I grew up with Knoxville, Tennessee being one of the big towns. If we wanted something and we couldn’t get it in town (Greeneville, Tennessee) one of the big towns to go for it would be Knoxville. We went there to do back to school shopping. We went there for Spring clothes shopping. We went there for concerts. We went there for just released movies. It was the big town with more to offer.
In my day the place we went was West Towne Mall. Near that was a the hip cool place to get record albums (yep talkin’ vinyl here) the day they were released, Cats Records. Couldn’t get albums until a week maybe two after release in Greeneville. Just like movies you had wait for them to be out a bit to make it down the pipeline to Greeneville.
Back in my grandmother’s day the hub of action in Knoxville was downtown. Gay Street was where it happened. That’s where her daddy took her shopping and where she went shopping with my Papaw in tow.
I have a photo of them made by a street photographer on Gay Street. We think it was the mid to late 1930s when this was taken. In those days a street photographer made your picture then tried to sell it to you. Kinda like what we see at amusement parks today but then it was in busy places, like Gay Street.
Yesterday’s post was about my maternal grandfather, this one is about my paternal grandfather, Leslie Newland Bright. During the depression he sold Singer sewing machines to homes in the coal mining villages of Virginia. Here’s a photo from a company picnic in 1928.
Singer Sewing Company Picnic 1928
That’s Grandpa standing just above the C in Co. here’s a an enlarged cut out of him from the picture.
Leslie N. Bright
As the family lore goes, he started working for Singer as a S&C Man. That was sales and collections. He didn’t have a car then so he’d get on the train at a flag stop and ride up to a small mining village. This was mostly in the Virginia and Tennessee area. He’d go selling and collecting in the village. If he sold a sewing machine he’d ride the train back get the machine and then ride the train again to deliver it.
Eventually he became a manager for them and got a car allowance. He bought a new car every 90 days. Why? He said he trashed the cars driving those old mining roads in the Appalachians. The ruts were so bad that one time he set the car to drive then climbed in the back seat to help hold the sewing machine.
One of the tales he told was repossessing a sewing machine in an old mining village shack. He went in to get the machine and the family wouldn’t give it back. He shot through the floor of the shack making the chickens rooting under it fly. Then he got the machine and put it on his back. He then walked out and up over a small bridge. The father of the family shot at him but he kept going. Supposedly grandpa said he figured the man was a bad shot and if he didn’t hit him the first time he wasn’t gonna.
Now Dad heard this story growing up and put it down to the tall tale his father told. Then one day when they had a farm of their own a man came in to do business. As they were talking the visitor told of a Singer Sewing Machine man that came to his uncle’s house to repossess a sewing machine sold on credit. The man shot up the house killing some chickens, took the machine and calmly walked out as the visitor’s uncle shot at him. Grandpa sit there nodding at the story. He never said it was him. He never let on he knew any more than the man said. However, MY dad was stunned. It wasn’t a tall tale after all.
Grandpa left Singer Sewing Company during the depression. He said he didn’t realize how hard it was until he’d left the job. He went from that to pulling steel tracks from old mines. He had work down on his knees in the old mines pulling up the mine car tracks. Very hard work, really hard work compared to the Singer job.
As always I’d like to hear from you. You can comment here (your comment will show when I get it) or reach me on Twitter (@marylouiseklund) on Flickr or over on Google+. You can e-mail me at marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.
Sammie Sue Rolen on the right and John Hollis Rolen on the left
In the above picture is my maternal grandfather John Hollis Rolen. He always went by Hollis. On the left in the picture is his oldest sister Sammie Sue, she went by Sammie Sue all her life.
This picture has a few stories behind it. First one that comes to mind was when Aaron my son saw it as a little boy. I explained who the people were, that the little boy on the right grew up to be father to his Granny. He looked confused and asked “Didn’t they know he was a boy?” LOL!
The answer is yes they knew he was a boy but little boys wore dresses until about 5 or 6 then they moved to knee britches. Then when they got to be 12 or so they moved up to long trousers. Was the custom then to which my son replied “I’m sure glad they don’t do that now. People would laugh at ME in a dress.”
I remember Papaw, that’s what I called Hollis, telling me about transferring to knee britches. He father was home and they celebrated by going to the barn and putting one of the dresses on a stick and lighting it on fire. The marched about singing while Lavator, Hollis’s father, waved the burning dress. When they got back into the house Ollie Belle, Hollis’s mother, was irate that they burned a perfectly good dress!
Another story Papaw told was he had a pair of yellow knee britches as one of his first pairs. Early on during the privileged time where he had a boy’s haircut and just moved into knee britches he was playing by the mailbox. The mailman came up on horseback and addressed Papaw as “fine sir.” Which Papaw replied, “It’s me Hollis bet ye didn’t recognize me in my little yaller britches.”
So now back to the story that explains the sour faces in the photo. Ollie Belle, Granny Rolen to me and my mom, said she tried to get them both looking their best for the picture. However, Papaw was mad that they wanted to take away his new whip. Sammie Sue was mad at him for ruining her pretty pictures. Best Ollie Belle could do was get a picture of two pouting children dressed in the best clothes. Oh well what’s a mom to do?
I have to say that pouting boy face carried forward in family genes. It looks just like Aaron did at that age when he pouted. Except we didn’t dress him in dresses. Much to his relief and mine, I’d hate to maintain all that finery in hand washing and ironing.
As always I’d love to hear from ya. You can comment here or reach out to me on Flickr, Twitter, or Google+. Email is always welcome send ’em to marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.
Until next time keep your skirts down and a tight hold on that whip!
Mary Louise Eklund 