiting for us. All we could think about was the pineapple or coconut cake mama had sitting on the kitchen counter. But every crumb on our plates had to be gone before we could taste its sweet deliciousness.
In my memory the day was always bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky... just happy kids chasing butterflies. When the memories were good, they were very good. I miss those times.

Aunt Marie

This is my husband’s aunt Marie Moye.

Marie began working at the TCH (Tyler County Hospital) in 1954 as a maid scrubbing floors, cleaning bed pans, then promoted to the kitchen. It was hard work.

Just as racial integration came to southeast Texas, Iona Conner encouraged Marie to enter Lamar University’s (Beaumont, Texas) nursing program. Marie reflected, “Mrs. Conner said ‘They are letting Black people go.’ She said she would bring the application.”

Among the first five black women to enter Lamar’s nursing program, Marie was the only one to stay. The racial hatred drove the other four away.

Several parents of Lamar students threatened Marie, and one day they forced her to leave town.  Marie had to park off campus, where a police officer would be waiting, and then escort her to school. Another would escort her out every day. When she graduated from Lamar in 1957, the school administrators did not even put a date on her diploma. She was the first African American nursing graduate from Lamar.

Marie became the TCH’s first African American nurse in 1958. “It was still hard,” Marie said, “we had to say ‘Mr.’ or ‘Mrs.’ to every white person, no matter how old they were. Even to a baby and a little child. I could not eat until everyone else had left the dining room. Also, the white nurses would go and sit down, often, and I had to mop the floor.”

“For 35 years, I was a midwife. I saw the second generation come, delivering the baby of a mother I had delivered. Some say the count was over 2,000 babies.”

“One time in Spurger, way back in the woods, a couple had no money at all. The new father went to the neighbor’s garden and got some tomatoes out of the garden. Then out of his deep freeze, he got some string green beans. Got some green beans and tomatoes for delivering a baby.”

“Black or white ... so many were so poor. They needed someone to help them get that baby into world."

PreciousHeart
www.preciousheart.net/message/2012-Moye.pdf

Naomi Frazier Smith

Naomi Smith, wife of Sidney Smith, a city mail carrier, was stabbed to death on Thursday at her home, at 3417 South Race Street. Ogden Weaver, a roomer at the Smith home, is being held in the Grant county jail on charges of murder in connection with the death.

Surviving Mrs. Smith are her husband, and two children, Joan, age 5, and Roger, age 3. Mrs. Smith was a former beauty parlor employee.

Leader-Tribune (Marion, IN) Friday, 4 Mar 1932 Pg.5 Col.5

Thelma and Opal

Opal and Thelma Frazier's senior pictures

They were double cousins. Their fathers, Chelise and William Frazier, were brothers and their mothers, Emma and Annie Weaver, were sisters. 

Born four months apart in Grant County, Indiana, Thelma and Opal undoubtedly grew up together. Thelma, the eldest, was born October 1904, and Opal was born January 1905. In 1923 Thelma was not only in high school, but also working as a bookkeeper while living with her Uncle Chelise and Aunt Emma.

Marion High School in Marion, Indiana in 1923.

Thelma went on to become a school teacher in Jefferonville, Indiana, but her health soon failed and she returned home to Marion where she died on March 15, 1937.

Opal married Donald Burnett Winslow and by 1931 she was working as a maid. The marriage ended in divorce and Opal reclaimed her maiden name. She died in her home town of Marion, Indiana in 1970. Opal had two sisters, Naomi and Ruth. She and Ruth share a headstone at the Estates of Serenity Cemetery where Thelma is also buried.

Papoo

This is my grandfather. We called him Papoo. People who know my family will say he wasn't really my grandfather. As far as bloodlines go, they're right, he wasn't. He married my grandmother in 1939 and accepted my then 6 year-old father as his own. He was the only grandfather I knew. He was kind and forgiving, generous and understanding, patient and loving. He never raised his voice or his hand. He didn't have to. Whether you were in his Sunday school class, in his barber chair, having him take your picture, or sitting quietly in the coolness or his darkroom watching images appear like magic, you HAD to listen when he spoke. Not because he demanded your attention, but because he didn't speak too often or too loudly. He listened. And when he chose to speak you knew he had something to say, something you didn't want to miss.

When I was in high school he would pick me up every day and drive me across town to my after school job. When I got into the car he would say, "How's your day going, baby?" And then we would sit quietly and listen to Paul Harvey for the rest of our short trip. I think that's why I'm such a news nerd now. The point being, he never said that dress is too short (and it probably was), or what have you done to your hair, or did you pass that test, or I have so many other things I could be doing right now (and he probably did). When I got out of the car he would say, "Have a good evening, baby. I'll see you tomorrow." Whatever my day had been up to that moment or would become later, I looked forward to those kind caring words and our few quiet minutes together. I miss his gentle reassuring presence.

International Center Of Photography
New York Times
Jasper, Texas: The Community Photographs of Alonzo Jordan

History All Around Us

While researching my husband's family tree I came across three sisters living in an orphanage in Upshur County, Texas. It was called the Dickinson Orphanage or State Colored Orphans' Home. I live in the area, but had never heard of it. After further searching I found that the sisters' mother had been brutally murdered. She was only twenty two years old. Not only were the three youngest children placed in the orphanage, the two older children were sent to live with an older great-aunt. Some of them moved out of state as adults and had successful lives. Some eeked out a living as best they could in Texas. I wonder if they ever shared their story with their families. So much history is lost when we are embarrassed by our past experiences. There is no shame in where you came from. Children do not choose their living conditions.

Here is a link for more information about State Colored Orphans' Home .

My sisters and I pose while our grandfather perfects his camera settings. This was in the early 1960s.