My Grand-dad, John A. Montgomery
By Virginia Lea Montgomery Billingsley
Now that I am of the "older" set, and to be specific, I am the oldest living member, on both sides - I feel doubly responsible to be accurate, and also, as kind as possible.
As the oldest grandchild on both my father's and mother's sides, I was greatly admired and loved when I entered this world. Therefore I have absolutely no grudges against any of that departed generation, and there was much love given and received. I had a very close friendship with some, and a deep respect for each and everyone. Some I hardly knew, and with others I shared my everyday life. Too, I found each to be a very interesting person.
Where to start? I find all so interesting, but, oh, so challenging to write about. Too, should I write about them separately and individually, or as a group and how they interacted with me???
I have not decided which would be a more "comfortable" way of expressing my appreciation of each one. This is just a thumb-nail sketch!!!
I will try both ways and see what happens.
My Granddaddy Montgomery was known by kin and friends as "old Uncle Johnny." My sisters and I were instructed by our parents, Marguerite and Reagan, to call him "Granddaddy" or " Granddad", out of respect - never Grandpa or Grandpapa as our cousins were asked to by Aunt Linnie. She called him "Papa", in the old tradition. I thought that was terribly old fashioned when I was young, but in looking back, find it fascinating. Many still do it!
Granddad had a forty acre farm with a tiny log cabin, in Parker County near Poolville, or to be more specific, by Toto School House where my Dad was educated to the eighth grade. Grandad raised peanuts, turnips and sweet potatoes in the rich sandy, red soil. There was a lot of "brush" on the place that had not been cleared. I'll never forget the time we went down there for Christmas when I was eight years old. I went out into the trees in sub zero weather (near snow) to look at red cardinals and brown bushy-tailed squirrels-something we did not have on the bald flat south plains of Texas around Lubbock.
There was a fire in the fire place in the living room of the little cabin. Uncle Travis and Dad stoked it with wood they chopped with an ax, near the cow pen. Travis shot a squirrel and Mother started a fire with paper in the kitchen stove, put a kettle on for coffee, and got out an iron skillet to fry the squirrel, which I had watched Uncle Travis skin and disembowel. Mother thought the squirrel was too tough to eat ( I wondered if it was a mother squirrel and did not much want to eat it). There was a tiny piece for each of us, with light bread slices and sorghum syrup that Granddad had on hand.
Granddad was a little guy, very wiry, about 5'5" and not over 135 pounds. He always was neat as a pin in looks. My Dad said he and his brothers all had beards and handle bar mustaches in their hey day. I have seen the pictures and can vouch for that! Granddad's brothers and his uncles were red-headed. They said he had dark brown hair when young. I remember Granddad's hair to be a faded yellow, very thin, and he was bald on top. He kept one side of it long and combed it over the front of his forehead. Later, my Dad did the same with his hair, and looked so much like Granddaddy before his death at age 76. Granddad lived to be 89 hale and hearty, enjoyed life to the last, and died reading the newspaper at Uncle Travis and Aunt Bea's house in Cotton Center, Texas.
Granddad was from a long line of Irishmen, very "hot headed", Dad said, in his young years - ready to fight if anybody crossed him, (almost no one did). Granddad mellowed out in his later years, and had a hearty laugh after telling one of his funny stories. He had a pleasant smile for every one and was kindly and courtly in manner. He went to church when invited, wearing his black pin-striped suit - the pin stripe was gold. When attending a funeral for family or friend (and I had plenty of opportunities to observe this) he wore a black mourner's band around his upper left arm over his clean starched white shirt. (Out of respect for the departed). On Mother's Day he wore a white rose in his lapel, in memory of his mother, Sally Ann Frances Shackelford Montgomery. My Dad also followed this custom when attending church services on Mother's Day out of respect for his mother, Arminda Elizabeth Erwin Montgomery.
My granddad did not drive an automobile. He knew plenty about driving mules to a plow, and hitching horses to a wagon. But he never learned to drive a car. (Neither did my Grandmother Zada Arnold Jones).
Uncle Travis believed in education and encouraged all of us "Tunnies" to get as much education as possible. He saved his money, from working in the fields at Reno, put down his hoe, and said, "Brothers, I am leaving to go get my high school diploma". He walked away, found a ride to Denton, Texas, where he studied for and obtained his high school diploma; he went on to college at Texas Tech in Lubbock. There's more to this than I know for sure; How did he ever have the courage, in the early 1920's to walk away from the farm life , and his family, to take this brave step? More later...
Anyway, Travis, as the oldest brother in dad's family took a deep interest in each of his brothers and sisters, as well as his father. He always came through with monetary help and encouragement. In 1928 he bought a new grey Whippett auto (put out by what is now Willis Jeep Co).
My Granddad always rode "shotgun" in the Whippett. Dad or Uncle Travis drove, and mother, Betty and I rode in the back seat. Betty was born December 11, 1929, a year and nine months after I came March 9, 1928. Uncle "Bertie" (William Milam) was either with us or stayed with Granddad in a house a mile and a half away on that Sears place - two sections farmed by Dad and my uncles. Sometimes he drove the Whippett. Uncle Travis shared the car with whoever needed it to go to Lubbock for groceries, coal or to see the doctor. He had, by now, both Aunt Opal and Uncle Woodrow going to Texas Tech. Everyone on these prairie farms west of Lubbock burned coal in their living room heating stoves. Some, however, had new- fangled oil burners. (We didn't though.) One year, we had to burn maize from our crops, because the bottom dropped out of the economy in 1929 during the Great Depression, and we could not sell our maize for enough money to buy food or coal; at three to five cents per pound why sell it? The Republicans were in office; Hoover should have been impeached!!! Our father and uncles were among the first "Sod Busters" in that area- thus referred to because they are the ones who pioneered and broke the sod of the great flat plains.
Granddad was only fifty years old when his second wife, Arminda Elizabeth, died on June 8, 1920. Sadly, he never rallied from this second blow (his first wife, Annie Erwin, died in child birth with their first child, Aunt Maggie.) I met Aunt Maggie and some of my cousins when I was 4, when they came to visit their Dad on the Sears place. Other than that, I know little about her, except she was heavy and had red hair.
Someday I would like to go back to West Texas and find the Sears place. We lived in a converted 6 room clap-board school house in the middle of a pasture. The barn was bigger than the house- 2 story and had a high board fence all around, to keep the mules in line. How I wish I could phone Granddad and ask him those mules' names. I've forgotten all but "Ole Jack". He would remember for they brought them over from East Plains near Wake, or even as early as Reno, when they migrated from Parker County after their Mother's death. Grandmother Arminda E. "Betty" was only 47 years old. My sister Betty is named for her (and deserves the name, for Betty is a saint just as they said my grandmother was!)
Back to the mules: they were very stubborn and did not particularly care for farming as I recall. Dad developed quite a vocabulary (culled from his companionship with Granddad, no doubt) while harnessing them on a frosty spring morning. They had a lot of "kick" in them, and my instructions, from head-quarters, were to stay away from the barn while Daddy harnessed the mules.
Granddad knew everyone in Parker County. I'd always heard Dad and his brothers discuss his friends. I can also attest to this fact because I took a trip with Uncle Travis and my cousin Tunny also went, when I was 12 years old (Tunny, my favorite cousin was 9 going on 12). When we got to Granddad's we sat out on the porch at night at the cabin and looked at the beautiful Texas sky. The stars were ever so bright. It was July, and the mosquitoes were also out in full force. Neighbors would drop by to set a spell. The conversation always turned to politics on this trip. Travis was campaigning for Lyndon B. Johnson for State Senator, I would drive his 1938 Chevy and he would tack up posters along the highway. We ended up with me getting to drive on the red brick highway into Fort Worth! One of my greatest childhood thrills.
But, to tell you about Granddad's interest in politics. There was a campaign meeting at the old Toto School House where my Dad, Bertie, and Travis went to school. Several candidates spoke. Then my Granddad got up and spoke. He really got into his subject, I can't remember what his agenda was, but I'll never forget his speech, (sprinkled was an occasional d***) some stomping, arm waving and yelling. It was the best, hottest speech of the evening, and put everyone in a more cheerful mood. There were not a few guffaws and many a smiling face. I saw a new side to my quiet, sober, grandfather! If the first part of this meeting was dull and boring, it did not end that way at all. Granddad John A. Montgomery held full sway over the dozen people for at least 30 minutes.
Granddad had some very nice hats in his day. Of course I am only cognizant of the hats he wore when I was a child. For everyday his chapeau was a work cap with bill and ear flaps in the 1930's mode. I have seen pictures of the early century hats in the style of frontier Texas with high crowns and large brims. Granddad, being a man of slight stature wore the snap brim hat of the 1940's; his set at a certain "cocky" angle and having a slightly larger Texas style brim. I thought he was very good looking in his tan hat and dark pin striped suit with the broad brim. A black bow tie set off his starched white shirt.
But, more than anything else, my Granddad had an engaging personality which manifested itself in his charm and wit, his genteel voice and, most of all, a happy countenance, his blue eyes twinkling and his mouth showing a twitch of a smile.
Granddaddy dipped snuff. Although he did not use any other form of tobacco he did have a pouch, with a draw string, of snuff which he stashed in his right shirt pocket. He carried a can for expectorating when we went to town in the Whippett. (Town was Lubbock, the store was nearer at Wolfforth.)
I wondered if he was going to burn his tongue, but didn't dare ask him if I could try it. Otherwise, I accepted his habit as part of him. At least he did not cloud up the atmosphere with smoke, as did my Uncle Leo. My Mother did not like his snuff dipping habit. I can understand this, because a crawling baby (there was one in our house for several years) could turn over the can.
Granddad always greeted us with a pinch on the cheek - he would pinch and give a little tweak (turn) with it - saying "Hello, Tunnie, Have you been good little boys today?" (We were girls - six of us eventually, before our brothers came along.) But, it did not effect us adversely, and no one turned out to be of a "different persuasion". I thought it was a strange way to greet someone; however, I accepted it and would not have dreamed of talking back, answering him with a laugh saying "We're not boys"! (If I didn't say it, sister Betty did. She was the one with the witty sayings and sunshiny dispostion!!)
Granddad always went along with whatever was happening. For instance, if it was milking time we would all go to the cow-shed. Granddaddy never did the actual milking (didn't "know" our cows) but he was prone to get out his pocket watch, attached to a gold chain, about 5:00 p. m. in the winter) and I knew it was time to go to the pasture to round up the cows. Sometimes he went with me and that made it easier to get them started home. He could usually find the milk buckets and was there to cheer me on as I put kickers on the more feisty heifers, and even the old "boss cow", Old Blue.
We had cats around the barn; they liked to come up for milking time. When Granddad was around I refrained from squirting milk into their mouths. I was a good aim and the cats loved it, but I'm sure he would have thought it wasteful. But, looking back on this now, I wonder if he was ever tempted to do it in his young days.
When I hauled water (much later, on the Draw Farm) Granddad always went with me to open the gate. This was during WWII. I was in my early teens. Uncle Travis had gone to war enlisting in the "Sea-bees", who preceded the Marines onto Guadal Canal in the Pacific War Zone, to build a Marine Base there. He left his pickup with Dad, who let me drive it to the field and to haul water. (It was a black, 1937 Chevy pickup, very easy to start. My method was to put it in neutral gear and push it from the driver's side; after gaining momentum, I would jump in and throw it into second gear, letting out the clutch.) It always started that way, until the war ended...the battery was too low to turn the starter. I loved that old pickup, a comfort to me with Uncle Travis in the war.
Granddad's family admired him so much for having enough ambition to learn to write that he hired a man to come live at his farm to teach him how, in exchange for room and board. This man was a friend and helped him around the place with real camaraderie, and they studied penmanship in the evenings.
The wonderful result was that Granddad had a very precise, as well as beautiful, penmanship. His letters to me, which were frequent - at least three or four a year - were so neat and the spelling was accurate. (He used such expressions as "ye" for "you", and other Elizabethan age form). I tried to save his letters, but may have only one, at least that I know of. They were masterpieces of endeavor. So many were lost in my numerous moves.
The most interesting facet of my Granddad's legacy has to do with his music. He learned to play violin, from his Dad, and from his uncles on his mother's side. He knew all the old-time fiddle tunes: "Arkansas Traveler", "Devil's Dream", "Flop-eared Mule", "Rag-Time Annie", "Eighth of January", "Orange Blossom Special", "Sailor's Hornpipe", "Over the Waves", "Kelly Waltz", "Mockingbird Song", all the ones my Dad played!
Granddad knew so many people. I am supposed to know who traded him the violin with the Stradivarius markings, for a prized gun he had. The reason I should know is because I asked him and he told me. (My memory is not as good as it once was!) But, when I moved to Amarillo in 1983, I met a distant cousin who traced many of her ancestors, to include the Montgomerys and the Joneses (these families were said to have intermarried since the 16th century to present times).
In her notes which she so graciously opened for my perusal, is a story about a man named "Slaughter" (a distant relative who migrated to Texas with the Montgomery brothers) who traded a valuable "Stradivarius Violin" for a gun, to a man named Uncle Johnny Montgomery. I cannot recall the date and do not have my notes in front of me, but I believe this is the incident. It is also how my Dad, James Reagan Montgomery, came to have this "Strad" in our family.
It is difficult for "the child in me" not to accept that Granddad always lived in a log cabin on a 40-acre farm. (Children accept "truth" at the operative level, and perceived what he sees and hears to be the truth.)
Mother, Zada Marguerite Jones Montgomery, who was the main communicator in our family, had told us more than once, as I recall, that Grandfather Montgomery, as she referred to him, in his early years farmed one of the largest acreages in Parker County, which was the Erwin Place, comprised of two sections of land. There were orchards, brush land, a creek for water, and pastureland; with plenty of space left for cultivated acres, used for growing vegetables for the table. My Grandmother Elizabeth canned fruits and vegetables in the summer from their large garden, which also included watermelon and cantelope. (Parker County was a leading watermelon growing center then and still is!) There was more than enough food, what with their many hogs and cows; there were horses for pulling their wagons, and a cotton and peanut crop for cash. It was a good life that my Dad and his brothers and sisters always remembered very fondly. Their grandparents Erwin lived across the creek from them, and they had many cousins (Elizabeth's sisters' children) to play with....
The Erwin family cemetery is located there on the farm. This is where many of the Erwin and Montgomery families lie in repose.
Granddad was known in the Poolville community and beyond as someone who knew folk medicine, and he helped heal both animals and his fellow man. He had a large "medical book" - a nineteenth century edition. He was wise in the use of liniments for injured limbs and always ready to help his neighbors and friends doctor their sick.
My Aunt Linnie V. Montgomery Hawkins, Granddad's sixth child, inherited the medical advisor, and once showed it to me. How I wish I could see it again!
I don't know very much about Granddad's life before I was born (in 1928), but I was told as a child that he lost both his first wife, Annie, and his second (my grand-mother) Arminda Elizabeth; they were first cousins. Annie died soon after childbirth, and Grandmother Elizabeth died at age 47, of nebulous causes - presumably complications from the flu. Two of her children, Ivy, and Jason Lowell preceded her in death - Ivy at age 11, from peritonitis, and Jason Lowell, age 5 months, died suddenly in his sleep. My Dad was his mother's helper and had helped care for his little baby brother; it was a terrible blow to him. He lost his mother the following year when he was 17.
My Uncle William Milam "Bertie" died at age 32 (he was only 2 years younger than my Dad and very closely bonded with him); Aunt Ola Opal followed him in death three months later at age 25. The dates were July 26, and September __ ,1938. Both died from unknown preliminary causes.
Of course we know the final cause of both their deaths, but whatever led up to each death, we will never know in this life. How very sad for our Granddad, especially because, early in his life, he lost both his father and his mother, Jessie Montgomery, and Sally Ann Frances Shackelford Montgomery. They are buried at a cemetery in Springtown, Texas.
It was the custom, when I was growing up in Texas, to go to the cemetery to pay our respects to our departed elders, whenever we went to visit relatives in another part of the country. For that reason I have visited the Erwin family cemetery at least four times that I remember.
John A. Montgomery was a fine fiddler and went to all the fiddling meetings in Parker County. He kept his "Strad" under his bed and cautioned his children not to touch it. My Dad got the fiddle out when Granddad would take the dogs and go hunting; he would practice his Dad's fiddle tunes until he could play them as well as his Dad. Imagine Granddad's surprise to come home one day and find his son playing all his fiddle tunes on the "Strad". After that he invited Dad to play it, and the "Strad" was passed on to him in his will.
We all moved to Arizona in 1948, to farm irrigated land, and our Granddad, who was getting up in years, went to live with Uncle Travis and Aunt Bea. But, one fall, Dad went to get his father and brought him out to Arizona to see all of us.
He especially admired our daughter, Nancy, who was 5 years old at the time and spending a lot of time with my Dad and Mother while I worked at a cotton gin company. Nancy went to the fields with her grandfather, and Granddad, to watch the cotton harvest. There was a special bond between Granddad and Nancy as he showed rare affection for his little great-granddtr. And Nancy enjoyed being with him, forming a "working team" to help my Dad haul cotton. She must have struck a chord in his memory, perhaps? Nancy's middle name is Elizabeth, after her Great Grandmother Montgomery.
Granddad passed away in August of 1956. Granville, my husband, and I had started to Texas on vacation. We left about 6:00 p. m. . . Somehow I got a picture of a casket as I stared out into the dark night.
When we got to Aunt Chella Montgomery Bradley's house (at Muleshoe, Texas) she came out the back door as we drove up and met us at the car. Seeing her come out the door, I knew she was about to tell us that Granddad had passed away, and I was not mistaken. He had just passed earlier that day. When he fell over while reading a newspaper, they had taken him to the hospital at Plainview, Texas.
Meanwhile, our son, Gil age 9 months, became seriously ill with diahrea and vomiting. We had to go to the emergency room at Plainview Hospital, to get treatment for him. He was so sick that I was afraid we would lose him! The doctor gave me hope, though, by showing me that his reflexes were good, and he was awake and seemed alert. He prescribed medicine for him, and we went on to Amarillo, to Granville's folks' house.
We watched him day and night for the next three days, keeping him cool because of the fever. We finally decided that he would be all right and well enough for me to fly to Ft. Worth, as it was the day of the funeral. I took a commercial flight from Amarillo airport (on a DC-3). We landed in Plainview, Lubbock, Abeline, and finally, Fort Worth. My brother-in-law, Gid, met my plane and we drove in his Buick (at 85 and 90 m. p. h.) to Toto and the Erwin cemetery, getting there just as they were closing the casket. My Mother interrupted the procedure so that I could say "Goodbye" (so long) to my dear, departed Granddad.
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