George Singleton paints a picture of Christmas in Claiborne in 1855

Claiborne in the 1850s.

(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was titled “Christmas in busy river town: In 1855, Claiborne was filled with people, mules and spirits” was originally published in the Dec. 25, 1986 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)

The time was two days before Christmas. The year was 1855. The town of Claiborne was booming with Christmas traffic. The merchants were enjoying a very profitable business during the Yuletide season. Settlers from near and far had journeyed to Claiborne to purchase their holiday supplies.

The docks down by the mighty Alabama River were laden with supplies that the merchants of Claiborne had ordered, to be shipped by steamboat, so as to reach the town by the river before the eve of Christmas.

Wagons and mules were hurriedly scurrying back and forth, bringing the much-needed supplies inside as quickly as possible, before the sacks of sugar and the kegs of Christmas spirits lay damp and dirty in the mud of the street.

Keeping the mud off

Both women and men hurried along, trying to keep the dark, sticky mud from caking on their best shoes and boots. It was quite a chore to remove the sticky mud from their feet before entering the stores and saloons.

Along the main street, children were chasing and running to and fro across the street as parents cast sharp eyes and words in their direction.

Up the street aways, a band of Gypsies were dancing in their native dress while some of the older members of the group called out to the passersby to let them tell their fortune for a small fee. The more aggressive and the slightly tipsy lingered around hearing their fate from the beautiful Gypsy women and many times leaving their hard-earned money there without their knowledge. And over across the street, under a rolled-up canopy of one of the Gypsy wagons, the age old shell game was being performed by a seasoned member of the band.

Saloon music

Music blared forth from the open doors of the saloons. The fiddler of the band inside broke out with the tune “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen” just in time for an old man to fall drunkenly down the steps of the saloon and sprawl face-down in the deep mud of the street. Then, as the crowd gathered, laughing and joking, the old man got up and staggered down the street, swinging his hands, trying to keep time with the fiddler’s music.

There was not a vacant room in the hotels and boarding houses in Claiborne. Even the livery stables were jammed to capacity. Many of the wagons parked along the side streets harbored sleeping women and children. Fires burned on the vacant spaces between the buildings in an effort to warm the many who had come this way to buy and celebrate Christmas.

Long before daylight on the morning of the 24^th, the rattle of wagon wheels and the slapping of leather harness could be heard on the chilly, crisp morning air. In the early moments before dawn, the settlers had begun to head back to communities with such names as Burnt Corn, Red Hills, Turnbull and Pine Orchard.

The weather continued to be wet and dreary. The fog hung low along the high bank of the great river like a huge gray blanket draped across the world. The settlers going west across the river would have to wait until the ferry operator could see the opposite bank and the ferry landing.

Colder and quieter

By late afternoon, the weather had turned much colder. Sleet and snow had begun to swirl on the air currents that played back and forth across the wide main street. Warm lights from the huge lamps that hung in the stores, beckoned to the few people still in the streets. A certain quietness had come over the town. In the distance, a church bell tolled periodically. Across the street, the Gypsy wagons were quiet and gray in the evening light. The banners from the wagon tops hung stiff and wet, refusing to move in the late evening air. And here and there, a small fire casts dancing shadows against the sides of the Gypsy wagons.

The saloons were quiet now; no fiddler’s music rode the sharp winds that blew across the open spaces. If anyone spoke, he spoke in whispers, as though in fear of waking or disturbing someone.

Somewhere toward the river, at the stroke of midnight, a rooster crowed. And nearby at the Gypsy wagons, a mule brayed long and loud. Then, as if a prearranged signal had been given, quietness settled over the town by the river. Christmas had come to Claiborne.

(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime resident of Monroeville, he was born to Vincent William Singleton and Frances Cornelia Faile Singleton, during a late-night thunderstorm, on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County, graduated from Sweet Water High School in 1946, served as a U.S. Marine paratrooper in the Korean War, worked as a riverboat deckhand, lived for a time among Apache Indians, moved to Monroe County on June 28, 1964 and served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from June 28, 1964 to Dec. 14, 1987. He was promoted from the enlisted ranks to warrant officer in May 1972. For years, Singleton’s columns, titled “Monroe County history – Did you know?” and “Somewhere in Time” appeared in The Monroe Journal, and he wrote a lengthy series of articles about Monroe County that appeared in Alabama Life magazine. It’s believed that his first column appeared in the March 25, 1971 edition of The Monroe Journal. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)