Granny & Papa Phelps

My mom was the youngest of five siblings, three boys and two girls. She was also the only one who was born in Texas. The others were born in Pickett county Tennessee. They were born where their parents had been born, in north central Tennessee less than 10 miles from the Kentucky state line near Byrdstown.

Granny and Papa were raised near each other in the hills where timber farming provided for many tenant families’ a meager living. Papa was born May 24, 1867 making him 22 years old when Granny was born on February 2, 1889. Like any self respecting just-grown young man he had ventured 20 or 30 miles to seek his fortune. He found himself employed by a Mr. Hull who happened to have a son off at college. That son, Cordell Hull would become a Congressman, Senator and even Secretary of State under Roosevelt during WWII.

Grandad’s First Job

Mr Hull had 4 more sons. One of which was “special”. My grandpa was gifted Mr Hull’s trust in the form of being the protector of this boy. He did all the different jobs that were assigned but always with the boy at his side. Only when he went to the bunk house at night did the care of the son fall to others.

Mr Hull’s trust sometimes showed itself late at night. Papa told me that Mr Hull would wake him and say “Joe get a shovel and come with me.” A distance from the house and in the woods he would count his steps from a tree or a rock and say “Here Joe, dig here”. Papa would dig until he found a box or chest, then walk a few steps and turn his back while Mr Hull did his banking business. I asked how much money was there and he told me he never looked inside the chest and they never dug up the same one twice.

Now this next part of the story is best understood as mostly true. I say that because it is from pieces of information I started collecting as early as 8 or 9 years old as I would talk to he and Granny about their lives before me. Sometime around Papa’s 30th birthday there was a sickness that claimed a lot of people in the surrounding towns and reaching even to the homesteaders like my great grandparents…both sets. First, Granny’s parents died leaving four siblings who were blended into the neighbors family… Papa’s family. After a time (this could be months or a few years) they also fell ill and died leaving now seven children orphaned. My Grandpa being the oldest and my granny next to the youngest.

Another gap of time passes with Papa acting as head of household and Granny changing from girl to young woman. They married and started their own family…a union that would last until his death in 1962, almost 60 years later.

Move to Texas

Now somehow my Granny’s sister…Aunt Molly…wound up in Haskell, TX. Missing her sister she would write Granny telling her how wonderful Texas was and how easy it was to make a good living. My grandmother, like good wives everywhere started putting pressure to move the family to Texas. This happened at the same time as the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) started limiting leasing of timberland in preparation for work being done by the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA). Joseph Irwin Phelps and Tennie Delar Groce Phelps moved their family of 6 to Haskell County Texas…to live for a significant time in a tent.

Jobs were not as available as Aunt Molly had told her sister and by December 17, 1927 when my mom was born…times were tough. My grandparents were under-educated without steady employment and…oh yeah the world was about to plunge into the Great Depression. The next few years were hard. I don’t think I can ever understand just how hard it was for them and a lot of the people around them. Grandad worked at anything available from sweeping floors to farming. They fed their children and paid their bills…but just barely.

After the Depression and in the war economy things were actually a little better for them. Fewer competing for the meager jobs meant steadier work. The small improvement was more than offset by their oldest son being in harm’s way in the Pacific. Uncle Roy’s health never rebounded after the war and that gave my grandparents great grief. It was during the years following the war that Papa started to loose his sight. A problem probably easily curable now caused him to be only able to see light and dark. I’m not sure that he ever saw me even though I pestered him to talk…something he did very little of.

The way I remember him was a tall man. Stooped but still above 6′. High forehead and prominent cheeks declaring his mother’s native American blood. Blue long sleeve work shirt, not jeans but work grade slacks and a “well worn” sports coat (or suit coat). When they would come to our house to spend a few days, Grandad liked to sit on the couch with the television turned on and listen to the programs. When he dressed in the morning at our house he would put on his hat. When I would ask him why he would say “I’m probably not going to be here too long.” He called my grandmother Tinnie and it was apparent that she adored him.

My Grandad saw a doctor twice in his life and was in the hospital once. When I was about 12 he had a cancer removed from his back (in the doctors office). In February of 1962 some toddlers playing at their house moved Papa’s chair and when he sat…he fell. He developed pneumonia and died a few days later. Age 95.

Granny

When I think of her I remember her faith in God and her kind heart. Her life had been difficult but I have never know anyone more grateful. Her name “Tinnie” also described her singing voice. So distinct I could hear it above all others during church service. She sang at church and at home as she cared for children and adults alike who were guests in her home. It is hard to remember when someone was not sleeping on a “pallet” or sitting at the table eating and my grandmother always in motion.

She was deathly afraid of storms…tornados. And to be honest that part of west Texas was known for them. She had a cellar in her back yard and when I visited we almost always “went to the cellar”. Any storm that whipped up would have her rushing people down the steps to safety. I would sit on the steps with my uncles and hold the rope on the door…to keep it from flying open and us all being sucked out to our death. I would complain and declare when I was older I would never go to a cellar again. I have kept that pledge. On a side note…almost all weather back then was a surprise. No one listened to the weather…we just looked outside.

As she aged she developed rheumatoid arthritis and all of her joints would swell and radiate heat. She came to live with us before Mary Jo was born and stayed until Mom died in December of 1964. Almost two years and I remember what a toll the arthritis took on her. Knowing now, the regiment of drugs the doctors throw at the same diagnosis it seems incredible that her go-to was aspirin.

After mom died and the family scattered I only saw Granny a few times. To my shame I only spent short visits with her…I was self absorbed not realizing her time was short. We lost her the summer of 1972..10 years after Papa. She is buried in the Haskell cemetery beside her husband and with family all around. A cemetery we all played in as children.

When I look at the life my grandparents lived, I am grateful for their legacy. Heroic in a quiet and independent way, they are a branch of my family tree I am very proud of.