Thursday, October 25, 2018

Easter Sunday 1958 at 3142 Griffin Avenue

Stories My Father Told Me

     I have been working fewer hours recently.  I am officially retired now, so it's only natural.  However, I found out quickly that I was not temperamentally suited to puttering around the house all day in slippers, nor was it financially prudent to rely exclusively on my Social Security check.  Who can afford that?  Perhaps some of my friends who have done a better as money managers can do it.  I guess my question would be, why would you want to?  I am always asking my customers, "How many Hitler documentaries and cooking shows do you think I can watch before I am ready to strangle my wife"?  The point being, I need to get out of the house every day and go somewhere and do something to feel productive.  I know my time grows more limited every day, so the sense of urgency grows.  One outlet has been to increase my writing and cut back on my work load and historical research.  Since I have been enjoying different types of writing recently, I thought that it would be pragmatic to record for posterity and for my sons, stories that my father told me when I was growing up.  I also been compelled toward doing it because I have been enjoying travelling down that nostalgic highway to the 50's, 60's, and 70's, to a simpler time when the world made at least a little sense.
     This is an announcement, rather than one of those stories.  The practice of writing my memories down also serves to remind me of some of the great lessons I learned when I was growing up.  The stories my father told me are eerily similar to the growing up stories that I told my sons as they were growing up.  You know, the mischief making, juvenile delinquent, socially taboo and getting into trouble stuff, of which no mother would ever approve, but about which a dad loves to reminisce.  Moms are afraid that their sons will emulate and then proceed to imitate those bad boy behaviors.  Valid point.  My bottom line was that I loved my dad and wanted to be just like him.  And my dad, even though basically an introvert, would come out of his shell when he was around people with whom he was comfortable.  As a Yankee transplant from Brooklyn, NY, who grew up fatherless during the Great Depression, so many of his stories had an atmosphere of adventure and daring.  Although, I never experienced that kind of environment growing up, my dad's nostalgic stories always inspired me and were an endless source entertainment and excitement.  Thank God I was inquisitive because it helped me remember so many of them, crucial now that my dad is dead and gone.
     I think the most appropriate story to start with will focus on the 2018 World Series.  My dad was a huge Brooklyn Dodgers fan, and growing up in the 50's I learned to become one too, just like my dad.  Look for a post about Ebbet's Field in the not too distant future.  Needless to say, I am pulling for those traitors who moved from Brooklyn to L.A. because they still call themselves the Dodgers and they still wear the Dodger blue.  As of this writing, they are down 0-2 in the series to the Red Sox, nothing new to Dodger's fans everywhere.  Remember, it was the Dodger's fans who came up with the battle cry, "Wait 'til next year" every time we lost to the dreaded Yankees.  It's looking grim, but it's still a little premature for that battle cry.  At any rate, the stories are going to be coming more frequently now that I have a plan of action.  In the meantime, entertain yourself with other posts from my blog, Return of the Moops, and by this, I mean all four of you who have been enjoying my posts recently.  Tell a friend about them and help my audience grow.  I am hoping to double my reading audience by Christmas.  You can help me improve my writing also by pointing out spelling errors, bad grammar and syntax, as well as typos.  I won't be offended.  I think that I will be able to handle criticism on content as well, if you dare.

Wednesday, October 24, 2018



Coach Garbett and the Shoe Shine Kid

     It was around 1968 or 69.  A new kid, Mike Shannon, had just transferred to Henrico High School from one of the city schools in Richmond.  He was a nice enough kid but if you spent any time at all with him, he found a way to pluck your last nerve.  Part of it was that since he was the new kid, he was putting a tremendous effort on fitting in and he wanted to establish himself as one of the cool kids.  Back then, the world was made up of two kinds of people: popular kids and unpopular kids and Shannon (most of us guys had taken to referring to him by his last name) coveted being one of the cool kids.  Of course, he had a few strikes against him.  He wasn’t gross looking or anything, but he wasn’t going to win any beauty contests either.  He had braces, blue eyes and blonde hair and he wasn’t as big as a minute, five feet nothing and weighing 100 and nothing.  But he wanted to be popular and would say and do anything to achieve that status with his peers.
     We were in Coach Garbett’s gym class together in 8th Grade.  It was the only fun class for many of us.  The rest of the classes required too much effort and doing homework and taking tests etc., but in gym class, it didn’t matter how stupid you were and if you were a guy, at least you never got embarrassed in front of girls for poor performance.  You could focus on strength and speed and it didn’t matter how awkward, gangly or uncoordinated you were, your status in the group was established by your athletic prowess in the first week of school, unless of course, you were a transfer student during the middle of the school year like Mike Shannon.
     On rainy days, the P.E. staff would have to improvise the curriculum because all the classes going on would be forced indoors and the gym would have to be split up to accommodate all of them.  There were classrooms that were used for Health or Driver’s Ed, or for such occasions as inclement weather. On one such day, Coach Garbett let us avoid doing any real work and treated it like a study hall.  Kids could read or socialize, play checkers or chess or cards, or just stare at the walls until the bell rang.
 I need to go on and get this out of the way before I get too deep in the story.  Some of the male coaching staff were JERKS. Coach Garbett avoided this distinction as far as I was concerned.  The boy’s coaches seemed to have that macho 60’s thing going.  They commanded respect from the boys but rarely gave back the respect that they felt they deserved. It was their class and they weren’t going to put up with any monkey business from a snot-nosed kid who was just as likely to be prepubescent as not.  At that age, the world was a turbulent and sometimes violent place among the boys.  It could be difficult to navigate all the changes going on inside of oneself, let alone, trying to figure out how to survive each day before you could go home at the final bell.  This was supposed to be one of the good schools in the area, but there were fights every day and they would draw big crowds until one or several of the teachers were able to break it up, or in some cases, one kid was decidedly beaten up quickly and said “uncle”.  And if there was blood, the victor was going to get ratted out by the loser or some Dudley Do-right. Millennial's would have been miserable in that environment and wouldn’t have lasted a day.  Things were black and white in those days and everybody understood the rules.  If you had a conflict with another kid during gym class, the coaches would get the boxing gloves hanging on a nail on the wall in the coaches’ office and the boys would settle the issue like “gentlemen”.  That was the standard and the protocol, and we understood it completely.  Serious injury was rare at that age.  About the worst thing that could happen was getting a bloody nose, but every boy had the option to chicken out if he didn’t want to risk a bloody nose.  He just had to suffer the consequences of damaging his reputation.  I chickened out from fighting Johnny Bowen in one such scenario in 7th Grade and have regretted it ever since, but that’s a different story.
    People that know me might say, “well why don’t you just forgive those coaches who were jerks to you, after all, that was about 50 years ago”, but it’s not really a matter of forgiveness.  Things were the way they were.  There is nothing to forgive and I don’t have any leftover bitterness or anything like that.  As intimidating as that environment was for many of us in the lower grades being thrown in with the upper class-men, we survived.  But the fact remains, some of the P.E. coaches were JERKS back then.  That was my honest assessment then and I still do not believe that my appraisal was wrong.  I’m not judging anybody, just simply recalling the way it was, and still, some of the memories are fond ones. I could be nice and be magnanimous, take the high road and all that, but I won’t, and I will not apologize for my opinion, and I ain’t in any mood to sugar coat anything.  And if any of those JERKS who would now be considered old geezers want to debate how they treated their students, I have a couple of pairs of boxing gloves hanging on a nail on the wall of my own garage.  And I ain’t no 135 pound 8th grader anymore.  We can settle any differences like “gentlemen” like they used to encourage us little guys to do.
     Now that I got that unpleasant part of the story out of the way, back to Coach Garbett, who was NOT a JERK.  Maybe I liked him because he would treat his boys like human beings and not some inferior creature, on whom he would be compelled to exhibit his dominance.  He would talk to us and show an interest.  Maybe I like Coach Garbett because I was flattered that he recruited me to come out for the track team.  Recruiting like that was very unusual.  Coach Garbett was an innovator in that sense because it simply didn’t happen much.  Coach Garbett achieved a lot of success because of it.  His teams were large in comparison to other High School track teams and if I am not mistaken, it resulted in multiple championships.
     On one rainy day, during gym class, Mike Shannon was playing a game of checkers or chess.  He might have been playing against Winnen Russ, or it might have been another student.  The only people I specifically remember being in that class were Mike Shannon, Winnen Russ, myself and Coach Garbett.  If it wasn’t Winnen playing against Shannon, Winnen was close by with Coach and a few others, including myself, who were just watching the match and I am sure providing some sarcastic commentary on the game in progress.  At some point during the game, Mike Shannon hands Coach Garbett a penny and says, “Here you go Coach, go shine your shoes”.  And suddenly, the world changed.  Coach Garbett, quick as a panther, grabs Mike Shannon with both hands by his shirt collar around his neck and slams him up against the wall.  Shannon’s feet were off the floor, dangling beneath his body, his back pinned to the wall as Coach Garbett, red faced, neck veins bulging, and eyes full of rage said, “Shannon, don’t you ever disrespect me again”.  I think there were a few other choice words directed at Shannon.  I don’t remember anything else that Coach Garbett said, but I do remember that the rest of the class had suddenly grown silent as everyone in the room was now watching with fear and awe at the predicament in which Mike Shannon found himself, dangling off the floor in the firm grip of a grown man who had just had his last nerve, plucked like a guitar string.  Eventually, Coach Garbett regained his composure and released Mike Shannon from the wall.  As far as I know, there were never any official repercussions, something that could never have happened in today’s politically correct world.  But the times were different, and while many of us were at peace with the world and just accepted the status quo of the way things were, many of my peers look back longingly and think we have lost more than we have gained.  Time marches on, waiting for no one, and as we grow older, our circles become smaller until it’s our time to stop marching. But our legacies can continue to march on through the memories of the ones we have touched with our lives
     Coach Garbett passed away last week.  There was a memorial service held in Saluda this past Sunday in his honor.  Ironically, I had just reminded Winnen Russ about that day a few weeks ago, so his death sparked a little nostalgia from a time when things seemed a little simpler and yes, maybe even a little better for those of us who feel a little out of place in today’s world.  I can say that Coach Garbett was always a gentleman to me.  He served as a role model and mentor to many students and athletes who attended Henrico High School in the 60’s and 70’s and was a cut above many of his peers. RIP Coach Garbett.  You made a difference to many and will be missed by them.

Sunday, October 21, 2018

The Melungeons: The Pinnacle of Racial and Cultural Diversity by Raoul Benoit



      There are many Americans who have never heard of a Melungeon.  Even among Melungeons themselves, as a people who constitute a unique demographic group in the diverse fabric of American society and culture, it can be challenging to find two who agree on exactly what a Melungeon is.  So how do we fairly define Melungeons? Speaking to the Smyth County Genealogical Society on March 22, 2016, Judge Isaac Freeman asked, “Where have all the purebred Melungeons gone?”[1]  The judge let his audience know that it was just a rhetorical joke because “there is no such thing as a ‘purebred’ Melungeon.”[2]  There seems to be no objective way for a person to clearly and cleanly define Melungeons and therefore it is nearly impossible to find a definition that satisfies everyone.  Dictionary.com defines a Melungeon as “a member of a people of mixed white, black and Native American ancestry living in the southern Appalachians.”[3]  That lone definition stated in a room with 10 Melungeons would spark a debate yielding 10 more definitions that differed from the original.  A look at Webster’s Dictionary would yield similar results. Melungeons are frequently referred to as a “tri-racial isolate people”[4], according to Donald N. Yates and Elizabeth C. Hirschman in their well-researched article for the Appalachian Journal.   While in truth, Melungeons are a mixed-race group of people, they are endlessly more fascinating and complex than a simple definition can explain.  And they are a much more interesting group genetically or culturally than the phrase “tri-racial isolate group” can encompass. They are a group of people with a rich heritage on the North American continent, even going back to a time that pre-dates Jamestown in 1607 and possibly including descendants of the Lost Colony of Roanoke of 1585.  Coupled with genome projects that substantiate a heritage based on DNA discoveries revealing ancestry from pre-Columbian Native Americans as well as African Americans, Melungeons can also claim Spanish, Portuguese, British, Northern European, Turkish, and North African blood.  More recent studies have revealed a Jewish ancestry for some Melungeons from both the Sephardic Jews and the Ashkenazi group from Eastern Europe.  The story of the origins of the Melungeons continue to unfold as more research is done.  We do know that their history in America is as long as any one European group can claim.
     The more recent DNA studies have added to the complexity of any attempt to conclusively define exactly what a Melungeon is and at the same time confirm many oral traditions from the Melungeon people themselves, as well as the documentable, historic record.  For example, many Melungeons since the mid 1600’s have claimed a descent from Portuguese people. One article reported that,
Now a new DNA study in the journal of Genetic Genealogy attempts to separate truth from oral tradition and wishful thinking.  The study found the truth to be somewhat less exotic:  Genetic evidence shows that the families historically called Melungeons are the offspring of sub-Saharan African men and white women of northern or central European origin.[5]

This article further stated,
Claims of Portuguese ancestry likely were a ruse they used in order to remain free and retain other privileges that came with being considered white, according to the study’s authors.[6]

Not only do these statements validate the idea of the oral tradition of the Melungeons claiming to be of Portuguese ancestry, they illuminate the bias that some research about the group has taken.  It should be noted, that both cultural and racial bias is a large component of the Melungeon story, dating back to the early mid 1600’s. Other DNA studies completely reject the idea that claims by Melungeons of being Portuguese are false.  The evidence in another DNA study clearly illustrates this point.  Yates and Hirschman point out in their study that,
the Appalachian people known as Melungeons were not primarily drawn from the ancestries in Northwestern Europe but represent an amalgam of Mediterranean, Middle Eastern, North African, Sub-Saharan African, and Native American ethnic groups.[7]

Yates and Hirschman also readily admit that their work was not comprehensive, as they explain that “Because our study is based on a sample of 40 persons,”[8]  Although their work was based on a small sampling of people, their analysis was objective and scholarly, and they cite references to James Guthrie who analyzed blood samples from 177 Southern Appalachian Melungeons. At the conclusion of their article, they claim,
The results are consistent—to a remarkable degree—with those in the present study.  The leading matches found by Guthrie were Libya (North Africa), the Canary Islands (settled by the Spanish and Portuguese), Malta (a Mediterranean island population having Spanish, Italian, Portuguese and Arab ancestry), Portugal, Veneto (Italy), Ireland, Cyprus (an island off the coast of Lebanon, and Galatia (Spain).  With the exception of matches to Gypsy populations (which were not available to him), Guthrie’s matches are quite consistent with our results.[9]
Of particular interest in this paper was a graphic (labeled Figure 2) which revealed the DNA results of one specific participant of the study.  The DNA composition of the individual was ranked from highest to lowest, weighted on global DNA data.  In descending order this participant’s ancestry was listed as
1. Portuguese, 2. Michigan Native American, 3. Rwandan (Hutu), 4. Rwandan (Tutsi), 5. Brazilian Caucasian, 6. Belgian (Flemish), 7. African American, 8. Black Ecuadorian 9. Lumbee (Native American), 10. Hispanic, 11. Florida African American[10]

and so on through 20. Also included in the plethora of genetic backgrounds, in descending order were Native American, Moroccan Arabs, Azores, Caucasian, Serbian, Bhutia (India), Tibet (Luoba) Libyan and Argentinean.  All forty of the participants included in the study claimed Melungeon heritage as a prerequisite.  This particular individual is a good example of why the commonly used description of Melungeons as “tri-racial isolates”, found over and over again in stories, newspaper articles and journals are limited in scope as well as being overly simplistic. As much as the different DNA studies seem to disagree based on sampling sizes and other study parameters, they tend to be of one accord on one point; they all reveal the cultural/racial backgrounds of Melungeons to be very diverse. It is that unique diversity that makes them intriguing to study.  Their diversity within a single and previously solitary group makes the story of Melungeons atypically representative of all Americans.
     So how can one make some sense of all the conflicting approaches and reports of the DNA studies and begin to categorize this complex group?  How can one gain some clarity and start to define the Melungeons?  While sometimes unable to paint a complete picture, History does shed some light on what it truly means to be a Melungeon.  There are historical markers shedding light on the story across the centuries that comprise the narrative of the Melungeons in the History of the Americas. According to one source, the historical record is just as duplicitous and perhaps even as speculative, as has been discovered from the multiple DNA studies conducted.
Most families in the Southern part of North America in some way have family roots to the Melungeons. So, let’s start from the beginning. Where did the Melungeons come from? That is a good question. Some call the Melungeons the "Lost People" or the "Mysterious" people of Appalachia. There are a lot of stories of where the Melungeons came from. I will try to explain a few. They say that they are descended from the "Lost Colony of Roanoke" who married into the local Native American tribes. Others say that they were descendants of Welsh explorer Modoc who came to North America around 1100 AD, with ten ships of colonists. Still others say that Melungeons are the lost tribe of Israel, lost Spanish explores(sp) and just simply a "tri -racial isolate, made up of Native American/ African American/Caucasian mixture.” But then there are those that say they were Portuguese.[11]

This quote is representative of hundreds of web sites that have been developed during the last 30 years, specifically targeting the subject of Melungeons and who they are.  The popularity of Melungeons as a group has risen proportionally with the growth of the internet.  Individual amateur historians, genealogy students, history buffs and any assortment of lay people search and contribute to the story of Melungeons as readily as scholars, academics and professional writers who publish books on the subject.  Discovering the past for all of them seems to be equally murky.  Staff reporter for The Wall Street Journal, Fred R. Bleakly confirmed this with the opening sentence of an article he wrote titled, “Appalachian Clan Mines Web Sites for Ancestral Clues”, stating that “Descendants of a dwindling clan of Appalachians are seeking its long-buried roots in cyberspace.”[12] Regardless of motive, a lot of people are digging up the past and with this “new” evidence defining the Melungeon culture, it has now become hip to find some Melungeons in the old family tree.

One can trace recent Melungeon popularity to the play “Walk Toward the Sunset”.  According to a Melungeon named Toby D. Gibson,

The play ‘Walk Toward the Sunset,’ written by renowned playwright Kermit Hunter told the story of the Melungeon people and brought a sense of pride to the Melungeons and to the local community.  The play ran on and off from July 3, 1969 through 1976 and was performed before thousands of people each season.  Tourists from around the country would venture to the mountains to hear the story of the mysterious Melungeons.  Today annual events that we call Melungeon Unions are held in Vardy Valley to celebrate the families and heritage of the Melungeons.[13]

Another factor in the recent popularizing of Melungeon culture was a book published in 1994 by another Melungeon named N. Brent Kennedy. His story is a very compelling one and his book could best be described as more of an autobiography than anything else.  His introduction states,
This is the story of my family, and by way of tangled kinship, many other families with roots on the Cumberland Plateau of Virginia, Kentucky, North Carolina, West Virginia and Tennessee.  But more important, in a very real way it is also the story of a people. A people ravaged and nearly destroyed, by the senseless excesses of racism and genocide.[14]

Where Kennedy’s story really gets interesting is his telling of
exactly how he discovers his Melungeon roots. Kennedy’s book is a personal quest of discovery for him, so at times, the reader can get bogged down in the details of his genealogical research, which cite hundreds of surnames, common to the Appalachian region.  However, it is a good starting point for any interested researcher because the story is indicative of thousands more.  Kennedy’s story is unique because his personal quest began with a life-threatening illness which revealed an unknown heritage.  Kennedy explained,
I lay on the examination table, the cold steel numbing my half-draped posterior, but in so much pain that a little lack of feeling was welcomed relief.  Whatever I had contracted had grown progressively worse over the past several days, so much worse, in fact, that I could not walk into the hospital emergency room on my own accord.  Instead, my wife had literally pulled me from the car to a waiting wheelchair and then pushed me the final few yards.  Several years of puzzling exhaustion had suddenly erupted into swelling of my extremities, painful breathing, splotched, reddened skin, aching joints and muscles, blurred vision, a searing temperature, and horrible night sweats that left me drenched.[15]

The doctor who was on duty at the hospital that day presented a good news, bad news scenario to Kennedy.  He was informed he was fortunate that he did not have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, however, he probably did have erythema nodosum sarcoidosis, a disease for which there is no known cure and for which science has yet to discover the exact cause.  What is known about the disease is that it is “primarily an African-American and Mediterranean disease.”[16]  When Kennedy was a child, growing up, he had been told of a Scotch/Irish heritage.  He had wondered about the physical contrast between his cousins, some of whom were of fair complexion, with light colored skin and hair, and yet he and his mother had more of a copper colored skin and dark black hair.  As his disease started to go into remission, Kennedy speculated, “Why did so many members of our family have a decidedly Mediterranean appearance?”[17]  Kennedy was later to find out that the same sarcoidosis from which he suffered was also common to people in New England, who had ancestors from the Iberian Peninsula (Spain and Portugal). He wrote that
As I clawed my way into the closets of our family history, I uncovered layer after layer of purposeful deceit, a veritable diary of self-imposed exile from the land of the living.  We had always been on the run, dreading each door that would close in our face until we conditioned ourselves to avoid all doors…We were Melungeons, a word I had seldom heard growing up, but as I soon learned, a word that would cut to the very heart of our problematic history…They and we were ‘free persons of color,’ or simply ‘FPC’ as the early census takers had coined in shorthand.  And being ‘FPC’ was the ultimate sin, a stigma that permanently isolated its victim from the rest of socalled civilization. Neither white, black, mulatto, nor Indian, the Melungeons were left to find for themselves, a people who were as numerous writers have so often stated, ‘nobody at all.[18]

In his decades long quest of self-discovery, Kennedy learned a great deal about himself, but more importantly, his was the spark that ignited a blaze of discovery for thousands of others. His book was one of the earliest to suggest some of the theories still being discussed today, as to the origins of the Melungeons. 
     The first documentation of the Melungeons by the English occurred very early in the nation’s history.  One article stated,
English explorers in 1654 described the people they discovered in the Appalachian Mountains as being ‘dark-skinned, reddish-brown complexioned’ with fine European features.  In 1673, Englishmen James Needham and Gabrial Arthur, along with eight Native Americans, began exploring what later became the Tennessee Valley…The Melungeons claimed they were descended from a group of ‘Portyghee’ who had been shipwrecked and abandoned on the Atlantic coast.[19]

The same article also explained,

The Melungeons, having evolved into European, Native American and African ancestry, settled in isolated mountain communities, among them Newman’s Ridge in Hancock Col TN and Stone and Coeburn mountains in VA.  In the 1690’s, French explorers reported finding ‘Christianized Moors’ in the Carolina mountains…Speaking broken Elizabethan English, they called themselves ‘Portyghee’ or the more mysterious term ‘Melungeon.[20]

     Confining and isolating themselves to the geographical area where Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, Kentucky and West Virginia merge, Melungeons remain a mysterious group of people.  The difficulty of reaching parts of that region of the Appalachians has served the Melungeon people as a protective buffer from the rest of American culture.  In response to the racism the Melungeons first encountered in the mid 1600’s and later, the documenting of them as “FPC” (free persons of color) in the 1790 Census, a strategy evolved for their path moving forward to today.  As much as was possible, the Melungeons had as little to do with the rest of society as possible.  It has only been in recent years that research, curiosity and the Melungeons discovering their own past has shed a new light on their culture and is still creating a new narrative for this mysterious group of people called the Melungeons.  Elizabeth Hirschman sums it up well at the close of her book, “Melungeons: The Last Lost Tribe in America.  Hisrschman writes,
I do not believe we are a victimized minority group.  In the past, some of our Melungeon ancestors were mistreated, harassed, and even killed.  But we, the present generation are distantly removed from this and to position ourselves as racially persecuted is simply wrong…It is in revitalizing (or as cousin Brent would put it, resurrecting) this culture that our ethnic future lies. Let’s get going![21]























Bibliography

Hirschman, Elizabeth C. Melungeons, The Last Lost Tribe in America. Macon, Georgia:  Mercer University Press, 2005.
Mira, Manuel. The Forgotten Portuguese. Franklin, North Carolina: The Portuguese-American Historical Research Foundation, Inc.,1998.
Hashaw, Tim. Children of Perdition. Macon, Georgia USA: 2006.
Winkler, Wayne. Walking Toward The Sunset. Macon, Georgia: Mercer University Press, 2004.
Kennedy, N. Brent with Robyn Vaughan Kennedy. The                                                  Melungeons The Resurrection of a Proud People. Macon,       Georgia USA, 1994.
Schrift, Melissa. Becoming Melungeon, Making an Ethnic Identity in the Appalachian South. Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2003.



1 Margaret Linford, “String of Pearls: Exploring the Melungeon mystery”,  Smyth County News & Messenger,  swvatoday.com,  March 29, 2016,  http://www.swvatoday.com/news/smyth_county/article_67372cf0-f2c9-11e5-bbff-7366e60a66fb.html

[2] Ibid

[3] Dictionary.com

[4] Donald N. Yates and Elizabeth C. Hirschman, “Toward a Genetic Profile of Melungeons in Southern Appalachia”, Appalachian Journal, (Fall 2010): Page(s) 92-111.
[5] Travis Loller, “DNA study seeks origin of Appalachia’s Melungeons,” Associated Press, May 24, 2012. Yahoo News, accessed February 2, 2017

[6] Ibid

[7] Donald N. Yates and Elizabeth C. Hirschman, “Toward a Genetic Profile of Melungeons in Southern Appalachia”, Appalachian Journal, (Fall 2010): Page 104

[8] Ibid, p. 104

[9] Ibid, p. 104

[10] Donald N. Yates and Elizabeth C. Hirschman, “Toward a Genetic Profile of Melungeons in Southern Appalachia”, Appalachian Journal, (Fall 2010): Page 100

[11] Lively Roots,A genealogy and anecdotal history of the Lively Family and their many relationships”, “Origins of the Melungeons”, http://www.livelyroots.com/things/melung.htm, Accessed Feb 14, 2017.
[12] Fred R Bleakley, “Appalachian Clan Mines Web Sites for Ancestral Clues” The Wall Street Journal; Page B1, April 14, 1997, Accessed January 30, 2017
[13]  Toby D. Gibson, “The Melungeons of Newman’s Ridge: An Insiders Perspective” Appalachian Heritage, Volume 41, Number 4, Fall 2013, p 60.

[14] N. Brent Kennedy, “The Melungeons. The Resurrection of a Proud People. An Untold Story of Ethnic Cleansing in America”, (Macon Georgia: 1994) xiii

[15] N. Brent Kennedy, “The Melungeons. The Resurrection of a Proud People. An Untold Story of Ethnic Cleansing in America”, (Macon Georgia: 1994) p. 1

[16]N. Brent Kennedy, “The Melungeons. The Resurrection of a Proud People. An Untold Story of Ethnic Cleansing in America”, (Macon Georgia: 1994)  p. 4

[17] Ibid
[18] N. Brent Kennedy, “The Melungeons. The Resurrection of a Proud People. An Untold Story of Ethnic Cleansing in America”, (Macon Georgia: 1994) p. 5

[19] Sherrianne Coleman Nicol, “Melungeon Origins”, last updated Dec. 27, 2007, http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.anestry.com.
[20] Sherrianne Coleman Nicol,  “Melungeon Origins”,  last updated Dec. 27, 2007, http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.anestry.com
[21] Elizabeth C. Hirschman,  Melungeons: The Last Lost Tribe in America  (Macon, Georgia, Mercer University Press, 2005) p 147-148. 


Monday, October 15, 2018

A mostly true story with a little bit of Truth in it



Frank Williams

     Once upon a time, it was around 1982, I was working at a car dealership called Hyman Bros. Pontiac on West Broad St. in Richmond, Virginia.  I was assigned a desk and cubicle in the Used Car Office, across the lot from the New Car Showroom.  We always made better money than the boys in the showroom, so that suited me just fine, and I was there by request anyway. Hyman Brothers was owned by Ed and Haywood Hyman, both gentlemen of the highest order.  On my first day of work there, I worked a deal with Haywood and we made a large gross profit for my first sale there.  It didn't take long for me to to achieve a "teacher's pet" status with Haywood, which was also fine with me, even if we may have reminded some of a monkey with an organ grinder.
     One day, I went to lunch with some of the boys and when we returned, one of my customers had come in and bought a small used truck.  It happened to be the pastor of the church in which I grew up, and he had been looking for me to buy his truck.  By the time I got back, the deal had already been closed by Frank Williams.  Frank didn't realize that I had known the man all of my life, or that the customer was a man of the cloth.
     The protocol for these kinds of situations was this; if a customer asked for you by name, he belonged to you and the salesman who greeted them upon arrival was obligated to page you.  If you were off for the day or at lunch and the customer was ready to buy, another salesman could make the sale in your absence.  This was encouraged by management and was the standard for most car dealerships at the time.  Better to make the sale now, than to have a potential sale later.  In such an event, the two salesmen, split the commission and each salesman got the credit for 1/2 of a sale, toward the monthly totals.  It was the status quo, but less than satisfying, kind of like playing a long game and resulting in a tie, or maybe a little more like kissing your sister.
     I should mention that there were two car salesmen in the Richmond area named Frank Williams.  There was the Frank Williams that was a jerk and had the alias of Mario Wilhelm because of a long criminal history and who lacked social graces and was an alcoholic to boot, and with whom I worked a couple of years after this tale happened. At Hyman Bros. Pontiac, I worked with the good Frank Williams and it was this Frank Williams that closed the sale while I was at lunch one day.
     Anyway, a few weeks later, the permanent license plates from DMV came in to replace the temporary tag that was issued the day of the sale.  Again, I was at lunch, so the good Frank Williams called the customer to let him know.  The customer, Dr. Miller, came in to get his new tags right away, while I was still at lunch.  Frank was still unaware that Dr. Miller was a full time minister of a local Baptist Church.  When Dr. Miller got the tags to put on the truck he notices that the license plate read XXX-666.  He immediately freaked out and told Frank that the newly issued tags would have to be replaced.  Frank told him, " Ah you don't want to switch, that's a good number.  I gamble all the time and have won a lot of money with it.  It really is a lucky number."  Of course, Dr. Miller would have none of it and said he could "not in good conscience ride around with that number on his truck.
"I'm a minister for crying out loud", he said.
Frank scratched his chin, the gravity of the situation never entering his mind.  When I got back from lunch and heard about it, I laughed and I laughed and I still laugh about it to this day.  I guess the good Frank didn't spend much time reading the Book of Revelations.