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| Young boy plows with a mule. |
(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 “My goodness – times have really
changed” was originally published in the Aug. 4, 1994 edition of The Monroe
Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
As I have often said, I feel sorry for the youth of today.
They know absolutely nothing about the goings on of what the youth of 50 or so
years ago did for entertainment. They know nothing about the work habits of
living on a farm and what was required of the youngsters of those days, when it
was time for the chores to be done or working in the fields.
Just a few months ago, I talked to a group of young people
who ranged in age from 17 through 18. There were 63 in the group. Not one of
the above had ever seen a mule or a horse hitched to a plow, working in a
field. Not one in the group had ever split wood for the kitchen stove. None
knew anything about using a crosscut saw to cut down a tree that would be cut
up into firewood to be used on those winter nights in the family fireplace.
None in the group had any earthly idea what it was like to
eat “clabber milk” from a bowl with a spoon and with a touch of honey mixed in
for added taste. All knew what yogurt was, but all looked at me like I was
crazy when I mentioned eating “clabber milk.” I would like to have seen the
expression on my dear grandmother’s face if I had asked for a bowl of yogurt.
She would have thought that I was trying to be smart or cute. I might have
gotten a spanking for a remark like that.
Protecting youthful complexion
The male youth of today know nothing about secretly looking
toward the sky and wishing that it would rain so the fields would become too
wet to plow. No one of today wears a large straw hat to keep off the hot summer
sun. In times past, a young lady with a sunburn was showing neglect or
carelessness. If a young girl went outside for a bit of yard work then, she wore
long socks on her arms for protection from the blistering rays of the sun. All
carried a parasol for protection. A parasol hooked on one’s arm was a part of
the attire.
How many of our teenagers would know about entertaining themselves
by organizing a rat killing on a Saturday afternoon out in the barn? The boys
would take part in the rat killing while the young girls would prepare such
goodies as parched “penders.” Penders was the country name for peanuts. There
were usually two kinds of penders: boiled and parched. The boiled ones were boiled
while they were still green. The parched ones were harvested, dried, picked off
the vine, then parched.
If a young man was going “gal-ling,” this meant that he was
going to some kind of community get-together such as a candy pulling, pender-roasting,
or perhaps an ice cream supper. His hopes would be that he would meet an
unescorted young lady or one that might be visiting relatives in the community from
somewhere else. Then, if all went well, he might have the opportunity to
participate in the party’s activities with this young thing. He might even get
to walk her home, while under the watchful eyes of her parents or relatives. We
now refer to gal-ling as going on a “blind date.” Well, changes such as these do
come about.
Along about this time 50 years ago in the rural areas, there
was much discussion about the arrival of electricity in the community. The
Rural Electrification Administration (AEA) was installing creosoted light poles
along the country roads and in front of farm houses. Before too long the wires
would be strung.
Then, the time would be at hand when electric current would
be turned on. The time was near when the coal-oil lamps would be put aside and
a single light bulb would hang by a wire from the ceiling in each room of the
house. All one would have to do to have light was to turn a small knob just above
the light bulb and there would be an abundance of light. There were also rumors
floating around about electric refrigerators that would make ice right there in
the kitchen. This was almost impossible to believe. The weekly ice trucks have
traveled the rural areas would then disappear with the winds.
There was much speculation among the locals as to how long
it would take for the electric current to travel the wires and reach the area
from the power-producing dam roughly 200 miles away. Mr. Bob, a hard-headed old
man in the community, was taking all bets that it would take at least three
days for the electric current to reach the area.
My older brother, who had talked to the line construction
foreman, and had some knowledge of how electricity functioned, informed the old
man that the electric current would travel the distance in less than 20
seconds. Mr. Bob became outraged. Nothing could travel that fast. He was
willing to bet a while $5 bill, that this couldn’t happen. The bet was on.
Distance from the switch
The date and time was announced when the electric current
would be turned on, or when the switch would be thrown, sending the electricity
speeding on its way southwestward into lower Marengo County. Mr. Bob, the
hard-headed old man, gloated over the fact that he knew how long it would take
for the current to travel the distance. He even wanted to raise the bet by $5
more.
Release time of the electric current was at hand. Tuesday,
at 2 p.m. sharp, was the time designated for the switch to be thrown. The old
grandfather clock in the hall had been set from a time announcement that came
over the battery-powered radio just the night before. Outside on the front
porch, sitting in a large wooden straight chair that was leaned against the
wall, sat the hard-headed old man, waiting to collect his bet. He knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt that it would be at least Thursday evening, or later, before
that electricity could travel that distance through “them small wires that had
been strung up on them tall creosoted poles. Anybody with any sense at all
oughta know that stuff couldn’t cover that distance in 20 seconds.”
The grandfather clock began to chime, prior to striking the
hour. The old clock had struck only once; before it could strike the second
time for the hour of 2 p.m., the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling
by a small cord burst into light. A cheer went up from those waiting and watching
for this important moment.
From out on the front porch, a loud crash echoed through the
front door. Realizing what had just happened, the old man who thought that he
knew everything, had turned over the large straight-back chair and fell
broadside on the porch floor. A much-embarrassed Mr. Bob slowly raised himself from
the porch floor and, with much regret, handed my older brother a very wrinkled
and worn $5. Many months would pass before the hard-headed old man was not
reminded of his knowledge of the speed of that stuff called electricity.
(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.)
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