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Midnite Ride (subject to editing) from Dad

 
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11/16/2013 10:58 AM
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Midnite Ride (subject to editing) from Dad
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF JOHN BELL BOOTH
Prologue: Although this is a work of fiction, there are persons who actually lived and walked this earth in the early years of Hamilton County, Illinois, specifically, Owen Kern, David Robert Poynor, Arthur Poynor and the Harrelsons. I have taken liberties with their names and the time. Plagiarism could be implied since the tale makes one think of "The Headless Horseman" and there would be some truth only, in that the fictitious John Bell Booth most certainly would have read Washington Irving's wonderful novel "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow". I assure you that Uncle Arthur Poynor never was exposed to any such literary treasure, since he never learned to read and, he told this story to me. He learned by living.
Uncle Arthur related this story one Summer, prior to World War II when I was visiting my Aunt Blanche and Uncle Frank Summers on the East side of Benton, Illinois. This was a rough period economically for Southern Illinois, but then, the area, except for the coal mines never enjoyed any boom times. Aunt Blanche's twin sons, Leonard and Frank, sons of a previous marriage to a Frank Barlow lived a few miles up the road to the East. A sort of family regrouping during periods of need. Arthur, at that time was in his waning years and died shortly thereafter. What a fabulous character he was and a story-teller to make Mark Twain stop and listen. My earliest years in The Hills of Hamilton County were made pleasant listening to his ghost stories or any kind of story when there were family get togethers and we young'uns were relegated to a back room while the old folks sat around the fireplace, chewed tobacco, sang or played the fiddle or in Leonard Barlow's case, played the guitar, and told their own stories.
That Summer, to while away the hours, we talked and we talked. I told him of a Tarzan and Jane movie I had seen at the Zeigler Ritz Theatre that Winter. He especially loved hearing about Tarzan and Jane swimming in a beautiful clear jungle pool. It was natural that Arthur would love this since he was born crippled with a clubbed left foot that turned completely to the inside. I imagine that he never went to school because his relations decided he would never be useful for anything but sitting around the cabin whittling and this he did all his life. I'm sure he never swam in any beautiful pool with a lovely lady or swam anywhere and beautiful ladies only peopled his dreams. Early on, I had trouble situating Arthur in the Poynor genealogy but given that Aunt Orilla Harellson had his name and Lorne's on the huge marker she had installed in the Poynor Graveyard, it is assumed he, like Lorne was her son, for sure, he was Uncle Ottoway (Uncle Pet)'s son.
Aunt 'Rill, Orilla Harrelson owned the Eight Sided House that was a legend along the "Goshen Road" in Hamilton County, noted for the "Cracker's Knob Trading Post nearby. It was declared a State Monument but, unfortunately, vandals burned any remaining vestiges.
The Mellonville Trader sold jug whiskey and the name 'Cracker's Knob' came from the more excitable or soused, or both, competing by butting heads until one dropped.That hard cider would mistreat you, sometimes the "Sweet" Cider could also be treacherous.
The beautiful winding oak staircase in Aunt Rill's home came by barge down the Illinois River to the Mississippi, up the Ohio to Shawneetown and by freighter's wagons along the Goshen Road to Mellonville
For the sake of the story, I have Poor Arthur living with Lorne Poynor and his wife Wilma in a small log cabin alongside the road that ran in front of my Grandma's house, down a hill to Lorne's before climbing to Uncle Glendall and Mabel Poynor's farm. He did, in fact, live here for a long period. Farther up this road, you arrived at Randolph's Corner where Old Man Nalley and his brood farmed and made whiskey. Lorne Poynor distilled whiskey also and he sampled a lot of his own product. It was his main source of revenue. At the time of the story, both clans had their stills hidden away in the huge and dangerous limestone cave in the woods behind the Little Hill School. Lorne also had an old gentle mule that Arthur would ride from time to time when he went visiting. When the visit was to Macedonia or McLeansboro, travel was by wagon.
By a stroke of luck, I was included in a visit to the Hamilton County Fair in the mid '30s, with my Dad, Mother, Wilma and Lorne Poynor. He had been at the corn squeezins so he was troublesome to the point that my Dad finally knocked him on hie back onto a pile of old lumber. He was stuck by a protruding nail and I was scared that our Fair visit would end there. Some antiseptic and a bandage at the Fair Dispensary took care of the problem. Lorne was not one to allow a puncture wound slow him down.
Main Story
Macedonia, Hamilton County, Illinois, USA, a few days before the turn into the 20th century. Attorney David R. Poynor, County School Commissioner, called Judge Poynor by his friends, turned the corner across from the Main Store and continued down the plank sidewalk towards his office. Owen Kern, Schoolmaster in McLeansboro was waiting for him and attacked right away about overdue operating funds for his school in McLeansboro.. His student load had increased from 32 to 53.
They were at the point on the boardwalk where, one gibbous moonlit night, with clouds causing shadows on the dirt street and boardwalk. Owen and two of his fellow teenagers had rigged the skeleton from Doc Albert's office to swing down from the overhead boardwalk cover. Judge Poynor was their unknown victim but they had not planned on him pulling his Peacemaker and putting all six rounds through Doc Albert's pride and joy. All three of the miscreants scattered and maintained a very low profile after Judge Poynor swore he would send the perpetrators to the Benton Jail. Many years later, Owen told the story to me in Zeigler, Illinois, where he was Principal of the Leiter Junior High School where I attended first, seventh and eighth grades. He was a great teacher, school administrator, Boy Scout Leader and all-around fine man and he was my friend.
When he told me that story, he and I were on our way to West Frankfort to see the Chief of Police who had received a request from the Tuscon Police to pick-up and question my brother Bud and Owen's son, Bob (Gooney) Kern. It seems they were positively identified by a superette owner, an hysterical woman, who said, after seeing their photos at the Airbase, "If it's not them, it's their brothers." Owen and I swore to high heaven that she was wrong and the Frankfort cop believed us and so wired Tuscon. Later, it turned out that it was two guys from nearby Royalton, completely unknown to Bud and Gooney who had robbed the store. A strange world sometimes, but back to Macedonia when Owen was 20 or so and not well into his seventies.
Judge Poynor said, "I know Owen. Every teacher and Principle in the county are on my butt for their funds but I can't release anything until the County Commissioners tell me I have the money available. I know you went from 32 students to 53, but I also know you and your young Assistant are doing a fine job. In fact, I want to talk to you about how you found such a gem of a schoolteacher as young as she." Owen replied, "I got her from Southern Illinois Normal University at Carbondale. But I have to warn you, their graduates are all very very young and mostly females. For the moment, the only requirements for entry are being 16-1/2 years old, read and write fairly well, know some history and government as well as a tad of math. They graduate after a year and a half."
"I imagine the school scouts from Benton or Mt. Vernon were in the outhouses when she was interviewed. Anyway, I convinced her to come to McLeansboro. The rest were so young in manner that they turned me off."
"That's my problem Owen. the young female teacher I have in the Little Hill School down in Poynorland where you know I grew-up is younger than a lot of those overgrown corn-fed boys and girls in her classes and they are driving her up that big tree in front of the school. If all her students were like Lee and David Weston, her life would be a joy but she also has some rowdies like Wyman Nally and Johnny Glass. I really don't know how much longer she can take it. I need an older man in there who'll not spare the rod."
"In that case, Judge, you better put some flyers up along the Goshen Road. Get someone to nail 'em up in Shawneetown and as far east in Kentucky as possible." Judge Poynor did this.
A copy of Judge Poynor's broadside was seen by a young man teaching school in Owingsville, Kentucky, bored to death and itching for adventure away from home and farther west. He had visions of wild Indians and frontier forts. Owingsville was a dinky settled little town in the western foothills of the Appalachian Mountains to the east of the Capitol, Frankfort. He had grown up to the tales of Daniel Boone, Davie Crockett and James bowie and he knew the frontier was slowly disappearing as churches and schools moved West. John Bell was visiting Frankfort, Kentucky when he happened to see Judge Poynor's flyer.
John Bell's Daddy had named him after Confederate General John Bell Hood, affectionately called "Sam" by his fellow generals. General Sam Hood commanded the Texas Brigade (a Division) when he lost an arm in the Devil's Den trying to take Little Round Top from the Maine Regiment entrenched above it, during the Battle of Gettysburg. He later commanded the whole Confederate Army but resigned his position and returned to being a Lieutenant General when the Union Army whipped him badly in Atlanta. He also lost a leg during the latter campaigning. That he had found his place in the hearts of hardcore rebels is a given.
So John Bell Booth sat down and pennned a carefully organized and well written letter to Judge Poynor and lo and behold, he gets a rapid reply naming a reasonable salary and offering paiment of his transportation to McLeansboro, Illinois. His trip takes him up to the Ohio River for a flatboat ride downriver to Shawneetown. He tags along with a wagon train hauling some high priced woodwork up the Goshen Road to Mellonville, near Macedonia. Shortly after, he arrives in McLeansboro and Judge Poynor carries him down to Randolph corner, where the Little Hill School was located.
Now, we are talking about rural Southern Illinois farm country, very isolated from any source of social intercourse except for occasional crowded round dances held in private homes, so John Bell Booth spends a lot of time reading and trying to figure out how to sell the corn and hams that the local farmers give him in lieu of cash money. The corn seems to find takers fairly easily in that Old Man Nally and Lorne Poynor both need a source of corn for their sour mash, and they do have cash customers for their "Smart Aleck" whiskey. Judge Poynor and Owen Kern had wined and dined John Bell in McLeansboro. They knew solitude would be his lot in Poynorland unless he had an adventurous spirit and liked to hunt, or found a sweetheart. At the time, there were eighteen taverns and no churches in Mcleansboro. The nearest church was a mile East of Macedonia on the Dahlgren Road. That road led South from the Benton - McLeansboro pike to Randolph Corner and the Little Hill School.
Now, a man named Joe Clark had a sort of machine shop that did some welding repairs and had a small produce counter in his shop. He also ran a sawmill and a grist mill Southeast of the Poynor graveyard where they sawed the rough lumber that went to build the farmhouses and barns scattered around the area. This was Poynorland. The land had been homesteaded by, among others, the Poynor Brothers, David Robertson, Ambrose Blackwell, John D., Schuyler C., Daniel A, Ottaway and Theophilus, all very historical and melodious names. John D. moved on farther west to eventually pursue a law career in Popular Bluff, Missouri. Into this thriving farm community, John Bell enthusiastically settled and began his frontier school period. The enthusiasm did not last long for soon, boredom overtook John Bell and he longed for the more active social life if Owington, Kentucky. However, he was an adventurer or he wouldn't have moved West, so he looked around to get to better know his neighborhood. Despite the warnings of danger, he had extensively inspected The Cave. It was in his back yard so this was only natural. The Sour Mash distillers finally tolerated him rather than banging away with their double barrelled shotguns.
The mule and worn saddle they furnished him were better than what he used bacl home so he was happy with his transportation.
The fine people around Poynorland had John Bell to dinner at their homes where they filled him with home-made bread, country ham, fried chicken and you name it. He knew he wouldn't lack for food in this fine farm country where everyone grew what they needed. What he would lack was young feminine company. He looked around and decided that the prospects were rather thin on the ground. So he became an explorer. He visited the cave despite the warnings, wandered down to Greasy Creek, watched the saw-mill operate until the whining blade drove him away. He even found the little water fall in the woods a mile beyond Logan and Florie Darnell's place, and this became a favorite to cool off on hot Sunday afternoons. Then, after the locals had more or less embellished their tales about the Trading Post at Mellonville, near the eight sided house, he decided to pay it a visit. After all, it was on the Goshen Road so travellers would be there to tell of doings in the big wide world. It wasn't all that long since the War of 1812, The War Between the States, or Tecumseh's rebellion and the Battle of Tippecanoe, so life was still rough along the Frontier.
There were rumors that a Preacher had bought quite a bit of land around the Trading Post and Preachers had been know to sharply curtail fun and games activities, so his Saturday evening would involve a visit to the famed Trading Post. Now, John Bell was not a tetotaleer but he did not like to curtail his usual evenings with too much alcohol, so he decided to stay with Sweet Cider during his Saturday outing. It was still bright and sunshiny during his ride up to the Post so all was well with him. He stopped by to visit a short while with the Harrelsons and then rode over to the store.
It was a very satisfying visit and the Sweet Cider was very fine tasting. During the last Winter, the barrell being used had been exposed to some very cold temperatures and the owner's clerk had removed a lot of frozen water before relocating the barrell. The result was a Sweet Cider that had increased quite a bit in alcholic content.
As he rode South in a night that had become chilly under fast moving broken cumulous clouds and a gibbous Moon, John Bell began to sing an Old Civil War song written by Walter Kittredge, "Tenting on the Old Camp Grounds...". It provided him with company from his thoughts of goblins flitting about and the shifting shadows along the dusty road. He was singing at the top of his lungs when he came abreast of the road branching in from Logan Darnell's farm where sat Uncle Arthur, wearing his old slouch hat and overcoat hunced up against the chill, on his patient old mule silently admiring the singing.
John Bell's imagination had enhanced every shadow seen along the way and when Uncle Arthur opened his mouth to say Hello, John Bell gave rein to his mule and took off as if the "Headless Horseman" was in fact after him. His hallowing caused Grand-ma Poynor to look outside, brought Lorne Poynor out to look as he thundered past yelling and screaming as if the very demons of Hell were after him.
Glendall happened to be out front and wondered what had spooked the wild horseman who galloped so dangerously past his house. Everyone saw or heard John Bell on his way South until he finally reined up at Frank's Fort simply because the mule had gone as far as he was ever going. John Bell traded his mule for a ride with some haulers heading for Shawneetown and Judge Poynor started hunting a new Schoolmaster. This time he hoped to hire a non-drinker and vowed to never forget to warn them about the rowdy bunch at "Cracker's Knob".
HUGHEY L. WESTON. May 1, 2011
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01/18/2014 12:52 AM
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Re: Midnite Ride (subject to editing) from Dad
Thank you so much for posting your story. I am Owen Kern's granddaughter and I so appreciate getting to read such kind words about my grandfather! He was such a wonderful man, and a terrific grandpa. It's been so long ago that I heard the story about the skeleton, and I was so young, that I had remembered few details. Thanks for giving me a little visit from him after all of these years!
i2canspl!
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01/18/2014 03:16 PM
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Re: Midnite Ride (subject to editing) from Dad
Nice work, OP!
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