Sepia Saturday: Why did the teacher cross the road?

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

This week’s Sepia Saturday prompt is a tribute to the International Day of Peace and to Peace Education.

Growing up in the 60s and 70s, I was well aware of both violent and peaceful demonstrations supporting civil rights and women’s rights and opposing the war in Vietnam.  Love-ins and Sit-ins were common enough as people sought to advance their cause through non-violent means.

My freshman year in college awakened me to the world of liberal thinking.  Freedom of speech.  Freedom of expression.  Do your own thing.  These were new guideposts on the road to becoming an adult, an educated thinker, a positive force in making the world a better place.

Wilson Hall

In 1970 I had a chance to do just that. When several of the “hippie” professors in the English department went on the chopping block, students rallied in their defense.  A sit-in in Wilson Hall would surely get the attention of the president, the deans, the Board of Visitors, and anyone else who could reverse a stupid decision not to renew their contracts. 

I made up my mind to join in.  I admired my hippie English professor with his long hair and beard and his choice to wear cowboy boots and a cape to class.  I managed to laugh when he showed up one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and wrote “Connery O’Flanner” on the board.  That didn’t matter.  He was brilliant.  I would defend his rights. 

Eh.  Who was I kidding?  Since my dormmates took no interest, I wasn’t about to go by myself.  I was shy.  I was also Chicken.  Yep.  That’s me all day.  But thank goodness for that yellow streak because the non-violent protestors who refused to leave Wilson Hall were promptly arrested and charged with trespassing.

Oh, my parents would have snatched me bald-headed had I been carted downtown and fingerprinted.   

Fast forward to the late 1970s.  I marched in peaceful protest.  And my mother marched with me (although she would have been appalled at my thoughts of doing such a thing ten years previous to that).  We were both teachers for Portsmouth Public Schools.  Our beef?  What else – pay! 

Momma carried a sign:  "Excuses Don't Pay Bills"
That's moi to her right.

Don’t ask me what the specific issues were.  I can’t remember.  Probably we had gone several years with no pay raise.  But that year we had had enough and we weren’t going to take it anymore.  The teachers were united.  We were committed to walking out of the classroom if City Council and the School Board didn’t pay attention and come through with more money. 

We must have gotten a little something because we didn’t have to walk out.  Democracy in action!

This past school year, my nephew Joel likewise made the newspaper marching as a teacher for Portsmouth Public Schools. 

Colonel Crawford leads students across High Street.
A Union soldier stops traffic.
Joel Pollock with his signature Top-Siders and sunglasses walks with his students.

But he wasn’t marching in protest.  He was marching his middle schoolers across High Street on a field trip to learn about the history of their City.  Instead of reading a history book, the students toured important landmarks including Trinity Church and the Courthouse.  They heard the story of Portsmouth’s early beginnings from its founder, Colonel William Crawford (portrayed by Eric Price who was known as “Ricky” when we were in high school!  Guess “Eric” is more dignified for someone who has made quite a career of wearing a powdered wig and gold brocade coat). 

The old newspaper clipping of his aunt and grandmother taking a stand is displayed on the bulletin board of Joel’s social studies classroom at Churchland Middle School.  Now he has his own newspaper clipping of the day HE crossed the road.  Perfect bookends.

For now, Peace Out!

Christmas 1970
Momma, Mary Jollette and Moi
I don't know why we're on our knees!

I invite you to make your way peacefully to Sepia Saturday.

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Sepia Saturday: Where did you get those genes?

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

This week’s Sepia Saturday photo prompt challenges us to focus on the face.  As it turns out, I’ve been studying a particular photo for quite some time hoping the names of the subjects would be pronounced to me through some divine spirit.

So far, no spirit and no names.  However, the man’s face has become more familiar.  Where have I seen this face before?

Closeup of man in previous photo

Is it possible he is the brother of these Breeden men? 

Breeden Boys with Sullivan Girls

Decatur Breeden (1877-1952) married my great grandaunt Victoria Jollett, and his brother John Wesley Breeden (1879-1961) married Minnie Sullivan, my first cousin twice removed.

Decatur Breeden

Unknown

Compare this unknown with Decatur Breeden:

Am I imagining a strong resemblance?  If not, then possibly this is Joel Vernon Breeden (1876-1940) with his wife Zaida Maiden (1884-1962). 

No doubt my dedication to family history keeps me searching for the source of family traits manifested in the living.  Where did this nose come from?  Whose eyes were these?  What about that chin and that forehead?  So here is a little game.  The rules are simple:  Match the living member of my family to someone from the past by studying their facial features.

Family Quiz

Let’s face it:  there are more fun photos at Sepia Saturday.

ANSWERS:  Aren't they obvious??
1 and B - my nephew is my dad all day long from his facial features to his stance
2 and A - my younger daughter sometimes resembles Violetta in the shape of her face and mouth
3 and D - my sister is Sudie Rucker. Notice the cheek bone, jawline, and chin. 
4 and C - my younger daughter is also like Velma especially her smile but even more so in spirit and style

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Sepia Saturday: The Help

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

This week’s Sepia Saturday prompt features some well-dressed gentlemen outside a store displaying its wares: bananas, potatoes, oysters, and more.   But it’s the gentleman to the far right who prompts me to explore a topic I had not considered before:  my family’s association with African-Americans.

In the 1960s when the Civil Rights movement was gaining momentum, I often heard people ask, “Aren’t you ashamed of your ancestors?”  Not me.  My ancestors were mostly poor dirt farmers and dirt poor farmers, not plantation owners by any stretch.  Census record after record indicates no one in my family owned a slave.  Once in awhile, there was a black woman in the household helping with the children or garden, but there were no families of slaves.  

Over the years my family often employed a black woman to help out, even if only for short periods of time.  As I watched The Help recently, I felt so sorry for the black housekeepers and nannies who PARENTED all those white children while their high-society parents indulged themselves in a shallow life and openly denied the Help any sort of dignity, even the use of a bathroom.  I’ve since wondered about the many housekeepers and babysitters who have passed through my life, and I pray my parents were kind.

Here they are, ever so briefly:

NAME UNKNOWN:  I was a baby when Daddy was a student at the University of Virginia and Momma worked in the Bursar’s office on campus.  She hired a young black girl to keep me during the day.  One day Momma arrived home from work to find me sitting outside in a wet diaper, all sunburned, playing in the rocks.  Inside “the Help” had passed out on the bed having tried on all of Momma’s clothes and having drunk all of Daddy’s whiskey.  Momma grabbed her by the hair and threw her out of the house.  

OK, so that’s our “not-so-good” story but one my parents did laugh about in later years.

The blurry-faced cutie is Moi in the company of two doting
grandfathers, Orvin Davis and Fred Slade.
Daddy and Momma are by our little trailer on Copely Hill
in Charlottesville where many young students at
the University of Virginia lived.

MILDRED:  My parents always spoke with such fondness about Mildred who cared for me when the previous girl didn’t work out.  Just two little stories:  (1) Momma had to bake her a pie each week because Mildred loved Momma’s pies.  She would eat one slice every day while I napped.  (2) One time when Momma was writing Mildred’s paycheck, she suddenly couldn’t recall her last name.  Too embarrassed to admit it, Momma resorted to subterfuge by asking, “How is it you spell your last name?”  Mildred replied:  “G-R-E-E-N.”  

MATTIE:  Mattie took care of my baby sister when Momma returned to teaching and I was in school.  In her mind's ear Mary Jollette can almost hear Mattie singing gospel songs to soothe her while holding her in her lap.  Mary Jollette can still see Mattie’s hands with her chipped red fingernail polish, patting her leg to the rhythm. 

1959 - Mary Jollette could do some bouncing
in that chair in the kitchen of our apartment
above our grandparents' house on Gillis Road.

CARRIE:  I was probably in junior high or even high school when Carrie came by bus in the afternoons to iron.  I remember her eyes were the opposite of crossed, and her feet were in terrible shape with disfigured bulging heels.  But she was a fine woman, tall and neat.  I always enjoyed talking to her, and I learned a lot about ironing just watching her.  Often she rode the bus home, but sometimes Daddy would drive her. 

But did we bother taking pictures of these women who made our lives easier?  Sadly no.

However, my great-grandmother Mary Theresa Walsh (or maybe it was a great-aunt) managed to capture a picture of RACHEL, her cook, housekeeper and babysitter.  Daddy and Leo loved Rachel.  She was a good cook and genuinely nice person.  Look at that smile!

Rachel surrounded by the Slade kids in 1936
Leo, Betty, and Fred 

Judging by the impressions left behind by rusted thumbtacks, the photo of Rachel and the Slade kids remained on display for quite some time.

Now I’m wondering:  Did any of these women go home and tell stories about us?

There’s more in store at Sepia Saturday.

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Sepia Saturday: Happy New Year!

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

This week’s Sepia Saturday prompt featuring Scottish troops celebrating the New Year at their billet hut in France during World War I makes me realize how calm my own New Year celebrations have always been.  As the poster child for “Morning People,” I’ve always struggled to stay awake watching television to see the ball drop in Times Square. 

When my sister and I were kids, we looked forward to December 31 for one reason:  sparklers.  Our grandparents bought them and lit them for us.  Holding one sparkler in each hand, we watched them sizzle and pop.  We’d draw designs against the night sky with the little “jet stream” emitted by moving the sparkler really fast.  Before the fire went out, we’d throw the sparklers in the air.  Often they got lost in the grass until the next day or until spring when the lawn mower would find them.

By Krzysztof Maria Różański, (Upior polnocy) (Own work)
[CC-BY-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

For several years, New Year’s Eve always meant my sister Mary Jollette would have her friend Gail over for the night.  It became a tradition for awhile.   They enjoyed the sparklers too.  Sometimes they played games.

It looks like I was off to a good start buying up
properties around the Monopoly board.
For some reason, I liked the railroads and utilities. 

What is Gail pouring into that beer stein? 

One year they went into the attic and found some of my old clothes.  They had a grand time trying them on. 

I actually remember that polka dot dress Gail is modeling,
but I have no idea what that plaid sailor number is
that Mary Jollette found.  That salute!  Good grief!

Do we know how to bring in the New Year right or what?  I wish you all the happiest of new years!

Please visit Sepia Saturday to see how others are bringing in the New Year.

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Wordless Wednesday: Christmas 1969

Wordless Wednesday is a daily prompt at Geneabloggers that asks family historians to create a post in which the main focus is a photograph or image.

Wendy and Mary Jollette
Christmas 1969

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Wordless Wednesday: Peace!

Wordless Wednesday is a daily prompt at Geneabloggers that asks family historians to create a post in which the main focus is a photograph or image.

Momma, Mary Jollette, Me
Could we be any more relevant in 1970, giving the Peace sign?
Don't ask me why we're on our knees.

See the pink wig stand?  I got a wig for Christmas in preparation for the next semester at Madison College (now James Madison University).  I was signed up for swimming and needed to be able to get from the pool to my next class looking presentable in the days before blow-dryers.   

© 2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Sepia Saturday: Before Bridezilla Roamed

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

Nothing says “Summer” like a flurry of wedding gowns suggested by this week’s Sepia Saturday photo prompt.

Somehow I managed to have bridal showers, a bridal luncheon, and a beautiful traditional church wedding and reception without the aid of gift registries, The Knot or “Say Yes to the Dress.”  I didn’t interview a host of caterers, photographers, florists, or bakeries.  Bachelorette parties were unheard of. No one that I knew ever had their make-up done professionally.  We certainly didn’t go for a mani-pedi, let alone a spa day.  I bought one Bride magazine and never tried on a single wedding dress.

That was 1973.  It was a given that my mother would make my wedding gown.  After all, she made everything else from school clothes to doll clothes, to slipcovers and drapes.  By 1973, Momma was a seasoned wedding gown seamstress, having crafted two gowns already.  

The 1960s gown

Miss McFarling's pattern sold for 75 cents in 1966
but can be found in Etsy shops, on eBay
and in vintage pattern shops
priced between $7 and $55.

Her maiden voyage into the world of bridal gowns was in 1966.  I don’t recall the circumstances that led my friends and me to spend an afternoon with our Latin teacher, but Miss McFarling was chatting excitedly about her plans for her upcoming wedding.  When she mentioned that she was looking for someone to sew her wedding dress, I volunteered my mother.  Really, I thought it was no big deal to make a wedding gown – just a dress with a longer length, right?  I doubt Momma was THRILLED with my teacher’s request, but she put on a good show.  My sister remembers Miss McFarling coming to the house in the evening for fittings, but I don’t.  All I recall is that I had to grade all of Momma’s spelling tests, reading quizzes, and grammar exercises.  That was either our trade or my punishment, not sure which.

Martha McFarling Athey
Wedding announcement
Virginian-Pilot 1966

The dress itself was very simple and very 1960’s.  The A-line gown was made from white peau de soie with long, tight sleeves that ended in a point over the bride’s hands.  At the wrist were covered buttons and loops.  The train was attached at the shoulders and contained the only adornment – lace medallions sewn randomly. 

Void of any frou-frou, this wedding dress was dramatic in its simplicity (certainly worth an A in Latin).

The 1970s gowns

In 1971 Momma made the wedding gown for the daughter of Momma’s high school buddy and life-long friend.  Unfortunately I have no pictures to share or stories to tell, so let’s move on to dress #3 -- MINE.

View #4 looks like my sleeve pattern.

My gown had that typical 70’s granny dress look:  empire waist, ruffled hem, and full sleeves with wide cuff. Believe it or not, it was inspired by a picture in Bride magazine.  (See, they even thought it was a good look!)  Momma did her best to replicate it, but that required pulling together parts from various patterns and then creating her own pattern for the train, which really was more of a sweep than full-fledged train.  

This looks like the ruffle and overall shape
of my dress.

Finding different kinds of lace was not easy either.  We bought from every fabric store in the Tidewater area and even from a shop in Staunton, not far from Harrisonburg where I was in college.  









The wide lace was an eye-catcher. We used it on the sleeves and then from the shoulders to the hem.  The narrow piece was used down the center, at the empire waist, and for the neck. 

I admit to making that veil.  It looks hideous now, but the Juliet cap and Anne Boleyn crown were considered quite “mo-derne” in 1973.  

Becky, Moi, Ruth, my sister Mary Jollette

However, I did a better job on the bridesmaids’ headpieces.  I covered a buckram head band with green voile and lace left over from their dresses (Momma made two of the dresses).  To be sassy, I made a fabric bow for the side.  Mmm – yeah – Sassy alright! 

The 1980s gown

Fast forward ten years to 1983. My sister Mary Jollette too had found her dream dress in a magazine.  Fortunately, patterns and lace were more readily available.  In fact, the lace matches the inspiration perfectly.  The train on her gown was inspired by Princess Diana’s train, but not nearly as long.  

While the train was important, the big hat defined the 80s. Mary Jollette had fallen in love with a bridal hat in the magazine. Our metropolitan area, despite its many bridal shops and specialty dress shops, didn’t have it.  Surprisingly, she found the hat in the bridal shop in Harrisonburg.  

Momma had requested that Mary Jollette not marry during the school year.  But Mary Jollette and Cam wanted to avoid the heat of summer, so April was the date. There were still papers to grade, and I had two babies to care for, so I was no help on that end this time.  

Is that orange juice on the sewing machine?
I guess Momma needed all the fortification
she could get to finish that dress.

That’s probably why the dress was never really finished.  Even though Momma spent her lunch hours at school sewing pearls and sequins onto the lace medallions, a pile of lace never made it onto the dress.  Surely a disappointment for my sister, but the dress didn’t suffer.

Please indulge me as I take one last look back at 1973 with "the going away outfit."

Momma made my pink suit.  Barry's might look
pink, but it's maroon and white POLYESTER.
Wooooo!
I scored big finding that maroon and pink bowtie.

Hey Wendy, Myles Standish called 
and he wants his shoes back!

Don't hate us because we're groovy.

If you haven’t had your fill of wedding dresses, take a stroll down the bridal path to Sepia Saturday.

©2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.

Sepia Saturday: And here comes Wendy with a baby carriage

Sepia Saturday challenges bloggers to share family history through old photographs.

This week’s Sepia Saturday photo prompt features a baby carriage. 

I was an only child for almost 8 years.  I wanted a baby sister.  So I wished on every wishbone.

from Google Images

I wished on every birthday candle.

I said it out loud.  (I’m sure my parents were embarrassed.  But I’m sure they embarrassed me plenty, so we’ll just call it even.)

Eventually it happened.

Wendy and Mary Jollette
August 1959

And Momma made sure that baby sister was MINE.  I fed her.  I changed her diapers.  I dressed her.  When she was getting too old for that second nap, which kept her up at all hours, I had to play with her and walk her around and make darn sure she didn’t go to sleep.  It was not easy. 

Sometimes I wished I hadn’t wished for that sister.

Like when I had to help with birthday parties and sleep-overs.  

And when I had to keep playing “Chopsticks” and “Heart and Soul.” 

I even played house when I was much too old for that.  

1964
(I was on my knees!) 

And this is the thanks I get.  

But fast forward many years …

I'm the tall one.
She's the pretty one.

Today we're the best of friends.  Just what I wished for.

Stroll over to Sepia Saturday for more babies and buggies.  

©2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.