I am sure most of the memories of Papa Joe will be humorous, but for me the poignancy of his effect on my life is a moral one. Papa was a rather quiet man who spent his time sitting on the porch singing hymns, or about how “they laid Jessie James in his grave.” This latter had little meaning for me until I became acquainted with American history in the eighth grade. Other than this occupation, I don’t remember Papa doing much more. Oh yes, how can I forget hog-killing time, but that is another story. He never fussed at us. His expression, “take care” or “take air” (I’m not sure which he was saying) meant get out of my way, or you kids stop fussing, and this was enough to make us obey.

My greatest memory of Papa occurred when I was in the 6th or 7th grade. Being poor as Job’s turkey, we children had no extra money beyond the twenty-five cents weekly that paid for our school lunch (two-cents a day) and for other incidentals needed at school. At an age where being a popular member of ont’s peer group was important, I wanted most to impress my friends at Carver High School with my “riches and generosity”. One night I went into Papa’s room and found some coins on his dresser along with his false teeth in a glass. Highly motivated to make an impression at school, I borrowed, no, stole a quarter from the dresser. At the school store the next day, I achieved my dream! I bought each of my girl friends an all-day sucker (five-cents each). Needless to say, I was the most popular person in class that day and reveled in all of the attention that I received.

Once back home, I had to face the music. Mama inquired about Papa’s missing quarter. I kept quiet, but Melva advanced the information that some of the girls had commented on my generosity to them at school. I vehemently denied every word, but Mama was ready to send me for a hickory stick. I was really in trouble! Mama really knew how to make the legs sting. Papa interceded, “Lee, let the child alone. If her friends meant that much to her, then she deserved to treat them.” “Thelma,” he said to me, “I might have given you the quarter if you had asked, but you need to know that money won’t buy you friendship. Taking that quarter may cost you in the long run because you will have to answer to God for it.”

That is all he ever said to me about the incident, but I spent a good deal of my time in regretfulness, and I have never had the desire to take another cent from anyone.

“Ooooweee !! You’re going to be as big as A’nt Jessica after ‘while. Look at you! You’ll soon have to turn side-ways to get through that door, just like A’nt Jessica! Lee, what is she eating? Ooooweee !! Look at her thighs. I guess she’s two sizes bigger….”

These are Papa’s words, addressed to me, his middle namesake – Melva (from Melvin)! I’m not sure of the occasion which prompted this rather embarrassing statement afrom a ver WISE and frank Grandfather. I am not sure if I ever knew who “A’nt Jessica” was (or is); I only knew that she must have been enormous in size and that I would surely be just like her if I didn’t watch out! While the sords were initially embarrassing, I knew that Papa did not intend to hurt me. His words provided a spark of encouragement, thus, my constant care at counting calories. I know that Papa is still watching, and I don’t intend for him to see me walking through the door sideways!

I remember Papa fondly in a variety of ways. Words that best capture this variety are: WONDERFUL, WISE and WITTY! He was wonderful to be around while growing up because he took the time to talk to the children. We watched him whittle and listened to him hum between descriptive words of wit and wisdom. We listened to his powerful prayers (sometimes with one eye opened) mornings, nights, and at Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church. We dared not be caught moving, lest his prayers not include us (we thought)! We knew that Papa cared about us and this was important. The one concern that I had was why he drank garlic water each morning? Not only do I know now, but I even do it myself!

Wit and wisdom “embraced each other” at unexpected moments! There was the times, for instance, when the “peachtree switch” were ready for his us on Jr, Fred, and me for something that we should not have done (of course). With fear and trembling, we stood before him, only to receive a lecture on the proper method of raising peach trees. Between the three of us, we must have talked him out of ruining the poor limb for disciplinary purposes. We learned that day to behave ourselves so that peach trees could grow fruit and be used for finding water underground to determine places where wells could be dug. (Aha, who else remembers that?)

I thank God for Papa and for his spirit that lives on among us. It occurred to me a few years ago that Pap’s name is divided between two, born closely together – Joseph (Frederick) and Melva (Ruby), so maybe he is “omnipresent” when we are around (smile)!! It is not difficult to “see” Papa in each of the uncles, and many of the offsprings, including my own: “wonderful, wise, and witty.”

One weekend, Lula Belle gave James a birthday party and invited Papa Joe and us to the affair. Lula Belle invited a lady friend named Mrs. robinson for Papa. Now Mrs. Robinson was a nice, intelligent woman and we thought it was going well for Papa.

that night, after all had gone to bed, we heard Papa thinking loudly; “she’s a nice lady but her head looks like a peach.” That morning, Lula Belle asked; “well Uncle Joe, how’d you like Mrs. Robingson?” He said, “oh, she was a mighty fine lady!” We all laughed and confessed that all had heard him saying that her head looked like a peach.

I will always remember Papa Joe as a very proud and independent man – and one who was always neat and clean. This particular night, Papa decided to run his bath water and he came into the kitchen to get the soap powder (Papa liked lots of bubbles). Papa poured the powder in and waited. After a while, he came into the kitchen and said “May, there’s something wrong with that soap powder.” I said “Papa Joe, let me see the box.” We both had a big laugh – Papa Joe had poured pancake flour into his water.

Papa and I shared many, many memorable occasions. I often find myself recalling these special moments over and over, expecially when the weather is cold, cloudy or rainy.

Somehow, Papa could tell when it was going to rain and not merely “cloud up and roll around us”. There was sort of a personal instinct with him when it came to the weather. Papa never told me exactly how he could forecast the weather and I was smart enough not to question his talent. By the way, our forecasters in Missouri are not nearly as accurate as Papa.

papa taught me to be at ease with thunderstorms and lightning. I can recall many instances when I would turn to run inside where it was safe and Papa would stop me with a reassuring hand in the chest, never interrupting his singing of the song at that moment which usually was An Uncloudy Day.

Papa was my source of warmth on cold nights when the room temperature dipped below freezing and water in the very room wehere we slept actually froze. He would always rool over and give up his warm space to me. Many times, however, Mac would beat me to the spot.

In addition to the many weather-related memories of Papa, I have fond recollections of him always having time to talk to a young fella’ who had serioud questions about life, such as, “on which side of a cow do you milk her?” or “where did the water in the well come from?” Papa’s answers were always firm and convincing and left not doubt in my mind that he knew what he was saying. For those of you who don’t know, Papa said, “a cow expects to be milked from the right side.”

Papa and I spent time together doing odd jobs around the house. We could fix almost anything that broke. We even added a room to the back of the house without benefit of blue print or power tools. I recall that Papa hit his hand only one time. I managed, somehow, to hurt something everyday. Papa and I were quite a team.

Perhaps, my most treasured memory of Papa is a selfish one. You see, Papa was the only adult in Due West other than Momma and Daddy who had a license to whip me at any given moment but, lucky for me, Papa never elected to do so.

PAPA is truly many special memories to me.

It was customary in our family, before we sat down to eat, for Papa to always say a prayer and we would join him in saying the “grace”. On this particular morning, we were all on our knees listening to Papa pray and wishing that Papa would hurry up so that we could see the new “Chandler” that Uncle Oliver was buying from Greenville. As Papa prayed, we all bowed our heads and we closed one eye in anticipation of catching a glimpse of this “fine” car. Just as Papa got started with his prayer, we saw Ellihue Stevenson driving Uncle Oliver in this pretty car. We looked at each other and we looked at Papa praying. Slowly and without disturbing Papa, one by one, we all snuck out of the house and headed for Uncle Oliver’s house.

When Papa finished the prayer, we were supposed to joing him in reciting “The Lord’s Prayer”. Papa waited and waited. He then looked up to discover that he was the only one in the room. We had all left to see the new car. When we saw Papa coming down Ellis Hill, we knew that we were in trouble. Papa was mad only because wwe didn’t tell him aobut the new car. He wanted to see it too.

Every Fall, Papa would assist in the annual ritual of hog slaughtering. Besides providing meat for the family, Papa would prepare and store sausage that he would serve on special occasions. It was common knowledge in the family that Papa kept his sausage in a bucket in his room. The boys would help themselves to some of Papa’s sausage. When the grease got hard, no one could tell.

One morning, Papa got up and decided to give the boys a treat by cooking breakfast and using some of his special sausage. He went to his room to retrieve his bucket and to warm it up. He shortly discovered that all of the sausage was gone with only the grease remaining. Before Papa could ask me about the missing sausage, I cofessed to him by saying; “Papa, I know that some of your sausage is missing, but all that I ate was the grease.” I could tell that Papa was hurt because he wanted some sausage too. Papa only looked at me and smiled.

I am the youngest of the Joseph Ellis children. During my childhood, I didn’t spend a lot of time with my Dad but my memories of him are vivid.

I especially remember my train ride with him from Asheville to Detroit. I remember being so excited about being with him and every time I looked at him, he was looking at me. I wonder what he was thinking? I cherish that and other memories.

Although my dad was older than most fathers, he was gentle and kind. I can never recall a harsh or unkind word. He would always tell me little things like no matter what you are wearing, always try to look neat. Although our times together were brief, my memories of him are so cherrished and I see him all over in the lives of my brothers.

Growing up in Due West and trying to find odd jobs ws difficult; so when Aunt Sunnie offered me an opportunity to make $1 for picking 100 pounds of cotton, I jumped on it. The only stipulation was that I had to pick at least 100 pounds of cotton that day. As you probably know, that was a lot of cotton; but being young and eager, I knew that I could do that.

Well, I picked and picked in the hot sun. The thought of that dollar in my pocket kept me going. Finally, at the end of the day, I knew that I had picked at least 125 pounds. As I took my load to be weighed, I passed the bundle of cotton that Aunt Sunnie picked for the day. She had picked a pretty big bundle too.

I had big plans for the dollar and I already mentally spent the money. So I proudly waited to have my cotton weighed. To my surprise, I had only picked 85 pounds. I knew that I was 15 pounds short and it was too dark to go back to the fields. I was hurt.

The only thing I thought to do was to borrow a few pounds of cotton from Aunt Sunnie’s pile; and that was what I did. I went back to Aunt Sunnie’s cotton and help myself (borrowed a few pounds).

The next morning, I was Aunt Sunnie heading for the house and I knew that I was in big trouble. Sure enough, sunt sunnie told mamma what happened. Mamma called me and said “just wait until your father gets home!”

Mamma told the truth; when Papa got home, he took care of me.

Papa, as I remember in the early forties, came to me and suggested that even though I attended St. Luke Methodist Church because it was in the neighborhood and was the church of my mother’s faith, he would like for all of us to go down to Joseph Compau and Clinton (St. John Presbyterian Church) and join. He said, “I know you boys may not have very much to give, but whatever you have, give it to your home church.”

Good advice, and I try to pass it on to my children.

As a small child when Papa was living with us, I can remember Papa at the dinner table saying “well, I got that one” after eating – as if he might not get another meal. When we had “pig feet”, he would say “we’re eating mighty low on the hog”. (Lula told me this)

As Papa walked along with his cane saying “Papa’s boy”, Asbury Jr. would crawl along trying to get away from being stepped on or mashed by Papa’s cane.

It was very cold and “Pup”was barking down in the basement. Momma and Dad were talking in the kitchen. I was resting on Papa’s lap and listening to every word. He was hard of hearing, so they had to talk real loud to include him in the conversation. It was warm in the kitchen because Papa was holding me. I wondered if “Pup” was warm too.

Papa wore glasses and he wore a large black hat. I remember that he was humming some private melody that only he knew. i wondered why gray hairs grew in his ears. (Recently, Joanne and Gerard have questioned me as to why hair grows in my ears, although, mine is not gray – not yet). Papa lived with us. Uncle Hunter and Aunt Arlene lived upstairs. Everybody was nearby and everything was alright.

The discussion in the kitchen may well have been about the planned trip to Due West. Who was to go – who was to drive – and who was to stay behind. It turned out to be a tragic trip that involved bad weather, icy roads and a tanker-truck. A very bad accident. I was to stay behind. Papa did not return to live with us anymore, but I still have one warm memory of him.

Sometimes, details tend to fade when recalling events from over 35 years. Sometimes a five-year-old uses an imagination to provide color and flavor to those events. In any case, the essence of that kitchen memory remains. Maybe he wasn’t really gone. Maybe he just stayed in Due West for a while longer. May he is still there – today. Maybe….

In one of our many secret conversations, down in the basement, “Pup” told me that he remembered Papa too.