Vol. I No. 2
EDITORIAL
Don C. Marler
The first edition of Hineston Chronicles was, judging by the online responses, well received. Thanks to all who helped make it happen.
In that issue we featured the museum developed by Otto Nessmith and his friends. It is located in ancillary buildings at his home near Elmer/New Hope. In this issue we feature a museum in the Gardner area privately developed by and housed in ancillary buildings at the home of Roy C. Carruth. In the next issue we will feature the museum similarly developed by the late Elbert Dyess, who inspired both Otto and Roy to develop their projects.
We live in a unique time. I ask you to join me for a few minutes in a consciousness raising review of our position in history. We are in perhaps the fastest changing society in history. I will soon be 78 years old and many of you are at that age plus or minus a few years; therefore, by telling my personal experience I feel confident I speak for you.
I grew up during a time when horses and wagons were as common as cars as a means of transportation and working the farm; a time when coal oil (kerosene) lamps and pine-knot fire were the only sources of light we had at night; a time when there was no electricity, running water, indoor toilets or telephones; a time when the few of us who had radios took the truck or car battery out of the vehicle at night and used it to power the radio.; a time when we considered the radio a wondrous machine; a time when medicine was very primitive and there were usually no resources to purchase the care that did exist; a time when few private citizens owned even a manual typewriter. Many of the tools we used had been basically unchanged for centuries; they were adapted to the tasks at hand. The axe, for example, evolved from the stone-age. The blacksmith shop existed for millennia; today it is gone.
During WWII all that began to change slowly; we began to get electricity with the accompanying appliances such as refrigerators, air conditioning, lights and television. Indoor plumbing, telephones and automobiles became common. At approximately the midpoint of my life change exploded, being ignited by the availability of the in-home computer to all. Without computers we would not have wireless/satellite services for our T.V., phones, the internet, etc., etc.
These developments mean that almost all of the old tools, modes of transportation, communication, power for work and way of life are obsolete. They were made obsolete in a breathtakingly short time, but obsolete they are. No other generation has faced this much change in such a short time; indeed, the changes of the last 50 years are greater than that of all time past together.
Where does that leave us? It leaves us astride two very different worlds. It means that we are the change agents; we brought about these changes and we have some responsibility for bridging the gap between these two worlds. It means it is up to us to preserve artifacts and knowledge of the past and assure that future generations are not deprived of access to that knowledge. Having such knowledge is a great benefit in many ways, not the least of which is to maintain perspective of how society progressed as it did.
There is no better way to convey the knowledge of the past than to preserve artifacts from the past and make them accessible to the population at large. And, perhaps, there is no better way to display such information than through public museums.
The men referred to above who have private museums have shown extraordinary sensitivity to the changes occurring in society and our responsibility to bridge the gap created by the rapid changes described above. They have all shared concern about what would happen to their creations when they are gone.
Now, during economic hard times is not a good time to go to public institutions for creation of a public facility to house these collections and provide space for other items out there that need a home. There is likely never a good time to do so. Given that situation, perhaps we should use this time for planning for a future facility. It is not out of the question that this could be done privately. Your ideas about this are solicited.
ROY C. CARRUTH MUSEUM
The Carruth Museum is located on Highway 28 approximately one half mile east of Gardner, La. Visitors are welcome. He is dedicated to his collection of artifacts of yesteryear. Since space is severely limited he is forced to stack and pile some items and every container is filled with artifacts. It is an eclectic collection with surprises everywhere. Seeing his collection will make you wish for a well-appointed museum where every item has its on space with identification and explanation where needed. Roy is a gracious host - take advantage of his open welcome to visitors. There are no “Open” hours, so it may be wise to call ahead. His number is: 318 793 2594. He is located on Highway 28 east of Gardner. 9965 Highway 28 West, Boyce, La. 71409.
Admission is FREE.
THE RAM
Mr. Bob Bader who did the weather map for Willard Scott back in the 1980s painted the Ram. I wanted to do something for our children’s school so I got in touch with him in New York to see if he would draw a Ram Head. In about three weeks a large box arrived with the painting. He charged nothing and even paid for shipping. Mr. Baber still keeps in touch with our family every Christmas; he is really a nice person. Thanks Mr. Baber!
The picture was shown to some local artists who cannot identify what material it is painted on. It is really very unusual.
MacDonalds Collection
We have one of the largest MacDonalds collections in the South. The riding horse was used in one of the Alexandria stores back in the 1950s and is priceless. There are also items from Burger King, Sonic and others.
We have a collection of artifacts from England AFB. When the base closed many items were being thrown away, but with the help of Col. Lemons and Col. Sawyer, base commander, Roy was able to salvage some items.
Some of the items salvaged were: patches, pictures, book, bullets from the A-10s., 35mm slides all the way back to the Flying Tigers and drawings by airmen stationed at the base. Perhaps the most interesting item is the wooden John England picture album; it was on display while the base was open. On the front cover is “ARMY”. The Air Force was part of the U.S. Army until President Truman changed the Army Air Core to U.S. Air Force in 1947.
John England Picture Album
Hat Pins
In the 1960s and 70s hat pins were a fad. The museum has a collection of such pins including many from the World Fair when it was held in New Orleans. The cloth in this photo contains over 2000 pins.
The museum holds a collection of Clementine Hunter paintings and below is a photo of her.
Clementine Hunter
The following are a few of the many other items in the museum and last but not least Roy C. Carruth.
Back in the days of the poll tax $1.00 was a days wage.
Roy C. Carruth
Lets stay with Roy a while longer as he tells about a somewhat forgotten and neglected relative - Sheriff D.C. Paul.
CSA Capt. David Crockett Paul: 1836-1902
Roy C. Carruth
Davis C. Paul was born in the area of Spring Creek at Elmer, La. to Michael Paul, Sr. and Mary Ann Holloway. He married Elizabeth Smith and they had six children: Catherine A., V. Alice, Nettie A., Solathius, George Sidney and Mary E.
David Paul had an illustrious career in the Civil War. He took part in the battles of Donaldsonville, Mansfield, Pleasant Hill and Boute Station. He was 1st Sergeant then 2ndLt, Co. G. 2nd Calvary Engineers. David C. Paul was captured at Natchitoches on March 21, 1864, paroled at New Orleans and was in a prisoner exchange at Red River Landing on July 22, 1864. In the latter part of the war he was elected Captain of a company.
When he came back to Alexandria a unit of Confederate soldiers was formed to protect the local area citizens from the Union Army, Jayhawkers and deserters. The unit was known as Paul’s Rangers. It was said of him that there was not a harder worker, braver soldier or better woodsman in the armies of either the blue or gray than David Paul.
After the war Captain Paul led immigrants out west to the Pecos River Valley in West Texas. Then in 1872 the Democratic delegates unanimously approved their candidate for Sheriff, selecting David Crocket Paul. As a catcher of criminals, Sheriff Paul had no superior either in this or any other state and his work in that line gained him much praise. He was Sheriff of Rapides Parish from 1872 to 1884 with the exception of a one year term filled by Sheriff Henry M. Robinson. During that year 1877 to 1878 Mr. Paul served as Mayor of Alexandria. He then returned to the office of Sheriff. After 1884 he served as Superintendent of the Parish Farm until he retired due to bad health.
He was a Mason and member of the United Workers of Alexandria and true friend. Many people of Rapides and other parishes, both black and white, benefited from his charity. Among his old comrades who served with him and were still living at the time of his death at 67 years old, were: Capt. John A. Williams, Scott Kay, John Irving, J.P. Snelling, Chas. Robinson, Tom and George Cannon.
During the time he was Sheriff he bought a plantation near Lamonthe Plantation and the Sullivan Plantation. He and his family lived there for some time then he sold it and moved to Eddy, New Mexico. They returned to Rapides Parish, living at what is now Boyce, La. until his death in 1902.
David Paul’s father sold the Catholic Church at Elmer, La. 4 acres of land at $1.00 per acre so it would have room for a church building and cemetery. Mr. Paul had a close Indian friend (Tom) who wanted to be buried near him. The church would not allow an Indian to be buried in the cemetery; so David Paul bought a plot of land in Elmer where his friend, his wife and he are all three buried.
The above is just a brief summary of the life of David Crocket Paul. Over the years his records have been lost and or neglected. It is my goal to give him recognition where it is due, primarily by placement of a plaque with his photo in the Alexandria City Hall and Rapides Parish Court House.
Mr. Paul’s sister, Sidney Amelia Paul, married my Great Grandfather, Rev. John H. Carruth, which makes her my Great Grandmother.
The Murder of George Lewis
Loretta Dyess Cooley
It was the summer of 1983. I was up to my adenoids in housework, scrubbing dirty dishes, when my four-year-old came to me again with her strange request.
"Please, Mama, take me to the bombing range to see the dead man."
She waited, her face turned up to mine. The week before, she had heard the story of George Lewis, who had been murdered more than sixty years earlier in what is now the Claiborne Air Force Range. She had been begging me ever since to take her to see "the dead man."
The Claiborne Air Force Range, known around Gardner, Louisiana as the Bombing Range, is a large chunk of Kisatchie National Forest over which the Air Force trains fighter pilots. Years ago residents were forced to sell and move out, and now the wooded hills are dotted with empty home-sites. Spring-fed creeks, blackberry vines, and redbugs run freely. George Lewis's grave is in the Valentine section, an area that remains open to traffic. In that summer of '83 we went there often to wander through the woods and to swim in the creeks.
At the entrance to the bombing range, a sign warns that one is entering a dangerous area. The first few times I drove past that sign, I watched the sky uneasily. But I grew accustomed to passing the warning, accustomed to hearing the planes whistling just above the treetops, and accustomed to being assured by local sages that "they don't drop bombs in that part." In time I could lie on the broad trunk of the tree that had fallen across the creek and gaze up through leafy branches at A -10's swooping across the blue sky and feel little apprehension. My children played happily in the water, unmindful of any threat above them.
The swimming hole, with its cold spring water, white sandbars, and Tarzan swing, was a Mecca for the young. They arrived by car, pickup truck, three-wheeler, and some even by foot. They filled the creek with their swimming and swinging and shouting.
Some could argue that except for those who assaulted the creeks there was no life in the bombing range. The people and domestic animals had all gone long ago. The houses and other buildings had been moved away, torn down, or destroyed. Anything of known value had been carted away.
But flesh and blood people once lived here. Before the Depression, they came from miles around on Sundays to spend the day at China Grove Baptist Church, the rotted remains of which can still be found on a hill above the creek called Valentine where joiners were immersed. Earlier, Indian Elic tanned deer hides on these creek-banks and made blowguns to trade for the eggs needed for tanning the hides. And even earlier, during the Civil War, corn was ground at a gristmill on one of the creeks. In that summer of '83, when the frolickers were gone and the leaves were still, you could almost see the ghosts. And if you listened closely and the wind blew just right you might catch the whisper of a sigh or a curse or some plaintive song.
Because it is always hard to say no to a four-year-old, and because I was living in my woods-roaming years, and because I was never interested enough in housecleaning, I said yes. We would go. Immediately, of course, for back then that was the only time to do anything. The three kids, the dog, and I loaded into our battered Datsun station wagon and headed out, leaving behind dirty dishes and unmade beds, things I knew should be important to any woman with her head on straight. When we passed the warning sign, I began retelling the story as I had heard it to my eager listeners.
During the hot summer evening of July 3, 1921, George Lewis was murdered. He was a fifty-four-year-old bachelor who lived alone except for a horse named John, a mule named Tom, a bird dog named Stella, and a cat whose name has been forgotten. George had a small grocery store in his house and he farmed some. His place was on top of a hill overlooking a creek.
Across the creek and about a mile away was the home of my grandpa, Jose Dyess. On the night of George's death, my teen-aged aunts were home alone with their aunt, a mad spinster named Queen America Dyess (but called Aunt 'Merikee). The rest of the family was at China Grove Church. At around nine the girls heard gunshots and then dogs barking. But these were not unusual sounds, and they paid them little attention.
The next morning a man and his sons came to do some work for George and found him dead in his yard, eighteen buck-shots in his head and shoulders. He had been burning town ants with a pine torch when he was shot. The fire of the torch burned up to his hands and then went out.
The neighbors notified the sheriff's office, and a deputy and the coroner came out from Alexandria. A pistol was found on George's body and another pistol and two shotguns were found inside his house. Altogether, a hundred and thirty-five dollars cash was found on his body and in the house. The officials took the four guns, the money, and Stella. They told the neighbors these would be used to pay the cost of the investigation. They never returned to the scene of the crime.
Grandpa and other neighbors tore boards from George's house to build a casket to bury him in. His body was wrapped in army blankets. They dug the grave near where he had died, but under a walnut tree so they could work in the shade. There was no church service; George wasn't church-minded. Later, Grandpa built a picket fence around the grave.
The neighbors placed ads in various newspapers to try to locate relatives. One of my aunts wrote the postmaster of a town in Alabama George had mentioned. Then, about two months later, an uncle and a cousin showed up on a train from Alabama, bringing with them a picture of a younger George. They stayed with Grandpa for nine days, and during this time they visited the sheriff to make inquiries. They asked for Stella but were told that she had died.
The mystery of George's death was never solved. The neighbors had their suspicions, but no one was charged with the murder.
We went on that day to visit the grave of "the dead man." It was still marked by two fence posts, part of the original picket fence erected by Grandpa more than sixty years earlier. Somehow the unanswered questions, the who's and the how come's, all seemed terribly important again. We made plans to come back at least one more time and leave a permanent memorial to mark the place where George was buried. It seemed the least we could do--and the most.
But, no, we didn't go back to leave a marker on George's grave. In the summer it was too hard to get there--the briers and weeds were so thick. In the winter it was too spooky, for the forest was still and quiet except for the occasional man with a gun killing animals. And there was never the extra money to pay for a marker that time and distance made seem less important.
But we didn't forget George. We still went to the swimming hole, and we always stopped at the bridge over the creek to gaze across the hollow to the hill topped by three tall pines that guard his grave. And we always yelled, "Helloooo, George! How are you today?"
It was the least we could do.
Editor’s note: The GPS coordinates for the gravesite are:
310 12.57n
0920 41.54w
GPS AND GENEALOGY
CAROLYN DYESS BALES
The Global Positioning System (GPS) makes navigating the world easy. But its applications to the family history may surprise you.
I will preface this by stating a personal event. My Dad (Oscar Carl Dyess) and his brother (Elbert Dyess) took Don C. Marler and me on a "tour" one day. On this trip, they took Don and me to the grave of George Lewis. Because there is an article in this edition of the Chronicle about George Lewis, I thought this would be a good time to mention - the GPS and genealogy.
The woods grow up and change. Without GPS readings, it would be impossible for me to find that grave again. A few years from now no one could find it without the GPS coordinates. Don did a GPS reading on it and people coming after us will be able to find George's grave. GPS coordinates are forever; they do not rot, burn or get vandalized. As more of us use them and make them available it will eventually be common to do so. Even a cemetery that is well known to the locals can be easily found by someone form a different area if they have these coordinates.
For informational purposes, the GPS coordinates Don got that day for George Lewis’ grave were:
310 12.57n
0920 41.54w
Why would a genealogist need a GPS?
1. Find the Exact Location of Homes, Schools, Workplaces, Event Sites, Graves (as I stated above on George Lewis’ grave)
2. Record and share the location
3. Find the location again
Whenever I can find and/or acquire a GPS reading, I use it in my genealogy software. I do not know what program you use; but, I use three data bases: Rootsmagic, PAF, and FTM. Each program affords me different advantages that I like. At any rate if you put your GPS readings in the software when you share the software it will help others to find the locations, etc that you have recorded. It helps keep family history and other events searchable and saves other researchers so much time.
How does one choose a GPS? I truthfully can say the way I shop is research, ask questions, and shop. That way I know I'm getting the right instrument that will meet my needs and my budget.
A fun thing to do would be a Family Treasure Hunt for interested researchers:
1. Go to nearby locations that have significance to your family's history.
2. Record the position of the location and leave a small marker or note telling the significance of the location.
3. Print a list of the coordinates of the locations.
4. Go together as a single group or in smaller teams to "find" each location using only the coordinates and a GPS receiver.
5. At each location, read the marker note and learn about the location.
One last tool that I will mention in connection to the GPS and genealogy is the Google Earth software. Google Earth is a virtual globe, map and geographical information program. It has helped me many times in my research.
For more information on Google Earth, you might want to visit the following website:
NOTICES
REUNION ANNOUNCEMENT
DESCENDANTS OF
Edmond D. Dyess and Margaret Mathis Dyess Get Together
WHERE: New Hope Baptist Church
Calcasieu, Louisiana
DATE: Satruday, June 11, 2011
TIME: 10:00 AM until
Edmond D. Dyess and Margaret Mathis Dyess had the following children:
1. America Dyess (born 1862) - not married - no children
2. Emma E. Dyess (born 1863) Married Albert (AL) Wilson
3, Andrew J. Dyess (born 1869) - Not married - no children
4. James "Jim" Dyess (born 1874) Married (1) Margaret Davis (2) Rachel Bounds
5. J. B. "Josie" Dyess (born 1876) Married to Sarah Matilda Smith
6. Mary Dyess (born 1878) Married to John Singletary
7. LeJean Dyess (born 1879) - Not married - no Children
23
8. Lucy Dyess (born 1881i) - Married to William John "Willie" "Will" Holt
To the best of my ability, I think the only three first cousins that are left are:
B. G. Dyess (son of J. B. "Josie" Dyess)
Ella Dyess Townley (daughter of James "Jim" Dyess)
Edward Dyess (son of James "Jim" Dyess)
If you know the whereabouts of any of the descendants of the above children, please contact: Carolyn Dyess Bales - 318-201-1834 or
Email - CarolynDyessBales@yahoo.com
FOOD: - Bring food ready to serve - that does not need to be reheated.
PHOTOS: - Please bring your pictures, stories, etc. There will be a photo copier and a scanner there to scan pictures for you and to make copies of other material.
This is the first time we have ever tried to get the descendants of Edmond D. Dyess and Margaret Mathis Dyess together. Please come and let's get to know our cousins!
Notice of publication of HINESTON CHRONICLES:
To get a notice of when the Chronicles are published send your name and email to doncmarler@gmail.com
To Order commemorative Hineston Coin send $12.00 S & H included to Don C. Marler 11250 Cude Cemetery Rd., Willis, Texas 77318.
Thanks for all the nice comments on the 1st. issue.
FINIS
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