The Generation That Saved America: Surviving the Great Depression

© 2010 Bettye B. Burkhalter. All rights reserved.

www.auburnauthor.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/2/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4520-3142-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8721-7 (ebook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010911750

Cover photograph: Tora! Tora! Tora! Re-enactment of the attack on Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941.

Courtesy Commemorative Air Force, Midland, TX. www.toratoratora.com

Contents

The Characters

Acknowledgments

With Cecil Allen Burrell, The Man Himself

Introduction

Chapter One: Th e Countryside Farm

Chapter Two: Old Homeplace Revisited

Chapter Three: Surviving the Great Depression

Chapter Four: Making a Living

Chapter Five: Th e Generation that Saved America

Chapter Six: A Man in Sync with Nature

Closing Thoughts and Lasting Impressions

Treasured Documents

Samuel (Sam) Burrell Portrait, 1908, Attala County, MS

Hoover Dam: A Masterpiece of Engineering, Boulder Dam, NV. Courtesy Bureau of Reclamation, Boulder City, NV

Mississippi Certified Land Patent, 1854, William Riley Burell, Attala County, MS

Susan Bishop Burrell Headstone, Fellowship Cemetery, Shrock Community, Goodman, MS

La Burelle Bastide Carrier Pigeon Houses, Ollioules, France

Endnotes and References

Novel One Preview: Daring Pioneers Tame the Frontier

Novel Two Preview: Raised Country Style from South Carolina to Mississippi

Companion Cookbook Preview: Raised on Old-Time Country Cooking

Dedicated to the ordinary men and women whose lives wrote these pages of history,

and to my loving, hard-working parents, Cecil and Margie Burrell,

who instilled in their children and grandchildren the work

ethic required to reach the American Dream.

The Characters

The turn of the century brings another generation onto the scene with high hopes and dreams as economic troubled times hit the heart of America and ricocheted around the world. Nevertheless, descendants of Dr. Jean-Baptiste Elzéar (John) and Patience Burel worked diligently writing new pages to the Burel Book of Life. Each chapter added to the already proud legacy that began with the young French doctor on the Mediterranean Coast of southern France in the spring of 1778. As history repeated itself, American dreams in the making were shaken, shattered, and rebuilt.

As the story unfolds, the aftermath of the Civil War was conquered, the New South was emerging, and John Harrison Burrell and his sons were becoming prosperous landowners, cattlemen, and farmers. Unfortunately, the reckless Roaring Twenties soared out of control, collapsed the economy, and drove independent farmers across the nation into debt and eventually out of business. Hit square in the face with the economic tragedy and the reckless state of affairs that led to the Great Depression, the stage was set for the climactic loss of John Harrison’s last 640-acre farm and small family fortune built over three generations.

Defeated and dismayed, John Harrison’s story mirrored thousands of other working families throughout America as their lives wrote the blackest economic pages in the history of America. He and his grandson, Cecil Allen Burrell, shared day to day struggles and triumphs as they redefined prosperity, and slowly rebuilt rewarding lives for their families. Bringing the three-volume saga to a close, Cecil, The Man Himself, explained what it was like for his generation to live through the farmers’ depression after World War I, the Great Depression that followed, and the bombing of Pearl Harbor that plunged America into World War II.

The impact of FDR being elected to four terms and his New Deal or Raw Deal social programs are discussed. During the war, General George Patton and his Third Army profiled the raw horror of the Nazis. Two of his infantrymen and three airmen relived their experiences of their assignments in Germany, Italy, and France. These veterans exemplified the heart and soul of America’s freedom fighters. Other characters caught in the web of these times also helped personify the stories and incidents. To all of these characters, we owe a tremendous debt.

Acknowledgments

Over the long course of writing the three creative nonfiction novels and an old-time companion cookbook about the men and women who first built and then saved America, colleagues from universities and colleges went far beyond the call of duty, and information and data provided by archivists, genealogists, historians, and librarians with government offices, historical societies, and museums brought the settings and characters to life. Work performed by artists, graphic designers, and photographers was priceless, for most would agree a picture is worth a thousand words. To these colleagues and friends I owe you a tremendous debt.

Since the saga was about their kinfolk, Burel (Burell, Burrell) descendants from France, Nova Scotia, and America anxiously helped develop the wide range of stories by sharing family Bibles, letters, diaries, journals, photographs, heirlooms, family genealogy, and family legends. Another faithful group eager to help was local historians, and they never failed to amaze me. Whether a legal family document, local history bit, or tall tale entrenched in their memory as the gospel truth, the voice of everyday folk along the way made the eight-year journey a worthwhile endeavor and personal triumph. They, and the others mentioned earlier, arranged special tours and interviews where old homesteads, mansions, hamlets, trading posts, country stores, gristmills, sawmills, distilleries, cotton gins, schools, churches, cemeteries, and boat landings once thrived. Onsite interviews not only clarified and corrected records, but oftentimes enriched and validated history, family legends, and in a few cases, longstanding folklore. I was inspired by perfect strangers who generously gave hours, and sometimes days, in search of one more piece of the lost puzzle to enrich a colorful character or complete a storyline.

Weaving and re-weaving each story into a relatively tight fabric could not have been accomplished without the unyielding patience and guidance of these individuals and other nameless staff members working behind the scene. Their years of experience and knowledge helped me gauge how far to go with family legends and folklore, yet stay within the bounds of historical facts to capture the period of history portrayed in the story. Never losing sight of the characters’ deep abiding love for God, country, and family, and their old-fashioned devotion toward each other, a gentle touch of romance from family legends was added to special moments cautiously invaded.

At the risk of unintentionally omitting someone, I sincerely acknowledge the following individuals. To each of you I will forever be grateful.

University and College Colleagues: Dr. Wayne Alderman, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Brian D. Anderson, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Paula R. Backscheider, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dannis Christian, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Nancy R. Cox, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Debra A. Dowdell, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. William A. Dozier, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Wayne Flynt, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Dave Godwin, Mississippi State University, Starkville, MS; Patricia A. Harris, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Gary S. Hawkins, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Joyce Hicks, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Fred Kam, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Donald L. Large, Jr., Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Frank Owsley, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Daniel J. J. Ross, The University of Alabama Press, Tuscaloosa, AL; Barbara C. Smith, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Lee Stribling, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dr. Allen Stokes, University of South Carolina, Columbia, SC; and Marliese S. Thomas, Auburn University, Auburn, AL.

Archivists, Genealogists, and Historians: Kenneth Dale Ables, Goodman, MS; Alex A. Alston, Jr., Jackson, MS; James (Jim) Harris Branch, Birmingham, AL; Ann Breedlove, Kosciusko, MS; Beth Burel Buchanan, Bethlehem, GA; Robert Howell Cauthen, Madison, MS; Virginia M. Clay, Enterprise, MS; Dr. Alton Cobb, Jackson, MS; Robert and Bertha Mae Colburn, Jr., Greensboro, AL; Christine Covington, Goodman, MS; Dr. Duncan C. Covington, College Station, TX; H. C. Earhart, Jr., Cropwell, AL; Wylodean Burrell Edwards, Kosciusko, MS; Blanche Shrock Fields, Birmingham, AL; Victor Harbor, Birmingham, AL; Benjamin H. Hardaway III, Columbus, GA; Alice B. Henson, Pickens, MS; Jerry L. Jones, Madison, MS; Kitty G. Jones, Pickens, MS; Tommy and Nancy Jones, Kosciusko, MS; Merle McDaniel Kelty, Lexington, KY; James H. Lacey, Jr., Canton, MS; Clydelle Mauldin, Goodman, MS; Dallas A. McCrory, Madison, MS; Lieutenant Major James Leroy McCrory, Jackson, MS; Margie Marks McCrory, Raymond, MS; Melvin (Buddy) Meek, Columbia, MS; Paula Miller, Kosciusko, MS; Dr. Clyde Muse, Raymond, MS; Lester and Martha Parker, Pickens, MS; Sandy and Charlie Pierce, Brandon, MS; Anne-Marie Hughes Porter, Kosciusko, MS; Allen and Belinda Roark, Canton, MS; Bessie J. Rockett, Goodman, MS; Joyce W. Sanders, Kosciusko, MS; W. N. (Buddy) Simpson, Sallis, MS; Edward D. Sloan, Jr., Greenville, SC; Charles (Buddy) and Norma Gene Smith, Union, SC; H. S. (Pat) Smithson, Goodman, MS; Walterine B. Summerlin, Canton, MS; Marcia Meek Wasson, Kosciusko, MS; Dr. Michael (Mike) Weldon, Madison, MS; Sheriff W. Howard Wells, Union, SC; Roger Wheat, Gordo, AL; Jeanne M. Wier, Goodman, MS; and Governor William F. Winter, Jackson, MS.

Artists, Photographers, and Graphic Designers: Holly Aldy, Madison, MS; Pat M. Arnold, Visalia, CA; April Lynne Burkhalter, Charlotte, NC; Margie McCrory Burrell, Auburn, AL; Marcy Cutrer, Auburn, AL; Miles Davis, Atlanta, GA; Wylodean Burrell Edwards, Kosciusko, MS; Blanche Shrock Fields, Birmingham, AL; Gary S. Hawkins, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Dallas A. McCrory, Madison, MS; Jerry McWilliams, Terry, MS; Christopher H. Mixon, Auburn University, Auburn, AL; Chris Prince, Whitmire, SC; Belinda Roark, Canton, MS; Charles (Buddy) and Norma Gene Smith, Union, SC; Cookie Pate Smithson, Goodman, MS; Sheriff W. Howard Wells, Union, SC; and Mike Willoughby, Brandon, MS.

Engineering Consultants: Boyd C. Burkhalter, Auburn, AL; Cecil Allen Burrell, Auburn, AL; Gerry Creel, Birmingham, AL; Gene Persons, Louisville, MS; Kenneth C. (Ken) Peters, Birmingham, AL; William David Proctor, Kosciusko, MS; Jay Street, West Point (Louisville SNG), MS; and Eric E. Thomas, (Retired SNG), Falls Church, VA.

Burel (Burell, Burrell) Descendants: James (Jim) Branch, Birmingham, AL; Lena Burell, Belmont, CA; Frances Burrell, Starkville, MS; Jessie Burrell Arnold Family Collection, Goodman, MS; Elizabeth ‘Beth’ Burel Buchanan, Bethlehem, GA; Frank ‘Jack’ Burel, Ellijay, GA; April Lynne Burkhalter, Charlotte, NC; Blanche Ables Burrell, Goodman, MS; Cecil A. and Margie Burrell, Auburn, AL; Wylodean Burrell Edwards, Kosciusko, MS; Olean Burrell Green, Pachuta, MS; Angela Anne Henderson, Auburn, AL; Dallas A. McCrory, Madison, MS; Lady Arnold Pate, Goodman, MS; Louise Burrell Roberts, Kingston Springs, TN; Edward D. Sloan, Jr., Greenville, SC; Cookie Pate Smithson, Goodman, MS; and Ann Burrell Watkins, Greenwood, MS.

There are several exceptional people who warrant further recognition. First, I will forever be grateful to Cecil Allen Burrell, my father, who was an inspiration and the reason I decided to write the three novels with an old-time companion cookbook. The third book was the first one written, and Cecil is identified throughout the book as The Man Himself. Legends handed down for generations along with personal stories, drawings, and photographs spanning nearly ninety years brought the culture and times of his family and neighbors to life. He willingly read and listened to the stories in draft form many times, and new suggestions and ideas usually followed. All of his contributions definitely enhanced the novel. As a tribute to The Man Himself, the last chapter entitled Lasting Impressions… is dedicated to Cecil who made a difference in the lives of so many people.

Second, I sincerely thank my youngest daughter and dear friend, April Lynne Burkhalter, who takes great pride in the legacy built and left by her ancestors. Lovingly, but with tough critique, she listened to the many stories and incidents about these persevering and determined people and offered sound advice. She was an endless resource and sounding board for assessing raw emotions of the creative dimensions of the stories. Her creative talents in photography, graphic design, and marketing never let me down. April was always there for me, and for that I will always be grateful.

Third, there are no appropriate words to express my deep gratitude to Sherrie Murphy Stanyard. With thirty-two years of experience in the publishing business and a keen interest in historical novels, her probing questions, editing suggestions, and discerning eye were immeasurable. Sherrie was always a phone call away, and her advice and contributions improved the overall quality of the books. She was involved from the inception of the project, and her sharp pen and ideas were always welcomed.

Fourth, I will always be grateful to my dear friend Norma Gene Smith from Seven Springs Plantation near Union, SC. With thirty-three years editing and proofing experience, she graciously volunteered to proof and edit the final galley before going to press. Her fresh eyes and suggestions were a great asset, and I will always be grateful to Gene for her enormous contribution.

And last, my patient and understanding husband, Boyd C. Burkhalter. As recognized in books one and two, Boyd sustained me and was at my side from the first word written to the last. I could not have completed this eight-year project without him. He played a key role in documenting historical sites through architectural re-engineering, and his illustrations visually enriched the narrative. When each book took control of my life, and at times our home, he gently, and sometimes not so gently, kept me grounded to the realities of the project. Only a loving husband and problem-solving engineer could do that and get away with it! Conversely, he made endless suggestions to improve stories and willingly escorted me on trip after trip to collect data, study story settings, visit old building structures, make pictures, and conduct interviews. But most of all, he patiently listened to the never-ending ideas and stories throughout the three novels, and graciously sampled kitchen tested recipes selected for the companion cookbook. And when physical and emotional fatigue led to writer tears, he was always there and gently wiped them away. For that Boyd, I thank you, and I love you.

Bettye Burrell Burkhalter

2010

With Cecil Allen Burrell

The Man Himself

Southern born and raised in Mississippi, Cecil Allen Burrell helped shape the history of the South for nearly ninety years. Living through the Great Depression, he shares first-hand how those with unrelenting strength, courage, and determination overcame insurmountable hardships as they learned how to survive drastic falling agricultural prices, inflated taxes, and the loss of his Grandpa’s Mississippi farm: the place Cecil was born and raised as a child.

In the midst of the Depression when unemployment exceeded twenty-five percent, an athletic scholarship with odd jobs on campus allowed Cecil the rare opportunity to attend Hinds Junior College near Jackson, Mississippi. Before graduating, he was forced to return home to help support his family by working when possible on the circuit, training bird dogs and foxhounds, raising cattle, farming, and becoming known as the shrewdest trader in his part of the country. On the heels of the Great Depression and the outbreak of World War II, Cecil was permanently hired with Southern Natural Gas Company. Dedicating thirty-eight of his best years to the industrial giant, he retired as Chief Engineer and Superintendent. He revisited and proudly detailed how he was selected for the position, and how he repaid the rare opportunity granted him by being an extraordinary employee until the day he retired.

Cecil was also a renowned sportsman, and he loved and respected the sheer joy of the sport. Told by The Man Himself, Cecil’s faded eyes twinkled with excitement each time he relived his favorite deer, turkey, quail, or duck hunt that put wild game on the dinner table. He marveled at the natural beauty and bounty of the wild. Without question, he loved and respected Mother Nature, because they had walked hand in hand from the time he was an eight-year-old boy.

Known as a man of few words, Cecil opened his heart and filled the pages with day-to-day life experiences of being raised country style. As an ordinary man with extraordinary talents, he proudly joined millions of other salt-of-the-earth hardworking folk who navigated their lives back into prosperity after the Great Depression and World War II. They all reached the American Dream.

Introduction

Surviving the Great Depression & World War II

The rise of the New South after the Civil War unfolded with harsh realities. The old way of thinking and doings things was fast moving into the sunset, and a new way of life was around the corner. Those not willing to accept reality and change were going to be left behind. Arriving in Attalaville on his Grandpa’s wagon train as a toddler, John Harrison Burrell was now a young man. He boldly stepped forward and led the next generation of his family through the resurgence of the New South. His generation built new fortunes, but they were forced to watch them be snatched away by the Great Depression. As his children and grandchildren overcame nearly impossible economic conditions, they finally got their feet on the ground and the good life graced their homes and farms until another historic pendulum of tragedy struck: World War II. Share the amazing story of a World War II son missing in action over the Mediterranean Sea for over sixty years. When his plane was recovered and his remains sent home for a full military burial, the courageous airman never realized he met his fate only six hundred miles across the Mediterranean Sea from where his great³-grandfather, Dr. Jean-Baptiste (John) Burel, and his family lived and worked for over four hundred years.

Join one of the great storytellers of all time as he revisits Grandpa John Harrison’s old homeplace built around 1899. Share the bitter cold winter day when his Grandpa announced it was hog killing day, and at least ten hogs were slaughtered to carry the nine families on his farm through the winter. When winter ended and the sap rose, take a tour through the outside kitchen where Cecil’s family anxiously packed the old cane basket many times with fried chicken and biscuits to take to church. As a young lad, Cecil knew it was a special Sunday because, following preaching, an old-time dinner-on-the-ground under the big oak trees was planned. Cecil’s tour of the old homeplace and many other stories offer a keen insight into a way of life slowly slipping away into the pages of time. As new technology and lifestyles reshaped the world, for nearly nine decades he was a part of it all. He willingly shared the wisdom of success, failure, happiness, and despair his country folk experienced and understood. As his ancestors before him, these freedom fighters and salt-of-the-earth men and women became the economic muscle behind America’s growing middle class. They were the moral fiber offering the best hope for building, and then saving, an emerging new nation filled with hope and promise.

One

The Countryside Farm

OLD HOMEPLACE

Old homes, old towns, old friends,

Old ties we all hold dear;

All locked within our memory,

Grow dearer every year.

And when we use the key,

That opens memory’s door;

We see old homes, old towns, old friends,

We loved long years before. ¹

Introduction

John Harrison Burell (Burrell) was a baby when the wagon train rolled into Attalaville in 1848 with his father, William Riley (Billy), and his grandparents, James and Lisbeth. He did not remember the long and rough ride, the campsites along the way, or when his Aunt Anne Elizabeth died shortly after arriving in Attalaville. Neither did he remember the first funeral when his family laid the beautiful twenty-seven-year-old mother to rest. Years later he learned why his Grandpa James and Grandma Lisbeth agreed to raise their daughter’s two children. He never knew his Grandma Patience or Aunt Margaret left behind in Goshen Hill, South Carolina. He was too young to remember the dreadful day the letter arrived telling everyone Grandma Patience Burel had passed on and was now buried by Dr. Burel at the old cemetery near their home.

John Harrison’s memories were not of Goshen Hill, South Carolina, or Hog Mountain, Georgia. His memories were made in Attalaville, Mississippi, with his father, his stepmother Annie, his grandparents, and his favorite two cousins — Jane Elizabeth and Mary Anne. They were close in age and grew up like three peas in a pod. They weathered the Civil War together, and James and Lisbeth were both special grandparents to the three. Not only were they wonderful grandparents, but they were the reason he was in Mississippi. They also were the reason he was in the Shrock Community where he met and married the sweetest girl he had ever known: Susanna Bishop.

From the celebrated wedding day in 1872, the years passed fast as John Harrison and Susanna worked their farms, bought and sold land, built houses, and raised a family of eleven children. Their final house was a typical southern farm home nestled on the back forty of their 640-acre farm near Seneasha Creek. Those passing by often referred to it as the big house. The house was a traditional dogtrot style spacious country home with large rooms on each side of the wide hall. Had John Harrison remained in Goshen Hill, South Carolina, his place would have been recorded as a plantation, but in Attala County, Mississippi, it was listed as a farm.

John Harrison and Susanna began construction of their new house in the spring of 1899 on land they bought from their oldest son. John Harrison’s house was referred to as the big house by workers, neighbors, family, and travelers passing through. Only a rock’s throw, or less than one-fourth mile, from his front porch he could see his old homeplace where he was raised and where his father, William Riley, died four years earlier. Captain Shrock died in the spring of 1897, just two years before John Harrison built his home. Oftentimes in the quiet of daybreak when they were having their first cup of coffee, he and Susanna talked about Captain Shrock. They both wished the old gentleman could have lived to see their new house. He would have liked it because it was designed much like the one he built for his wife Caroline. As a young man, John Harrison enjoyed teasing and bragging to Captain Shrock about the big fine white house he was planning to build one day.

Cap’em — one of these fine days I’m gonna build a big house like you did when you came to Attala County. And I’m gonna build it from timber grown on my own place. Captain Shrock always replied with an encouraging expression or a slap on his back. Alright my boy. When you’re ready my old sawmill will be waiting to cut and dress your timber so smooth you won’t get a splinter. We can dress it up real nice nowadays like we did on Hal and Jessie’s house. Tell you th’ truth Billy, Caroline and I have always loved our old house here in Shrock, but you don’t want the rough finish like the ole Indians and I had to do by hand. I can’t tell you th’ sacks of corn my gristmill ground for the group of Indians that helped me build my house. But back in those days, I was thankful to get a helping hand from anywhere. And they were a big help.

By early spring John Harrison’s right-hand man, Gus Roby, had wood-mold bricks drying to build fireplaces and chimneys. Fancy hand carved mantles were finished, and dark mahogany bedroom suits and oak dining room furniture were ordered. Too anxious to wait, John Harrison moved his family into the house before the interior was completely finished. The new homeplace soon provided everything his large family and tenant families needed. Large fruit orchards, pecan trees, vegetable gardens, and sweet potato and watermelon patches were found on his sprawling farm. Within a few years, the place was transformed into an inviting country home and productive farm.

Fourteen years had passed since Sam stood by Grandpa Billy’s (William Riley) side at the sugarcane mill on an early October morning making molasses, and a few months later at his graveside. How well he remembered that cold and windy day at Fellowship Cemetery when Captain Shrock slipped him a handkerchief to hide his grief. Now a twenty-one-year-old, those events seemed a life-time ago. He was now one of the most handsome bucks in the county, and he had other things on his mind.² Sam’s father would soon be seventy, and he depended on his son and Gus to help him operate the farm which was now down from twelve to nine tenant families. It was a big farm. From morning until night, Sam rode over the 640-acre farm making sure all the fields were in order and everyone was at work. Then, he went to work himself.

When night brought him inside, after supper he reported happenings of the day to John Harrison, and together they planned the next day’s work. If he was not too tired, and if it was not too late, he sported around the county with first one girl and then another. But the girl who finally stole his heart for keeps was Mary Dena McDaniel who lived less than ten miles away at Good Hope Community. Every chance possible he slipped off and visited Dena, and soon they decided it was time to marry. The young couple celebrated their marriage on the fourth of July as they packed Dena’s few things to move into Sam’s room in the big house with his parents. Earlier, Sam agreed to continue to live at home and help his Papa until he and Dena could save enough money and accumulate enough heads of cattle to buy their own farm.

It was mid-afternoon before Sam and Dena turned onto the winding road that took them to Sam’s house. The tree canopy shaded the wagon road, and it was a pretty drive. She had heard about Sam’s house, but she had never seen it. The farm wagon was loaded with Dena’s few belongings, so Sam drove slowly over the rough bumps and ruts. When Gus saw the wagon coming down the road, he rushed from the blacksmith shop to help them unload and move the two heavy rosewood dressers into their bedroom. Dena prayed the slab of marble for one of the dressers had not been broken. When Sam and Gus reached the porch, John Harrison held the screened door open for the two men to carry each dresser into Sam’s room on the left. Both dressers and a wedding ring quilt were wedding gifts from her parents. Next came the hope chest, a large trunk, and boxes of odds and ends Dena had collected over the years. Once alone in Sam’s room, Dena was relieved. Everything felt so strange, and she was as nervous as she could be. The first thing she asked Sam to do was to hang his portrait above their bed, for it was the most special gift he had given her. Smiling weakly at her new husband, Dena whispered, Besides you, Sam, this picture and Mama’s two dressers are my three most prized possessions. Sam reached for her and held her close and whispered, No, our most prized possession will be when we have our first son.

Embarrassed, Dena gently pushed away and walked to her big trunk and lifted the heavy lid. She already longed for the day when they would be in their own home. As she unpacked her clothes from the trunk, she commented, Sam, I’m gonna take the marble-top dresser for my clothes, and we will use the other one to store our quilts and other things we’ll need when we get our house. Winking at his new bride and nodding with approval, Sam turned and walked from the room saying, I’ve gotta run now and help Papa, but I’ll be back by supper. Mama’s out in th’ kitchen, but she’ll be up here in a little while.

As Dena unpacked her clothes she was glad their bedroom was the first one on the left. She could see outside from the side and front windows. She felt awkward and did not know what to say to Sam’s mother, but she had heard from all her neighbors around Good Hope that she was a kind and wonderful woman. Everyone said so. She hoped and prayed Mrs. Burrell would like her, because this was going to be their home for awhile. Heaven only knew how long. As long as she had Sam with her, it did not really matter because she understood that her new home was with him and his people. And so, the first page of the first chapter of Sam and Dena Burrell’s life began.

For more than a dozen years, John Harrison Burrell’s farm was Sam and Dena’s first home. It was the place where five of their six children were born. In their front bedroom under Sam’s portrait, their first child was born on a hot and sultry summer day. Through the agony of a long labor and suffocating heat, the young mother feared she was going to die.

The First Child

Hot and humid, summertime was at its peak. By early morning the scorching sun was in control of the day, and all the farmhands knew dog days had arrived. Susanna Burrell was a midwife in the Shrock Community and beyond, and when a neighbor rushed to her front door shouting th’ baby’s on th’ way, she untied her apron, threw it on the table, grabbed her midwife bag, and shouted for John Harrison or Sam to hitch her horse to the buggy. This day she would not need her buggy, for the baby about to be delivered was not a neighbor’s. It was her grandson. Dena had been having pains since before daylight. Sam was jittery and nervous. He was relieved when he saw Dena’s mother arrive. Anxiously, he met her on the porch and held the wide screened door open for her. Sam was talking fast as he explained, Mrs. McDaniel, Dena’s in hard labor! Real hard labor! I’m so glad you’re here. As Dena’s labor contractions continued, Susanna motioned for her son to go outside. Sam — scat! Placing her hand on her son’s shoulder she whispered, Son, it’s going to be a long time yet, and if we need you I’ll call you or send somebody for you. Dena’s mother is here now, and that’s going to help her feelings. You go on out to th’ barn and help your Papa and Gus. And get your Papa off that ladder before he falls. He seems to forget he’s sixty-eight years old! Lordy mercy! Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with that man!

Attending her daughter-in-law, Susanna soon saw Dena’s labor was going to be all day and into the night. As laboring hours painfully inched along, the sultry day turned into night. Mrs. McDaniel sat nearby quietly knitting booties for the baby’s first winter. Although both windows were raised, there was not a breeze on the place. When the sun dropped out of sight, Susanna lit the two coal oil lamps, and the shadows from the flames moved in slow motion across the beaded walls and ceiling. Dena’s labor pains were now hard and came at regular intervals, and muffled cries drifted through the windows into the still night air. Finally, Susanna sent Dena’s mother to get Sam. When Sam walked into the dimly lit room, he looked as white as a sheet and asked, Mama, is everything alright? It’s taking so long.

Yes, Sam, but this is her first, and she’s young and as scared as a little rabbit. She’s gonna have to help me by pushing. Sit down and hold her hand and talk to her. She keeps asking for you. Mrs. McDaniel and I are gonna run to th’ kitchen and eat our supper, and I need to get my water boiling. Talk to her Sam. Sam pulled a chair up close, and sat down facing his frightened wife. Painful creases cut across Dena’s forehead as sweat ran freely and soaked her hair, pillow, and sheets. Sam squeezed water from the washrag and wiped her face and forehead as he coached her to push harder with each backbreaking pain. As the hours of labor slowly passed, he fanned her hoping to catch a breeze from the window, but there was not one. Fanning and waiting, his guts were tied into knots, and he silently prayed for the baby to come. Sam glanced out the porch window, and by moonlight he could see the outline of his father and Gus sitting on the top step whittling. Obviously, they were waiting for the first cry of the newborn. By seven o’clock the pains were hard and fast. Dena was certain she was dying as she pleaded for Sam to do something. A few seconds before eight o’clock her rhythmic cries and whimpers suddenly turned into a blood-curdling scream. It was all Sam could do to hold Dena down on the bed as her mother and Susanna insisted she push as hard as she could. At eight o’clock sharp a healthy baby boy cried out for all to hear. Cecil Allen Burrell was born. Dena fell back into the wet pillow and sheets completely exhausted. Her midwife mother-in-law handed Cecil to his other grandmother to bathe and wrap in the blanket. When baby and mother were clean and on fresh sheets, Sam called for his father and Gus to come inside and see his big boy. Grinning from ear to ear, Sam said, Papa, look at my big boy! He a whopper! We’re gonna call him Cecil — Cecil Allen. By nine o’clock, Cecil was sound asleep in his mother’s arms. The next day Dr. Hal Terry rode out from Goodman to assure all was well with the new mother and to record information for Cecil’s birth certificate. Susanna greeted Hal and told him Cecil was her twenty-eighth grandchild, and he was a big and healthy one. Hal, I’d guess he’s at least a nine pounder! This was Dena’s first, and she had a long and hard labor. But I believe she’s gonna be fine — just fine.

Later that morning when Susanna bathed Cecil, she chatted with Dena. Dena, I want you watch me close and see how I bathe and clean around Cecil’s navel cord. Did you know that this cord is how Cecil got all his food and oxygen until he was born? Well — he did. As soon as he was born I cut it close to his tummy and tied it off tight. Then I dabbed it with alcohol. Puzzled, Dena sheepishly asked, Mrs. Burrell, did it hurt Cecil when you cut th’ cord? Smiling at her new daughter-in-law, she answered, Oh no, honey, the little fellow didn’t feel it one bit. It didn’t hurt at all. But, we have to take good care of his umbilical stump until it falls off. Keep the cord clean and dry. If the base starts to drain or ooze bloody mucus, you call me. If it starts to smell bad, that’s alright. That’s normal. It will usually fall off in two or three weeks. Be careful when bathing him, and don’t ever tug at it, or he could start bleeding. Be sure the diaper is below the navel, because we don’t want any urine to get to it. About once a day, I would dab a little rubbing alcohol on it. It’s not protruding, so I don’t think we ought to put a band on him. We want plenty of air to get to it, and we won’t put him in a pan of water until it’s well. I’ll help you watch it too, and in three weeks you just mark my word. Cecil’s gonna have as pretty a navel as his Pa.

When Cecil was bathed and dressed, Susanna handed him to his mother to nurse. As she left the room she affectionately smiled at her new daughter-in-law and commented to Dena’s mother, Mrs. McDaniel, Look at our grandson eat! He’s as hungry as a little pig.

Reaching the end of the long hall, Susanna stepped down, turned left, and tossed the pan of bath water into the backyard where the chickens were pecking. As she walked toward the kitchen, suddenly a sharp pain shot across her abdomen. Wincing with the pain and grabbing her side, she convinced herself it was gas from not eating right the last twenty-four hours. She decided a bowl of oatmeal with a little cream would make her feel better.

At breakfast a few days later, Susanna complained to John Harrison that her stomach continued to ache and hurt around her belly button. John, I don’t know what in th’ world is wrong with me. I’m still hurting in my stomach, but it’s more around my navel. It’s so strange! Really odd! About two days later, the pain moved and localized into her right side. Whether it took another four hours or twenty-four hours, the appendix finally ruptured allowing bacteria and fluids to leak into the abdominal cavity. Within hours, the inflammation and infection caused excruciating pain that generalized throughout her abdomen. Her fever continued to climb and did not break. When the pain became unbearable, everyone in the household knew Susanna was critically ill. John Harrison sent Sam for Dr. Terry. When the doctor arrived, he treated Susanna for pain and fever. Although he stayed late into the night and continued to wait on her, it was to no avail. Blood poison from her ruptured appendix conquered her body and she painfully lost the struggle. With John Harrison at her side, she barely whispered, John, death will be a merciful gift from God. As her life weakened and slowly drifted from her body, the excruciating pain also faded away. At last, there was no more pain and her grimaced face relaxed. Susanna Burrell was dead. Her death on August 23, 1915, shocked her neighbors in the Shrock Community and those throughout Attala and Madison counties. Susanna had delivered babies throughout the countryside, and her reputation as a midwife was known and respected by all. When she raced by in her surrey with the red top, everyone waved or tipped their hat to her. They all knew she was on her way to deliver another baby. It was a sad and mournful day when she passed on and left behind John Harrison, their eleven children, and twenty-eight grandchildren. Her oldest son Louis Thomas (Coot) was forty-two years old, her youngest daughter Dee Lois had just turned sixteen, and the grandson she had just delivered was only fifteen days old. A local newspaper carried the following notice:

The death angel visited the home of Mr. J. H. Burel and bore away the spirit of his loving wife. She fell asleep on the 23rd of August, having been sick only a short time. Her stay on this earth was 58 years. She was the mother of 13 children of whom all are living except two. She leaves these eleven children and a husband to mourn her death. Grieve not dear loved ones, for she is at rest in Jesus’ arms to be forever blessed. She has gone on to her home above to wait for you there, and before long, we who are left will follow her one by one. She has only paid a debt which we all must pay sooner or later: let us prepare to meet her there.

A precious one from us has gone, a precious voice is still;

A place is vacant in our home, which never can be filled.

— A loving niece, Pearl Burrell ³

With sincere sympathy from Reverend Rogers, and support from his large family, John Harrison walked away from Fellowship Cemetery a brokenhearted man. Again, he left Gus Roby behind to close the grave of his wife. He hastened to leave, because he didn’t want to hear the familiar thuds as shovels of red clay hit the top of her coffin box. He forced his mind to think and plan the trip to Kosciusko where he would order Susanna a white marble headstone. And, he wanted it to be a pretty one. As soon as her grave settled, he and Sam would go together. He had the clipping from the paper, and he planned to have the sweet words written by Pearl carved below her name. And he did. He had known grief when he lost his father, and he and Susanna lost two of their children, but he had never known this kind of pain. Never! Susanna’s unexpected death would be felt by all those she left behind for years to come, and there would be forty more grandchildren born that she would never know.

Susanna’s death and John Harrison’s intense grief forced new responsibilities on both Dena and Sam. With Gus’ help they took over running the farm. Although Dena was only nineteen, she was forced to assume the role of running the big house with all its traditional responsibilities. Gus Roby was now married to Idealia (Dealy), and they had four children. Dealy was close by, and she was always willing to help out when needed. In fact, Gus and his family were the ones the household usually called on when additional help was needed. While Cecil’s family endured their family tragedy and grieved for Grandma Susanna, the outside world moved on with tragedies of its own.

Earlier in the year, the British Lusitania was torpedoed and sunk without warning by the Germans. The news sent a shock wave around the world, for this tragedy drowned 1,198 of the passengers aboard. Sadly, 128 were Americans. The United States’ anger grew with time over the sinking of the steamship and loss of innocent American lives. Two years later in 1917, America entered into World War I.⁴ Sales of Henry Ford’s Model-T reached one million, J. L. Kraft and Brothers introduced Kraft processed cheese, and the Corning Research Team announced Pyrex glass cooking ware was now available to housewives throughout the country. The idea of cooking in glassware was farfetched, and Dena exclaimed, I’ll believe it when I see it with my own eyes! Straight from the oven to the table was hard to believe. Scores of other new inventions were changing the world and the way people lived, and soon they would change the lives on the Burrell Farm in Attala County.

During Cecil’s first years, his father and Grandpa John Harrison made regular trips to Goodman, Pickens, and to the Shrock General Store to trade and conduct business. Occasionally, they went to Kosciusko for courthouse business. They bought sugar for seven cents a pound, flour was twenty-one cents for a five-pound sack, tea was sixty-two cents a pound, coffee was twenty-nine cents a pound, rice was nine cents a pound, and a five-pound sack of cornmeal was fourteen cents.⁵ Grandpa’s farm was practically self-sufficient because they raised practically everything else their family needed. Should there be a surplus of corn, butter, eggs, fruit, honey, molasses, tar, horseshoes, or anything else raised or made on the farm, it was packaged and sold for additional income. The average income for farm labor during this time was thirty cents an hour. Many large farmers made much more than that, and they all saved a nest egg for a rainy day. Part of John Harrison’s nest egg was in his big trunk, and his bank statements assured him he had ample money set aside at the bank. Through the years before her death, Susanna quietly played an important role in the success of the Burrell farm. Although she had eleven surviving children within twenty-six years, she owned her own land separate from their farms, ran the household, helped the tenant or sharecropping households, delivered babies, and managed the business side of the farm for her husband.

Susanna had a good business head, and the long, harsh hours of making a good living on the farm instilled strong convictions of honesty, hard work, and thrift. Nothing was wasted. Throughout John Harrison’s life he repeatedly reminded everyone, Now — don’t go throwing away anything that can be used later for something else, or any food scraps that can be eaten by the animals or chickens. On one occasion when he was much older and living with Sam and Dena, he scolded his two granddaughters, Olean and Ann, when they were eating a sweet potato as an after-school snack. It was a cold day, and they were standing in front of the fireplace enjoying their potato. Grandpa was sitting in his chair to one side, but out of the corner of his eye he was watching. When they peeled their potatoes and tossed the peelings into the fireplace to burn, he instantly scolded, Golly Olean and Ann — you know better than that! Don’t never throw sweet potato peelings in th’ fire. Throw ‘em outdoors so th’ chickens can eat ‘em.⁶ Grandpa continued to grumble at his grandchildren as he thumbed through the old dog-eared Wish Book.

The Wish Book

In the fall of 1874, Montgomery