THE SAGA OF DAWSON BURGESS O'BANNON : AN 18TH-19TH CENTURY FATHER

 The Saga of Dawson Burgess O’Bannon

An 18th-19th Century Father:

By His Son

John Dawson O’Bannon

This authentic, 19th century Narrative was written by a son about his father.   It reaches us through the efforts of  Doug Young who shared it on Ancestry.  All rights are reserved to Mr. Young.  

 

In the interest of full disclosure, I am not an O’Bannon descendant, but three of Dawson O’Bannon’s children married siblings of my 2nd great grandparents (Nolen’s and Wise’s). The Nolen, Wise, O’Bannon, and Young Families were closely associated for at least three generations.  Further, my great grandmother Sarah Lindsey Heard was also related to the O'Bannon's through her Burgess, Dawson, and Chew ancestors.  The O'Bannon Family was closely allied with different branches of my family for over 200 years.

I am sharing this story and urging you to read it because it is a literary, historical, and cultural treasure.  You will be shocked, horrified, nauseated and/or angered by some of the scenes; some of the images will haunt you.

IT IS WORTH READING BECAUSE:

1. It will alter your perspective. 

2. It will give depth and complexity to people from other historical periods.

3. It will sharpen your awareness of the fallacies of PRESENTISM (link).

WHERE DO YOU GO FROM HERE?

You can skip the following Introduction to the Narrative, and Jump directly to the story as written by John Dawson O’Bannon, OR you can tackle my introduction to the Characters, period, place, and how the text is edited.  At the end I have included some maps illustrating the locations in the story.

            I have also included two accounts of the O'Bannon Family History.  The first is a newspaper account, and the second is based on Presley O'Bannon's genealogy.

  

INTRODUCTION OF THE CHARACTERS

Dawson Burgess O'Bannon Family before 1858

The Family photo above was taken prior to 1858 on the front porch of the O’Bannon home in Lisbon, Claiborne Parish, Louisiana.  The original was almost certainly a tintype, and represents very early photography (link).  The author and the subject of this narrative and most of the characters are in the photo, and we use this opportunity to introduce them.

In the center of the back row is the Patriarch, and subject of this narrative, Dawson Burgess O’Bannon.  Dawson was born on Feb. 4,  1780, in Fauquier County, Virginia.  He died at the age of 78, on June 2, 1858, in Lisbon, Claiborne Parish, Louisiana.  

Seated beside Dawson is his second wife, and mother of the three sons shown on the back row.  She is Martha “Patsy” Southern, born about 1800 in Greenville County, South Carolina and died after 1860 in Claiborne Parish, Louisiana.  Her mother was a Native American of the Creek Nation.  The three sons of Dawson and Patsy, seated and standing in the back row with their parents are: Dawson Burgess O’Bannon, Jr. (seated, born Jan. 22, 1832 in Pike County Mississippi, and died Dec. 7, 1873 in Caldwell, Texas); John Dawson O’Bannon (author of this narrative, born March 29, 1825 in Lawrence, Pike County Mississippi and died Nov. 23, 1871 in Avery, Red River County, Texas); and James R. O’Bannon (born April 18, 1835 in Lawrence, Pike County, Mississippi, and died Jan. 28, 1888 in Leesville, Vernon Parish, Louisiana. 

Seated in the front row are the four children of Dawson Burgess and his first wife, Frances “Frankie” Harris (born in 1782 in Fauquier, Virginia, and died in 1823 in Pike, Mississippi).  Frankie was orphaned at an early age, and raised by relatives and friends.  She may have been fostered by Dawson’s parents, William and Sarah.  From left to right the children are Bryant (or Bryan) Pickney O’Bannon (born Sept. 10, 1816 in Liberty, Amite County, Mississippi and died Aug. 5, 1890, in Claiborne, Louisiana); Malinda O’Bannon (born March 14, 1815 in Pike, Mississippi, Married William Harris Nolen in 1830, and died April 14, 1860 in Sharon, Claiborne, Louisiana); Mahannah O’Bannon (born Nov. 26, 1818 in Pike Mississippi, married Ambrose Wise in 1840, and died on Dec. 7, 1901 in Sharon, Claiborne, Louisiana); and William Harris O’Bannon (born April, 1820 in Amite, Mississippi).  There is a controversy over when and where William Harris died, with some saying he died Oct. 18, 1899, in Leesville, Vernon Parish, Louisiana, and others reporting his death in1864 in Texas.  

 

Family Tree of Dawson Burgess O'Bannon showing his Ancestors and Children
Malinda and Bryant married Nolen's (siblings of our Absolom Simeon Nolen) while Mahanah married a Wise (brother of Obedience Wise Nolen) Note also the names Chew and Burgess among his ancestors, these are Lindsey Family branches.

Dawson Burgess O’Bannon fought in the War of 1812, and with the possible exception of William Harris O’Bannon, his sons all served in the Army of the Confederacy during the Civil War.  After the Narrative, I include some additional biographical information on each of these Main Characters.  They are shown above on the Dawson’s Family Tree.

Mahanah O'Bannon and Ambrose Wise

One fact to note in this tree is the ages of the O’Bannon men at death.  While Dawson lived to be 78, his father Bryan (or Bryant) was only 43 at his death, and his grandfather William was 58.  The immigrant, great-grandfather, Bryan (or Bryant) Boru O’Bannon lived to be 79.  It is possible that both the grandfather and the great grandfather were born in Ireland and immigrated together.  However, other records show William as being born in the Carolinas.  In his discussions of his family history, John Dawson O’Bannon (the author) may be omitting a generation or combining the histories of two of his forefathers.

Bryant Pinkney O'Bannon and Nancy G. Nolen

 

One critical character in the Narrative is not shown in the photo or on the family tree.  Old Bertie who plays a critical role in the inception and telling of John’s story has an ambiguous relationship to the family.  The narrative indicates that her status is above that of a slave, but not that of a full family member.  The narrative clearly suggests, but does not state explicitly, that Bertie is an illegitimate daughter of Dawson’s father, Bryan (or Bryant) O’Bannon or of his grandfather William Boru O’Bannon. Thus, Bertie could have been Dawson’s older half sister or his aunt.  Bertie clearly treats Dawson like her “child” and John like a “grandchild.”  What is never clear in the narrative is Bertie’s racial status. Is she white or black or mulatto?  I find no clear evidence in the text.  In the critical scene, her presumed father asks her if she is the child of “his Judy,”  however, it is never clear whether the possessive pronoun indicates a lover or a slave or both.

Brief Timeline for Reference

Between 1755 & 1765 Old Bertie is born in Fauquier, Virginia

1780 Dawson Burgess O’Bannon, subject of the biography is born in Fauquier, Virginia

1785 By this date, young Dawson is living in Surry County, (and later in Samson County) North Carolina

1812-1814 Dawson serves in the Military (War of 1812) which takes him south to Mississippi.

1814-1815 Dawson marrieds Frances “Frankie” Harris in Mississippi, where all their children are born:

dau. Born 1815; son Born 1816; dau. Born 1818; son Born 1820 

1823 Frankie dies in Pike, Mississippi

1823 Dawson marries Martha Patsy Southern in Mississippi where all their children are born.

1825 John Dawson O’Bannon, the author, is born in Lawrence, Pike, Mississippi

1840 Family is Residence in Pike, Mississippi

1850 Family is Residence in Ward 7, Claiborne, Louisiana

1857 John Dawson is living in Graysport, Yalobusha County, Mississippi

1858 Dawson Burgess  O’Bannon dies in Lisbon, Claiborne Parish, La.

1858 John Dawson is living in Rapids Parish, Louisiana, where his son James Dawson is born.

1859 or 1860 Bertie dies in Mississippi

1860 John Dawson is a resident of Alexandria, Rapides Parish, Louisiana.  

In this year a son is born and dies, and his Mother dies.

1860-1864 John Dawson is in the Confederate Army

1864 John Dawson and others of family move from Louisiana to Texas

1864 Sister Angelina dies in Texas

1867 John’s daughter Frances Jane is born in Avery, Red River County, Texas.

1871 John Dawson O’Bannon writes this narrative, and then dies in Avery, Texas.

LOCATION OF EVENTS

Maps showing the locations mentioned in the text are included at the end of the narrative for reference.

Notes on my Editing:

In my editing of the narrative shared by Doug Young, I have had two goals:

1. To allow a modern reader to easily understand the author’s intended meaning. 

2.  To maintain the character and “color” of the 19th century author’s narrative.

With respect to word choice and grammar:

I have retained the word choice and grammatical structures of the author as passed to us by Mr. Young.  John Burgess is a brilliant writer, creating characters and scenes we can relate to and will remember.  I don’t want to ruin his creation.

With respect to punctuation:

I have used my own punctuation; attempting to make the text clearer and easier to read and understand by adding punctuation and paragraph breaks.  This seems justified since the original punctuation has already been changed in previous versions.

With respect to spelling:

I have compromised on spelling.  In many cases, I have retained the author’s spelling (as in “familey” for “family” or “latter” for “later” and “flie” for “fly”); but in others I have corrected misspellings to make reading easier.  In a few cases as with the word “kourse” used by the author for both “coarse” and “course,” I have corrected the author’s spelling for better comprehension.  John has problems with double letters, sometimes adding and sometimes deleting.  “Prety” for “pretty” is one example and “latter” for “later” is another.  Homophones also created difficulties, as with “course” and “coarse” and “steel” and “steal.”   

Finally, “spell check” has a mind of its own, and sometimes corrects a spelling I intended to leave as John wrote it.  

Other Edits:

In a few places I inserted notes in color intended to help guide the reader.  I hope these are not intrusive.

Dawson Burgess O’Bannon

By

John O’Bannon

1872

Some years ago, right after my father passed on to his rest, (1858) old Bertie said how we should come together and set down what was known of his familey and such.  Well at the time I don’t believe any of us gave much thought to it, one way or the other, just to be honest about it.  I now (1871) see it in a different light, and will do the best I can in telling about what I know.

I guess I can start with Bertie, seeing as how I said her name first.  None of us know for sure how old she was, but she was grown when our father was born, (1780) and was there when he came.  Some of the familey claims it was the Old Irish Baru (Boru) himself that caused her to come and be born (sired her) as it was.  That would put her on the far side of the 100 yr. mark.

I asked our father about that once, and he said that he figured there might be something to all of that.  He said that it was for a fact that others like Bertie (Mulatto or illegitimate or both?) had come from that one, and not having the name (illegitimate).  

It’s carried down that he (Boru) was the first of our line to come over, and was high Irish.  

Bertie claimed that our father was borned (born) in the same house as the first one (Boru) passed away in.  Said she was about ten or there about when he went, and said that it was the flux (diarrhea) that took him.  

Bertie used to suffer from brain fever — would talk with angels and all such as that (epilepsy).  From time to time she would go into hard fits and foam at the mouth just like an animal.  When that happened it would take several people to hold her down so someone could put a stick in her mouth — as to keep her from hurting herself.

Our father used to say that she was gifted with second sight, and the fits just sort of went along with the gift.  When she was younger she never stayed put for long, always coming or going from one place to another.  She always had fresh news to pass along and would help with the cooking wherever she might put up.  As age came to her she slowed down on a lot of that business.  

After we buried our father — we held a prayer meet.  When it was over she struck out with some folks that was headed for Miss. (Mississippi).   That was the last any of us ever saw of her.  A few weeks latter word came to us from Pike Co. that old witch Bertie had gone on.

What she said before leaving that last time bothers me to this day.  She told us all, “Children you never knew your father.  You stayed under his roof and you eat from his table but you never really knew him — never knew him for the great man he was — and that’s the shame of it.”  

Well maybe if old Bertie is looking down on us, she will see that I’m trying to put things right.  So as my father used to say, “I think I’ll have a go at it.”

My father’ name was Dawson Burgess O’Bannon.  He was born in 1780 at the old private place up on the run in Virginia.  I believe its fair to say he was named for some of his mother’s people and she was called Ruthie and his father in turn answered to Brient (Bryant).  I can’t be held fast at this but it seems he was first born coming in front of his brothers and sisters.  His father passed on about the time he was coming into full manhood (1790 when Dawson was 10 years old).  His mother stayed on in Georgia with some of the rest (her other children) when he came into Miss.

Not to be talking big (bragging) but I’ll say this — I don’t believe he knew what fear was, least ways, not for his ownself.  If he did, he never let on.  On the other hand I suppose a lot of folks was scared of him.  He was a large man and had a hoarse, rough sounding voice.  I’ll come true and say it — he did a fair share of killing, but never for pay.  He prided hisself in that fact.  Well now, he did some soldiering and took pay, but that was in time of war (War of 1812).   

To show the cut of man he was, I’ll touch on something I saw with my own eyes.  I was just a yearling and not much bigger than an ear of corn but I’ll never forget it.  We was all in town one day to pick up a few things when the trouble started.  

Somehow the old man had come to have words with a couple of the locals.  Mind you he was well past being a young-buck.  They plowed into him with weapons.  One used an ax handle and the other had a knife.  He didn’t back off, so he took their measure as best he could.  They hurt him pretty bad.  He scrambled around and got hold of an old hatchet and he went to work on them.  

The law was going to come down on him for doing the killing of them, but not much come of it.  I believe a fellow stepped up and told how it all got started; so they let it go.  

He come near dying from that go around.  He was bleeding from head to foot.  We finally got a doctor to look after him.  He sewed him up, and bound up his ribs and such.  We gave him laudanum and took him home in the wagon.

All through the night we looked after him and prayed.  Our mother just kept on crying and called him an old fool.  Come morning he was still with us.  In time, he came to his own self again. That’s how he was, awful strong-headed like that.  He used to say, “Always stand your ground, and bow your head to no one but the Lord.”  

I’ll set down these words that best tells how he was:  honest; fearless; hard working; coarse; sort of bashful; strong-headed; cold and hard on the outside; a dab on the religious side; greenish, mean eyes with a far away look to them; short on patience.  He was all of this, and a lot more.  

His great sadness came to him a spell before I happened along.   We never talked about it when he was around.  We sort of figured it wasn’t needed.  My Mother was the second choice woman that he took to be his wife.  There was another before her.  The first one come to be the mother of some of us, but not me and the rest.  Bertie told us about it once, but told us to hold fast to our lips in front of our father lest he start hurting all over again from it.

The name of his first choice was Frankee.  She was a daughter to Bill Harris as best that I recall and her mother’s name I believe was Ida but I can’t be certain on that score.  I think it was Bill used to oversee a bunch of niggers on a cotton farm.  That seemed to be his line of work.  One day he just fell dead In the middle of a field.

I suppose his wife got along as best she could after that, but in time she went too.  After that it seems Frankee was passed from place to place to whoever could do for her.  In time, my father came to take her for his wife.  

I believe he set her up pretty high, so as Bertie told it.  She was a frail little thing, an never did eat much.  Bertie used to fret after her a lot, thinking her to be touched with a sickness.  

She set about to have children from the first.  She took sick after a few years (after 8 years).  Something she eat didn’t set well with her.  She was bad all night, and when it came sunup she left them.  Our father took her up on high ground and buried her deep and covered over the grave with heavy rocks.  Bertie said that was the first and last time she ever saw him shed a tear.  She said he held his fist up to the Lord and screamed, “You took my Frankee away from me, Damn you.”  Then he fell down on his knees and cried.

I suppose he carried all that hurt locked up inside of hisself for the rest of his life.  Just once I overheard him say to my mother, “Puss, you’re a fine woman but I’ll always love my Frankee.”  She just hung her head and said, “I know that.”  

That’s about all I can set down on that score.  I believe its fair to say there was a good understanding between them and they were happy.

My folks was poor, but we had a good upbringing.  My father would say, “Money could carry a person far in this life, but it won’t buy spit in the next one.”

Both my folks were hardworking people.  They believed in it.  Now there was plenty of us to pitch in and lend a hand, and it was a hard go, but we made out pretty good most times.  A few times when things got lean our father would set about to do odd jobs for other folks.  He was pretty good at smithing and a fair wheelrite as well.  He would cut wood, plow and such as that.  Anything that was honest.  Some times he would come home after a hard day’s work and tell mother, “Put it on the table, Puss.  I’m going to eat up hell, and drink the Jordan dry.”

He, at times, was awful coarse, but his intent was good.  Just as to show what I mean, one day he was down in the bottoms clearing away some stumps, and he sent me to bring some drinking water for everyone.  When I got back with the bucket of water he said that I should take to bathing a little better as he could smell me coming all the way back.  

Well, I swelled up and told him not to talk to me in such a way, seeing as how I was coming into my manhood and all.  So he stood there and bored holes thru me with them eyes of his; then walks up and lays me flat on the ground with the back of his hand.  I’ve never before or since been struck such a terrible blow.  He just looked down at me there, shaking his head. Then he walked off.  None of us saw him for the rest of the day.

My mother had set a fine table for all of us.  There was yams, boiled peanuts, onions, pone, coffee — all his favorites.  We was all setting there waiting for him to come as to supper but he didn’t.  Finally we went ahead without him; said our evening prayers and took to bed.

During the night I come to be awake; it being so hot and all.  So I stepped out on the front porch hoping as to catch a cool breeze.  He was sitting there smoking his pipe and drinking a cup of coffee.  Right off the mark, we set about to talk.  He never said he was sorry.  I could waite till the cows come home and not hear that, and I knew it.  But we set things right between ourselves.  Well we stayed there like that, and talked till sunup.  Until we lost him, I never felt closer to him than I did that night.

One day we was all seting about to go to services.  A new preacher had come thru and we were pretty excited.  Our father went all out on himself.  He owned only one good set of cloths.  It was made up of a nice pair of doeskin trousers, a white silk shirt, a beaver hat, a red sash to go around his waist, a pair of new planters’ boots.   And did he  ever look grand.  I never saw a more striking cut of a man than he looked then.

Oh, did he ever strut around the house like he was a barn cock.  Yes he did.  He even put on the ring that Bertie gave him once.  It was the only piece of jewelry that he ever owned.  It was made of silver and had a piece of polished agate set to it.  It once belonged to the first of our line, so it’s said; but how Bertie came by it isn’t clear.  Anyways, our father wouldn’t take anything for it.  

Mother looked real prideful at him and said how nice he looked.  He just reached out and slapped her on the rump.  She acted all swelled up over it, but it was just acting she was doing.  Those were happy times for all of us.  

I’d like to touch on some pretty hard stories that best stand out in my mind.  I believe that in doing the telling of them, a purpose might come to be served.  

At one time our father used to keep a fearsome cur around our place.  He had raised him from a whelp and trained him hisself.  He used to tell us, “Stay away from Star.  He’s not a pet.”

Well one day he caught some niggers stealing from his Mellon patch, so he set about to put his cur after them.  Sure as to be, he downed one and took to making meat out of him.  About the time our father came running up and killed the nigger with a kick to his throat.  After that he set about to cut off his head and fixed it on the end of a long pole to stand in the Mellon patch.

Mother and one of my sisters came to be real fearful of this and asked him to take it down.  Well he carried the body off and buried it, but the head stayed on the pole.  He said it would keep others from coming and trying to steal our mellons.  

As it came to be, the niggers were runaways and their owner tried to get our father to pay for the one he killed.  He told the fellow to get off his place or he’d put his head on the pole too.  Well he left and we never saw him again.

Once when we all set ourselves as to supper, a large flie came to lite in the gravy bowl.  All of us just watched it scramble around trying to get free but it couldn’t.  Well, I don’t believe any of us wanted to touch that gravy after such a thing as that.  We  just sat there looking at each other and then at our father.  He reached in and got it out, then he put it in his mouth.  He told us, “If I can eat the flie you can eat the the gravy.  The Lord frowns on them that turn away from good food.”

Well one of my sisters jumps up and tells him that he’s just a dirty old pig for doing such a thing as eating the flie.  He just looked at her and said, “Sweetheart, it’s all we have to eat tonight.  Now set yourself to it or take yourself to bed.”

At this time she broke to crying and run out on the porch.  He told mother to go see after her, but to be gentle.  After some time went by, mother and Hudy came back and we all set about to eat.  Not one drop of that gravy went to waste.  

Another time he came home and said he wanted to talk to all of us.  Seems he caught one of our neighbor’s boys down on a creekbed playing spike with himself.  Said he wanted to warn us all of the the evils that come from such as that.  Well, he went on to say as to how none of us was to have any doings with people who used their hands on themself in such unnatural ways.  Then he set about to talk on them two cities come to ruin (Sodom and Gomorrah) and all such as that.

Well, at the time I thought that was awful damn coarse of him to be talking about such things in front of us all, such as it was — and I told him so.  He bore down on me with that stare of his and said, “Son, its not just for men and boys alone to know about good and evil.”

That’s the way he was most times, coarse and strong-headed.  I set down these hard stories as to best show his powers of reasoning — how he looked at and dealt with life and everyday happenings.  

He never took to read or write. Now that I look back on it all, I’ve come to see that in his own way, he was a man of deep strength, understanding and wisdom.  

He wore a great long beard.  Sometimes we used to make light of him for it.  He would just smile and tell us as to how he was borned (born) with it.  He would say that it was sort of like old Samson’s hair, and that if he shaved it off, it would sap away his manhood.  Then we would take to laugh together.

Course we all knew the true reason for it.  Before even the first of us came along, a musket ball passed thru his jaw and came out the other side.  This happened when he was doing his soldiering.  The beard covered over the marks that was left on him from that terrible fight (and probably caused his hoarse voice).  

He didn’t have much time for any of us; always busy trying to keep food on the table.  Most times he stayed after it from daylight till dark six days a wk. and 7 if it was called for.  Sometimes when some of us would try to help he’d say, “Children go play now.”

We thought he was just trying to get rid of us, but that wasn’t it at all.  He believed that every child should have time to run and play a little.  

What I set down now comes hard for me, but as to stay true on the course of things, I will. He used to tell us, “Whatever you do don’t hold back.” So I won’t.  I’ll touch on now as to how it come to be when all of us lost him forever.  

Most of us was grown and married when it happened.  He’d been sick about a wk.  We just figured it was his age, as he was getting old.  He said something in his belly burned like a hot piece of steel.  

On the evening of the last day, he took to bed.  By dark he was bad so mother sent one of us to get Bertie and to pass the word to everyone to come that could make it.  

He come to have fever and sweated a lot.  He talked about stuff that made no reason to us, and then he’d come to be his own self again.  He did this way several times.  Once when he was his own self he told us, “Come morning I’ll be gone, but I’m hoping as to someday we can all be together again.”

Well, as to that a couple of the women broke to crying and had to be helped from the room.  We gave him a bite-stick so as he would not have to scream from pain.  Some of the folks lashed him to his bed as to keep him from thrashing about.  Old Bertie got down on her knees to hold his head and she put her mouth to his ear.  She just kept on saying, “Yes, precsus — Yes, precsus. Bertie’s here, darling.”  Somehow down in the deep of hisself he must have heard her.  He seemed to become eased when she talked to him, so we didn’t try to stop her.  

Some time latter he came as to struggle, trying to break his bonds.  He was passing blood from his mouth and nose.  Bertie was trying to calm him and telling us to leave as we was not to see what was coming.

Most of us left the room and the door was closed behind us.  After this, I guess most of us broke to crying.  I just couldn’t help myself and I’m not ashamed to say it.

Before long they came out of the room.  Bertie told us that our precious father had crossed over to be with the Lord.  She said that they was going to clean him up and such, then we could come in to be with him for the rest of the night.

Some folks brought in food and coffee.  They were awful good to us.  Later Bertie said we could all come in.  He was laying there as to be asleep.  Bertie had put his old bible in his hand, and him never knowing how to read.  Some folks used to laugh behind his back for him carrying it around and not knowing to read.

Someone said something about shaving off his beard before putting him in the ground.  Bertie said she’d cast a hard spell on them that dared such a thing.  Well after her making such a fuss no one said much more about it.  I’m sort of glad they let it go at that.  Somehow that didn’t seem proper anyway.  

Some people wanted to build a fine coffen for him.  They didn’t charge for it; said it was just something they wanted to do for him.  I supposed they must have known him.

________________________

He didn’t live to see “the great white nigger” (Lincoln) come to be president, and I supposed its just as well.  It’s been 14 years (it was now 1871) since our father’s been gone.  Since then there’s been War and more deaths in our family.  What’s left of us is scattered all about. 

I have come to bring mine and others of our’s to good country (Red River County, Texas).  The trip was hard on the women and children.  Some killing had to be done, so I did it.  I killed 3 on the Sulpher (River); 2 with my pepper gun and the other one with my knife.  Boyd killed 2 at the Springs with his gun.  Kelly got shot in the foot and took to be with fever, so we cut off his foot.  Trash was everywhere trying to steal out food and such, and defile our women. So we did the killing of them.  

We’ve come to set down in good country and make a new start.  I have come as to be a father and have my own family.  My own children will never know my father, but they can know about him from what I have set down.

————————————

I know nothing of my mother’s people.  I believe they were killed when she was a babe, and she was seen after by her father’s brother and his family.  On my father’s side, all I know is what him and Bertie would mention from time to time.  I don’t recall ever seeing any of his brothers or sisters to often.  I believe his sisters were named “Margo” and “Reba” but I can’t be held fast on that.  His brothers were “William,” “John,” and “Brient.”  I believe there were six of them counting my father.  

I never saw any of my grandparents on either side.  Well, now I’ll have to back off a bit on that.  I did see grandmother Ruthie, but just once and I was just a sprout then.  All I remember is an old woman wearing a bonnet and tobacco dripping off her chin.  She gathered me in with her arms and gave me a hug and a kiss.  That’s all I remember on that score.  Most of my father’s people lived over in Georgia and that didn’t allow for much visiting and such.  

Now, for the ones ahead of them already mentioned, I don’t know an awful lot.  Bertie told us once about that first one to come over.  She told about him like this: “awful tall and broad of shoulder but on the frail side with large hands and feet.”  Said he wore his hair long, way down past his shoulders and how it and his skin was the same color as cows’ milk as to go along with blue eyes.  

Well she set off to tell about when he scared her so bad.  She was working in the garden with some others, and a man came to take her to the front porch of that big house, so she had to go.  Said the man with her told her as to get down on her knees and not to talk first.  So she heeded.

She told us to how others was standing behind that one in the chair, and they were his people.  Said she was so scared as not to be able to talk.  His teeth were rotten and the nails on his hands were long and crooked and he was old.

He just stared at her and then he asked her if she was the child of his Judy.  Bertie said her voice box just would not come to work, so the one standing by her kicked her hard.

Said, at this the old one in the chair screamed at the one who did the kicking of her and caused him to be whipped with a cat of nine.      She came to get candy and toys and was set about on her way.

Old Bertie was given to talking big, but we always liked her stories when we were little and was she ever full of them.  “Yes she was.”

I have set down all this for my family, and their people not yet to come to be borned — if they are strong with the blood of my father.  I have done my best to put things right and to stay true of purpose.

AMEN

John Dawson O’Bannon died in Nov. of 1871, not many months after he completed this story.  He was 46, and the father of four living children.  He is buried in Avery, Texas.  His last living son, Joseph Henry O’Bannon died in 1941 in Boswell, OK., at the age of 78.

Map of O'Bannon Family Travels

DORIS ADAMS BROGAN -- NEWS STORIES FROM HER EARLY LIFE

INTRODUCTION

In  researching our Family History, I have discovered that in years past, news stories traced many events in our lives.  My cousin DORIS ADAMS BROGAN's teen and early adult years from 1935 to 1945 were vividly traced in articles in several local newspapers, including the weekly paper in her hometown of Coushatta; in the biweekly paper in the college town of Natchitoches; and in the daily papers of the nearest city, Shreveport.  

These news stories about Doris reveal a young woman of exceptional ability, intense focus and dedication.  She had high aspirations which led to notable achievements.  She was  intelligent, beautiful, popular, a natural leader, gifted in public speaking, writing, math, and science.  I wanted to share the Doris who is revealed in these articles with her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

Technical Details -- Editing scanned newspaper files from archives for publication in this Blog has been hampered by some technical challenges.  I have done the best I can with current technologies.  If I find some articles cannot be read, I will transcribe the content of the articles.  I have retained the source information for each article so anyone who wishes to do so can access the original scanned article or the original archived copy.

DORIS ADAMS -- 1935-1945

In Her Senior Year, Doris was Elected President of the Home Economics Club at Coushatta High School

That same Fall of 1935, Doris helped organize a Science Club at CHS, and was Elected Treasurer

As an Historical Note, Girls were not usually elected president of organizations with both male and female members during this Era.  Girls were given the jobs that required work but not nessarily "up front" recognition.  They were usually secretaries and/or treasurers.

At Christmas that year, Doris was among 10 players in the Dramatics Club Presentation

As an Historical Note, Plays were often presented as "fund raisers" for other school activities.  In these three articles, we can begin to see the dimensions of Doris's varied interests and abilities.

Doris wins statewide Essay Contest.  

Doris is part of group organizing the first school Newspaper at CHS

As Graduation approached, Doris was announced as the Valedictorian with a perfect 4.0

As an Historical note, in this era, there were no advanced placement or college credit courses that offered additional grade points to boost the GPA.  A Perfect 4.0 meant that Doris made an A in every single course she took over her 4 years in high school.  She never let down in a single class from PE to Chemistry and Trigonometry.  In this picture I see a resemblance to her sister Sara Glenn Adams.

Doris is Valedictorian And Dr. Fredericks will Speak at CHS Graduation

Note From family History:  Doris and Dr. Fredericks are both descendants of Mathias Frederick, who came to Louisiana in 1720 as one of the settlers of the "German Coast" of Louisiana.  As one of the earliest settlers, the Fredericks are among the First Families of Louisiana.  It is not known if Doris and Dr. Fredericks were aware of this connection, but he was definitely impressed with this brilliant young woman. 

Photo of Doris with Her Graduating Class at CHS

Two Years later as a Sophomore at Northwestern Normal College (to become Northwestern State University) Doris is named as one of Eleven Demon Sweethearts

Historical Note -- his honor has traditionally been a fusion of popularity and beauty.

As a Recipient of a T.H. Harris Scholarship, Doris is among the Louisiana College Students who, as holders of these prestigious scholarships, will meet.

Historical Note -- T. H. Harris was a 20th Century leader in Education in Louisiana.  The scholarships awarded in his name were among the most prestigious, and valuable in the state.  Only the best students received these scholarships, and it was presumed that they would become leaders in the state.  I am uncertain of the purpose of the statewide meeting of students holding theses scholarships.

Doris is Among Students Representing the NC at Louisiana State Fair

Historical Note:  It is difficult today to understand how important the annual State Fair was as a showcase for what was happening in the state.  While agriculture was front and center at the Fair; Education was not far behind.  High Schools and Universities participated an many events, providing the public with insights into their activities and achievements.

Doris is Among 13 Co-eds Named as Members of the Purple Jackets, THE Honorary Organization at NC

Historical Note:  At NC (and NSU), the Purple Jackets was the ultimate honor for women students.  You had to dot all the I's and cross all the t's and never make a misstep to be voted in by members and faculty advisors.  I didn't make it, but I was proud to see that Doris did.

Doris was Elected President of the Louisiana Home Economics Clubs

Historical Note:  Today the term Home Economics has virtually vanished.  The studies and majors have been renamed or abandoned.  In the days when it flourished in colleges and universities, there was a distinct fear that majors in Home Ec. would be looked down on by other disciplines.  Consequently the professors over compensated and created a very difficult curriculum.  Many Home Ec. majors had minors in chemistry because of their nutrition and food studies; they had strong backgrounds in math because of their "economics" studies. Their work in child development gave them minors in human development and psychology.  Only very smart, hardworking students succeeded in Home Economics.  Doris was apparently among the best and clearly a leader among these students.  In this picture I see a distinct resemblance to her Mother, my dear Aunt Lizzie.

Doris is named President of the College Home Economics Clubs

I don't know if this is another announcement of the same information in article above, or if there were two different organizations that Doris led, one for both high schools and college clubs and one only for college clubs.

Doris Graduates With Honors from Normal College

I don't think this is a Surprise to Anyone.

Doris Volunteers to Serve in the US Navy on Dec. 17, 1942

Historical Note:  Women were not drafted in WWII, and in the beginning the areas in which they were allowed to serve were very limited.  However, as more men were needed for front-line duties, women were given more and more options and opportunities.  Doris was among those chosen to more upward in the military services of this nation.

Doris Receives Fast Advancement in WAVES

Doris Promoted to Naval Officer Rank

Historical Note:  Men with college degrees were routinely given officer rank on enlistment.  However, women with equal education had to earn officer rank through military achievement.  Doris did.

My Newspaper Searches centered on Louisiana, although I briefly tried California.  I am sure there are more articles about Doris, and as I find these I will update this Blog.  If you find articles, please share so they can be added here.

MAMA JACK'S BED

MAMA JACK’S BED

Stories About Mama Jack

Written At the Request of Tara Lemoine (Her Great Granddaughter)

When I remember Mama Jack I remember how she smiled with her eyes every time she looked at me.  Some people smile with their lips, but not their eyes;   some smile with lips and eyes.  Mama Jack was the only person I’ve ever known who always smiled with her eyes.  My cousin Henry and I often talked about how much she loved her ten grandchildren.  She was the only grandparent Henry ever knew, and in his heart her memory burned bright.  These stories were written because his children and grandchildren wanted to know more about the woman Henry (and the other nine of us) called Mama Jack.  I begin with one of my earliest memories, etched in sight, sound, smell, and touch.  With all my senses I can recall Mama Jack’s bed.

Mama Jack’s big bed occupied the place of honor in the back bedroom.  It was placed in a corner with just room enough for the person sleeping on the right to edge in between bed and wall.  When I was very young, the room was heated by a wood stove, which was replaced by a space heater fueled by butane gas from a big tank that sat just outside the house.  On either side of the stove/heater were two wooden rocking chairs, the one on the right for Mama Jack and the one on the left for Daddy Jack.  

I have no memory of ever spending the night when Daddy Jack was home; and few memories of summer nights.  I’ve given this some thought and believe that I spent nights with Mama Jack when Daddy Jack, and probably my Daddy and Clint, were off hunting or fishing.  Mama Jack didn’t like being alone at night, so I had the privilege of keeping her company.

There were three doors opening into the bedroom.  One, located across from the foot of the bed, opened onto the back porch, and permitted cross ventilation that cooled the room in the heat of summer.  The second opened into the kitchen, and made it convenient for Mama Jack to tend to things there.  The third opened into the middle bedroom. There were 4 windows, two south-facing along the right side the bed and two west -facing on the wall to the left of the head of the bed.  On the left of the bed where a night stand would be placed today, stood Mama Jack’s sewing machine.  

When I was little, there was no bathroom in the house, and no running water.      During the day, we all went to the outhouse, which was located far from the well, and out of sight behind the smokehouse.  When a bathroom was added to the house, it was built between the front bedroom and the middle bedroom, (where a large linen and storage closet was originally located).  It was a long, cold distance from bed to bathroom for a small child, so Mama Jack st kept a “slop jar” (another word for chamber pot) for me.  It was actually a very pretty pot, with a tight fitting lid to contain any odors.  Every morning Mama Jack emptied the slop jar before I was awake.

During the day, Mama Jack’s bedroom was the center of social activity.  Only the kitchen competed as a gathering place (and of course the dining room during meals).  The contrast made the nights in the bedroom seem even quieter.  During those long winter evenings, I would sit in Mama Jack’s lap or in Daddy Jack’s rocking chair, and we would listen to Jack Benny, or Red Skeleton, or Ozzie and Harriet.  My favorite was Baby Snooks, and Mama Jack liked the Southern Gospel Hour.

Before time to go to bed, Mama Jack would warm two bricks on the stove or heater.  When the bricks were warm, she wrapped them in flannel cloths and placed them between the sheets on each side of the bed.  While she heated the bricks, she also heated a kettle of water, which she poured into a metal pan shaped like a basin.  With this warm water and a soft flannel wash cloth, and homemade lye soap she gave me a quick bath and changed me into my pajamas.  Then she turned back my side of the big bed.  In cold weather the sheets were flannel, and in warmer weather, they were cotton.  In either case, they had the fresh scent of linens dried in the sun and wind.  The cotton sheets were always smooth because Mama Jack ironed her sheets.  The heated brick made the bed warm and welcoming.

Climbing into that big bed wasn’t easy.  It was made of iron, and stood well off the floor.  I could (and did) crawl under it.  From the underside I could look up and see the iron side rails.  These rails supported strong boards that ran crosswise to hold up the springs and mattresses.  On top of the boards were iron springs.  Keeping the dust out of those springs was not easy, but somehow Mama Jack managed.  Above the iron springs, was Mama Jack’s cotton mattress.  

The only thing “store-bought” about that cotton mattress was the ticking (the cloth that contained the cotton).  Mama Jack made the mattress by sewing the ticking and then stuffing it with raw cotton raised on the farm.  The top mattress, placed above the cotton mattress was the distinctive feature of Mama Jack’s bed.  Like the cotton mattress, it was made by Mama Jack, but it was stuffed, not with cotton, but with down (the soft under-feathers of waterfowl).  When flipped and fluffed as Mama Jack did every morning, the feather mattress was 8 to 10 inches high.  When compressed under the weight of a body, it was about 4-5 inches thick.  It was like sleeping in a cloud.

I’m not certain of the source of the down that filled Mama Jack’s mattress and pillows.  My maternal grandmother kept a flock of geese as a source of feathers (and to drive off snakes and other critters).  Many farmers, like my Uncle Edward, kept a flock of geese to help pluck the grass growing in the cotton, but I don’t remember Mama Jack ever having more than one or two geese.  I suspect that the soft feathers came from the breasts of ducks that Daddy Jack and her sons killed each winter.  

To climb into that bed, I pulled myself up, and standing on the iron side rails, I would fall softly into that huge pile of feathers.  That dive was an utterly delightful, and mostly forbidden joy.  During the day, the bed was sacrosanct.  After Mama Jack carefully made it each morning, that feather mattress was never to be touched by a hand (much less a body).  NO ONE sat on Mama Jack’s bed.  NO ONE climbed on Mama Jack’s bed.  NO ONE deposited any object on Mama Jack’s bed.  NO ONE even left an indented hand print on Mama Jack’s bed.  Only in the case of severe illness or approaching death, can I imagine someone reclining on Mama Jack’s bed during day-light hours.  

Sinking deep into the feathers, surrounded by the brick-warmed, soft flannel sheets that smelled of sunshine, I would rest my head on a pillow made just like the feather mattress, and pull the quilts up around me.  Mama Jack had an everyday bed spread, that she “spread” over the bed each morning to protect her precious quilts from dust or other contamination.  She also had a fancy spread for special occasions and family gatherings.  The spread was removed from the bed and carefully folded before bedtime, and replaced each morning when the bed was made.

The covers that I pulled up to keep warm in my feather nest were Mama Jack’s handmade quilts.  There were always at least two and sometimes three.  The bottom quilt was always cotton, and often old.  Old quilts are softer and more cuddly than new.  Mama Jack made many cotton quilts.  They covered all her beds, and were stored in the top of the linen closet (even after it became a bathroom).  The top quilt was usually a wool quilt.  Wool quilts, made from scraps of wool fabric, were far less common than cotton quilts, but held heat better.  They were also a bit scratchy.  

Today you see quilts made with large pieces cut from bolts of cloth with carefully chosen and coordinated colors.  Mama Jack’s quilts were made of small pieces, often all that could be salvaged from a well-worn garment.  The colors were often muted because worn-out clothes were washed many times before being turned into scraps for quilts.  The liners were purchased at the store, and were the most expensive part of the quilt.  In later years, Mama Jack made more colorful quilts as wedding gifts, and these demonstrated her art better than the scrap quilts.  

Mama Jack had a lot to do before joining me in the warm feather bed.  She always checked out the kitchen, setting everything in place for next morning’s coffee and breakfast.  Then she would stand by the warm fire and change into her flannel night gown.  I never understood how she did it, but she would pull the gown on over her clothes, and with her head through the neck, but her arms inside the gown, she would remove her day clothes without showing a bit of skin or naked body.  When her clothes were removed, she thrust her arms through the sleeves of the gown, and then carefully folded and hung up her clothes.  

There was no closet, and she hung her dress in a chifforobe, (sometimes called a wardrobe or an armoire ).  The chifforobe was the only large piece of furniture in the bedroom, and stood in the northwest corner of the room.  After closets were added to the house, the chifforobe was replaced with a dresser.

My Grandmother never wore anything other than a dress.  Over her dress, she usually wore an apron.  Sunday was the only day she didn’t wear an apron. She also always wore stockings (even in summer heat). Her everyday stockings were cotton, but on Sunday she wore nylon.   She dressed up on Sunday, and wore a hat and gloves.  Everyone in her little church called her, “Aunt Ida,” and one Mother’s day, she was declared the “official Mother of Union Hall Baptist Church.”

After putting her clothes away Mama Jack removed her shoes and stockings, and put these away.  I was always fascinated by Mama Jack’s feet, because I had never seen feet like hers.  Today, I can look at my own feet, and see exactly the deformation that so enthralled me as a child.  I inherited Mama Jack’s  “bunions,” a condition in which our big toes gradually begin to draw sideways toward the little toe (pulled by shortening tendons).  As we age the condition worsens and the joint below the big toe protrudes.  Mama Jack’s soft everyday shoes  became distorted into the shape of her feet.  She kept the shoes out of sight.

I often wish I had inherited Mama Jack’s height instead of her feet.  She was a tall woman, like her mother and her daughters.  At least she was a tall  woman for her era.  Taking after her Dutch and German ancestors, she stood 5’8 to 5’10’.  As she aged, her spine contracted and she grew shorter.  I remember her remarking that her three sons had competed to see which one could marry the smallest wife (Clint won).  She was right, Myrtis Lee, Paige, and Edith were all small women, dwarfed by their husbands’ larger Mother and sisters.

After removing her shoes and stockings, Mama Jack would carefully wash her feet in the warm water remaining in the basin after my “bath.”  Then, sitting in her big rocking chair, Mama Jack would let down her hair.  She always wore her long hair in braids, which she kept pinned up on her head.  She would unpin the long braids, which dropped over her shoulders.  Then she would unbraid each braid, releasing her long hair.  In her youth, her hair was a jet black, like her daughters Lorena, Cecile, and Sarah.  Only Iola had light hair.  However, just like her daughters, silver infiltrated the dark hair in their 30’s.  

        During this period of my life, Mama Jack was in her 50’s, and her hair was silver and black (salt and pepper some call it).  Some of her lighter hair was a pale gold rather than silver, creating a tri-color effect.  Her hair was beautiful and spread out over her shoulders.  The long tresses were wavy from the plaits.  With a brush, she brushed it (100 strokes, I guess, because I couldn’t count that high).  She would rock and brush, and when she was satisfied, she carefully plaited  her hair leaving the long braids loose on her shoulders.  In the morning, she would pin them up again, to repeat the cycle.

Her hair ritual finished, Mama Jack cleaned her teeth.  When I was older, she used a toothbrush, but when I was young she brushed her teeth with a twig cut from a tree, then scraped and stripped to form a tuff of stiff fibers for teeth cleaning.  Usually she used black gum twigs, but she also used sweet gum, sumac, or dog wood.  She used soda for toothpaste.  When remembering this, I googled twig tooth brushes, only to learn that you can order them from Amazon.  Apparently this “natural” way is popular again.  

After her toilette, Mama Jack took up her Bible and settled into her rocker for her evening scripture reading.  Mama Jack didn’t have a fancy “Bible study” plan, she simply started at Genesis 1:1, and read each night until her reached Revelation 22:21.  Then she began again with Genesis.  Her approach so impressed me, that in my late teens I imitated her.  I made it through my bible twice before backsliding.  I have Mama Jack’s last Bible.  Like all her others, it is well-worn.

After reading her Bible, Mama Jack would take off her glasses, carefully clean and put them away, and kneel down on her side of the bed to pray.  Sometimes I tried to kneel with her, but my knees began to ache or I got too cold to stay on that floor.  One thing I never doubted, Mama Jack’s prayers were powerful.  As a child, I felt comforted and protected because I knew she prayed for me.  Years later, I realized that nothing really bad happened to our family until after Mama Jack’s prayers were silenced by death.  Then we had some hard times.

        Mama Jack usually wanted to go to sleep as soon as we were both in bed, but sometimes I could get her to tell a story.  I could often get her to talk by asking her about the history of one of the blocks in a quilt.  Each block seemed attached to a garment that held memories.  This strip was from Daddy Jack’s vest, that he wore to meetings of The Woodsmen of the World. This square was from the dress Iola wore to school on her first day.  And tears welled up in he eyes when she identified a block from the gown that her first child wore before his death of SIDS.

Among my treasures are a wool quilt Mama Jack made; one of the pillows she stuffed with down; and her rocking chair that stood by the fire.  I should give them to someone for whom they would have meaning, but I have been slow to part with the memories they invoke.

Mama Jack’s bedroom never seemed totally dark.  She didn’t pull the shades down before going to bed (after all we were way out in the country with no close neighbors, and a very noisy dog). The moonlight and starlight brightened the sky and the room.  In the semi darkness, I still remember Mama Jack’s sleeping features in silhouette.  

Her skin was beautiful.  Even in her 80’s she had only smile lines, in an otherwise smooth face.  She may have had a bit of vanity about her skin, or  she just didn’t want the sun to darken it.   She never used fancy creams, but she always wore a bonnet with a stiff brim sticking out front and a long tail in the back to protect her face and neck.   She made her own bonnets, stiffening the brims by quilting.  Her bonnets often matched her aprons (which she also made).  I’m not sure if that was a fashion statement or because she could get a better buy on a quantity of fabric.

Sometimes in those nights in Mama Jack's bed I would open my eyes and she would be looking down at me, those smiling eyes radiating love.  I loved my Mama Jack for many reasons, but mostly because I always knew how much she loved me.