A Cruel November

by David Parmer

It was an anxious November on Riffle Run for the widow Dochie (Graff) Vankirk. It was the second anniversary of her husband's death. Jim had died in 1942. Of her six children, Helen, 21 years old, was still at home and the older girls had married and were busy raising families. But both her sons had been drafted. Young John had been pulled from high school and Charles had been still a newlywed when the draft took him. Doshie watched each day for Pres Bragg, the Route 2 Orlando mail carrier, hoping that a letter would come from one or both of their two sons serving in the United States Army in Europe. It had been a cold November. Snow had fallen on several days and a crust of icy snow lay on the ground. The radio news sounded optimistic that the war would soon be over and her sons would be coming home, safe and sound. But soon the news would come in telegrams from the War Department. It would be a cruel November for the Vankirk family.

The James and Dochie Graff Vankirk Family

James Vankirk, born in 1877, was the son of Robert Vankirk and Etta Riffle Vankirk. In 1910, James married Dochie Graff, the daughter of James Graff and Mary Ellen Blake. James and Dochie took up married life on the left fork of Riffle Run and joined together as a peaceful farm family. Children came fast for Jim and Dochie. Daughters, Rose, Retha, and Olive were first three born, followed by the first son, Charles Henry, who was born in 1919, the fourth daughter, Helen, and the youngest child, John, who was born in 1925. In 1926, the oldest daughter Rose married Pearl Wine. The following year, Rethe married Emmett Conrad, son of Dr. Ord Conrad and Effie (Ocheltree) Conrad. The third daughter Olive married Lester Mick in 1935. Charles Henry also decided he liked the Mick family and married Lester’s sister, Charlene in 1942. By the time the Vankirk’s peaceful farm life on Riffle Run was changed by bombs falling from the air at Pearl Harbor, only the two youngest children, Helen and John were unmarried. John was a sophomore at Burnsville High School and Helen was at home. The oldest son, Charles Henry was employed in Akron and living there with his bride, Charlene.

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Top left: Doshie (Graff) Vankirk

Left above: brother and sister, John and Helen Vankirk

The Vankirk Family. back row: Henry, Rethe, Olive, Doshie, Jim, Rose. front: Helen, John

Death of the Father

James Robert Vankirk was a timber man. In his younger days, when he was known as “Jim Bobby,” there was plenty of timber in northern Braxton County, and many trees had felt his axe and cross-cut saw. In 1942, although the easily reached tracts of timber had long been cut, there were still pockets of hard-to-reach timber on the ridge dividing Oil Creek and Little Kanawha waters that a timber man with a portable sawmill could cut for the landowner. Although he was 65, Jim still felt like a young man when he was in the woods looking up at a tall tree, visualizing which way it should fall.
In early November 1942 however, Jim did not go to the woods because he was too sick to arise from his bed. Dochie sent for Doc Trimble in Burnsville who shortly arrived in his 1937 Chevrolet, with bag in hand. The doctor gave Dochie the bad news that Jim was suffering from typhoid fever and that his condition was sure to get worse. For ten days the ravages of the disease made steady progress in Jim’s weakening body until it prevailed. As war raged in the Pacific and in Europe, Jim died on November 20, 1942. It was a cruel November for the Vankirk family.

Right above: James Robert Vankirk
Right below: John Vankirk

Selective Service Calls for John

A war in Europe and a war in the Pacific being fought on an all-out scale devoured the ranks of young American men. More and more manpower was needed by the armed services and the Selective Service System was up to the task of furnishing it. John was still in high school when he turned eighteen years of age, and Uncle Sam said “I Want You.” John was inducted into the United States Army in December 1943.

On D-Day, June 6, 1944 Private John Vankirk now part of the 121st Infantry Regiment of the 8th Army Division, had been on a transport ship in a convoy half way across the Atlantic. Two weeks later, as the first light of day illuminated the sea and wispy fog evaporated into the early dawn sky off the coast of Normandy, the convoy, warships of every description, filled the sea to the horizon. The sight was astonishing and terrifying, depending on from which side the view was seen. Such an invasion armada had never before been seen. It was a time of history.

John was off loaded on the Normandy beach. His infantry regiment had received its training at Camp Croft in South Carolina and had left in convoy for Europe in May 1944. John Vankirk recalls that the convoy trip to England took 28 days and he was “sick 31 days of them.” John was well enough to go up on deck one day and recalls that there were ships as far as the eye could see. The convoy arrived in England on June 16th, 1944 and two days later the regiment was again in landing ships and was being ferried across the English Channel to Utah Beach at Normandy.

In the early 1800’s, John Vankirk’s maternal great-grandfather, Andrew Graff, left Germany and came to America, not only for the opportunities it offered, but to also avoid the chronic generational wars which plagued the European continent. It seemed cruel irony that, in June 1944, a hundred years after his great-grandfather left Europe to avoid war, John Vankirk found himself face to face with the German Wehrmacht in western France in a fight for his life.

Upon landing in Normandy on June 18th, the 121st Infantry Regiment immediately engaged in hotly contested battles with entrenched German forces in the western-most peninsula of France. Protected by hedgerows and heavily fortified pill boxes, the German forces were skillful fighters and did not give up easily. By the end of September 1944, and after nearly 13,000 casualties, the 8th Division finally secured the Crozon peninsula. Fortunately, John Vankirk emerged from this campaign battle weary but unscathed. The war was not going so well, however, in northeastern France. In early November 1944, John and the 121st Infantry Regiment were transported by train to eastern France to the edge of the foreboding, and German occupied, Hurtgen Forest.

The Hurtgen Forest

Roughly fifty square miles in size and situated along the Franco-German border, the Hurtgen Forest was thickly covered with fir trees, with few openings or clearings, and crossed only by trails. The forest was dark and dank, and stiffly defended by German forces well familiar with its terrain, and well armed with the dreaded 88’s and other equally deadly artillery pieces.

The battle for the Hurtgen Forest had started in September 1944 but had gone poorly. Air support and tanks were mostly useless because of the cover of the forests and the inability to know the location of the enemy. German artillery adjusted the fuses of artillery shells to explode on contact with the treetops which resulted in a downward blast of shrapnel and splintered wood. Needless to say, foxholes were useless in providing cover from these direct overhead blasts and casualties mounted. At the end of November, John and Company “L” were slowly advancing through the low-hanging fir branches when the tell-tale scream of the German 88’s brought the unit’s advance to a halt and a frantic search for cover. For Private John Vankirk there was no cover as hot shrapnel dug deeply into the top of his shoulder. It was not a fatal wound, but for the time being, the chunk of metal which had shattered his collar bone, rendering his arm useless, ended his further involvement in the fight for the Hurtgen Forest. John became one of the 33,000 American casualties to German artillery, mine fields, and snipers to fall in this wooded cathedral for the dead. The American forces finally routed the Germans from the Hurtgen Forest in February, 1945, five months after the initial assault.

Left above: map showing the Hurtgen Forest
Right: photo of the fighting in Hurtgen Forest

Meanwhile, John had been evacuated to a military hospital in secured France where the shrapnel was removed and surgical repairs were made to his collar bone. He spent two and a half months recuperating from his wound. After arriving at the hospital, the obligatory Western Union telegram was sent to his mother, Dochie (Graff) Vankirk, advising that her son John was wounded in battle. Little did John know, but his mother just the week before had received another military telegram informing her of the death of her oldest son, Private Charles Henry Vankirk, who died on November 26, 1944 of wounds received in combat. It was another cruel November for Dochie Vankirk. After a two month stay recuperating at a military hospital somewhere in France, John returned to duty with the 121st Infantry Regiment throughout the remainder of the war in Germany. Afterward, John and his regiment were re-posted to Camp Lucky Strike in France to ready for re-deployment to Japan. Then there was Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the end of the war for John.

Charles Henry Vankirk

Born on Riffle Run in January 1919, he was known to his family and friends as “Henry.” His first brush with education was at the Riffle Run School which was a short distance from his home. In 1933, after completing eight grades, he began high school at Burnsville, a three mile walk over the rock-based road built by convict labor from the state penitentiary at Moundsville. The Depression was a bad time to start high school; times were hard and money was scarce, and an able bodied young man like Henry felt an obligation to leave school and help support his family. Consequently, Henry left school after his freshman year and went to Clarington, Ohio for employment. Henry’s sister, Olive, and her husband, Lester Mick, also lived in Clarington, and were a big help to him. Henry was a good worker. Even though times were tough and jobs were scarce, he worked steadily enough to support himself and to send a little money home. Henry also found time to take a shine to Charlene Mick of Fleshers Run, the youngest sister of his brother-in-law Lester Mick; and that “shine” led to something permanent. Henry and Charlene were married in March 1942.

The Selective Service Calls for Henry

The initial World War II military draftees were single men and at first the pool of single men was more than adequate to fulfill the needs of the military services. However, by 1944 the requirements of the military exceeded the ranks of single men and consequently married men without children were placed in line for conscription. In April 1944, Henry received an induction notice from the Selective Service Board in Monroe County, Ohio and was sent to Camp Fannin, Texas for basic military training. To answer the call by the War Department for more troops, green, inadequately trained soldiers were quickly processed through rudimentary training and by October 1944 Henry was in France with his military unit, the 26th Infantry Division.

Right: Henry Vankirk
Left: 26th Infantry Division Patch

A November Without End

The Moselle region of northern France is a picturesque place in normal times, much visited by tourists. However, during two wars in the 20th century, many young men found Moselle to be a deadly place, despite the rolling hills, placid rivers, and romantic fields of grapes and wheat. To a country boy like Henry Vankirk, the scene was pleasing, but fraught with danger.

Private Charles Henry Vankirk was in France just more than a month when he suffered his mortal wound. He did not see the rolling hills, placid rivers and romantic fields of grapes and wheat. The France he saw was cold, muddy, ear-splitting noisy, and deadly.

Today, sparrows fly high over the Moselle and the white crosses of the many military cemeteries which are the final resting places for the tens of thousands of American servicemen who fell on the soil of France during the second great war of the 20th century. Although Henry’s mortal remains were first interred in the United States Military Cemetery at Limay, France, a silent companion to his equally silent comrades, his mother Dochie felt that Henry, her oldest son, would be better off buried in the home of his shortened youth. Petitioning the government for a re-burial, the mother’s request was granted. Henry was re-interred by military funeral in the family cemetery on Riffle Run, there to rest until his government once again asked for another sacrifice from Henry for the construction of the Burnsville Dam.

We remember our fathers and uncles, now our grandfathers and great uncles, only a few still living, who saved the world 65 years ago. Let us remember them all, living and dead, on Armistice Day November 11.

An Old Prevaricator

The previous entry was about Bill and Minnie Copeland's life in Orlando. This entry looks at Bill's special talent for telling a tall tale.

by David Parmer

In the days before radio and television, the art of conversation held sway in many homes in Orlando. Whether it be everyday gossip, stories of the "olden days," ghost stories, or tall-tale telling, the people of the Oil Creek area relished a modicum of prevarication to go along with the truth of the matter. One need only to read the weekly columns of Uncle Zeke’s Buzzardtown News to understand the role of "truth stretching" in livening up day-to-day life in Orlando. Of course, Uncle Zeke was probably the number one dissimulator in central West Virginia, or at least he was the most well known. However, there was one storyteller in Orlando to whom Uncle Zeke humbly accepted the back seat and that was Bill Copeland, the Prevaricator of Orlando.

Left: P. N. "Uncle Zeke" Blake

Right: Bill Copeland

The Fine Art of Prevarication

During his days in Orlando, Bill was renowned as a story-teller. As mentioned above, the state of conversation in daily life before the days of radio and television is in stark contrast to the mind-numbing modern era where the art of conversation doesn’t exist and the television set is always blaring. During the early 1900’s, country schools such as Burnsville High School fielded literary and debate societies and oratorical and debate contests were common in even smaller communities such as Orlando. Families which had enjoyed practically no formal education encouraged and fostered the art of conversation and communication skills. Uncle Zeke who had formal education of less than three terms wrote a newspaper column read throughout West Virginia and adjoining states, and was a fair hand at turning out poetry and comedic, satiric and thoughtful columns. Families carried on political discussions at the dinner table, under the old Elm tree, or on the porch after dinner. Nighttime conversations often included the telling of ghost stories and tall tales, allowing for developing the art of prevarication.

A Master of Prevarication

One recognized master prevaricator in Orlando during the early 1900’s was Bill Copeland. Perhaps the hour long walks to and from his Burnsville employment provided the impetus to conjure up tall tales and made the daily walks pass quickly. Whatever the motivation, Bill was given his due by none other than Uncle Zeke, also a renowned teller of tall tales.

~ In his January 22, 1918 column, Uncle Zeke recounted that "Bill Copeland says one morning as he was going out to work for the Hope Gas Company, he found the sun froze fast to a big chunk of ice and he blew his breath on it and thawed it loose and forthwith it hastened on its journey."

~ Recognizing Bill’s penchant for the tall tale, in his August 27th, 1918 column, Uncle Zeke admiringly wrote that "Some people can tell a lie but won’t, but Bill Copeland says he can tell the truth but won’t."

~ A few months later, Uncle Zeke, still in awe of his cohort in tall tale telling, stated in his November 12th column, that "Bill Copeland of Orlando has dissolved partnership with the truth."

~ Uncle Zeke also admired Bill’s horticultural skills. In a December 10th, 1918 column, he paid homage to Bill’s magnificent garden, "Bill Copeland says out of his crop of pumpkins this year he had a few as big as Charleston." However, Uncle Zeke wasn’t shy about reporting Bill’s horticultural setbacks.

~ In his October 7th, 1919 column, Bill advised his friend Uncle Zeke that "his pumpkin crop was almost a failure this year. He says his smallest one only weighed one hundred and eighty pounds."

~ In the early days of radio (which was initially called "wireless telegraphy"), Uncle Zeke quoted Bill who was informing the public that he had the "contract of cleaning off the right of way for the new wireless telegraph, from here to there."

~ Later, as a newfangled aeroplane happened to fly over Orlando, Bill Copeland, according to Uncle Zeke on August 3, 1922, advised the boys on the porch at Charlie Knight’s store that the plane was "looking out a route for a wireless telegraph line."

Right: Some of the fellows on the porch at Charlie Knight's store.

~ When it came to military secrets, Bill however had a weakness with divulging new military technology. In his post World War I column of January 28, 1919 column, Uncle Zeke chastised Bill for revealing that "Uncle Sam has invented a gun so big that it would take all of Union Hill (a community near Crawford) tied on a ramrod to make it a set of wipers."
~ Uncle Zeke did admit that Bill, on occasion could be truthful. On January 21, 1919, Zeke reported that "Bill Copeland told the truth the other day, and he hasn’t felt well ever since."

~ Uncle Zeke was a great reader of Bill’s facial expressions and said, on February 19th, 1921, that "Of course, I won’t mention any name, but it is real funny to see Bill Copeland when he hears the truth told."

~ Uncle Zeke was critical of Bill’s total lack of control when it came to letting the ‘cat out of the bag’ about upcoming court actions. Zeke reported, on April 19, 1921, that "Bill Copeland says that Dr. Peck has threatened to indict Henry Cole at the next term of court for being so slow." Zeke observed with a straight face that his advice that men who live in glass houses, such as Doc Peck, "shouldn’t throw stones."

Right: Henry Cole and Dr. Peck

~ Uncle Zeke lamented in his December 7, 1921 column that Bill had suffered a serious injury when "A lie jumped a cog the other day and struck Bill on the knee and nearly put him out of commission."

~ Junior Copeland, Bill’s grandson, told this writer that his father related an episode to him which he recalled from his youth in Orlando. It seems that Bill was seen by a neighbor walking with great haste up the railroad track in Orlando and called to him to stop and tell him "a lie." Bill, seeming to be in deepest despair, kept walking by at a fast pace, saying "I don’t have time to stop. Mary Dolan at the Dolan Hotel fell and broke her leg and I’m going after Doc Peck." Of course, the Dolan girls at the Dolan Hotel were held in highest regard by the residents of Orlando and the neighbor rushed to the hotel to check on Mary’s injury. Of course, to Bill Copeland, the master prevaricator of Orlando, there is a sucker born every minute, as famously said by P. T. Barnum, and his hapless neighbor made the trip to the Dolan Hotel to find all the Dolan girls in fine health.

A Buckeye in Orlando

by David Parmer

Bill Copeland – An Ohio Buckeye

No one in Orlando ever called Bill by his given name of William and this little story will not be a trend- setter. Bill Copeland was born in 1867 in Ohio at Loudonville, a small town near Columbus. In 1888, Bill and his bride, the former Minnie Slyh, were married in Columbus, Ohio. Early in his working career, he worked in saw mills in the Columbus area and developed his skills in manipulating logs against whirling steel blades. Bill’s grandson, Earl "Junior" Copeland of Akron, tells us that Bill worked in a “hickory mill’ in Ohio but when the mill closed in 1906 as the result of a lack of hickory trees, he packed up his family and moved to West Virginia to a new job in a hickory mill at Burnsville. Junior’s father, Earl Copeland was then eight years of age.

In 1906, Burnsville was a boom town and was the home of several timber related businesses. Orlando native John Feeney conducted a furniture factory. D. H. Gowing Company operated a large veneering mill near the mouth of Oil Creek. The Jane Lew Lumber Company operated a planing mill on Oil Creek near the mouth of Dumpling Run. The Burnsville Boom and Lumber Company floated logs from the upper Little Kanawha to its Burnsville sawmill and for rail shipment, the Burnsville Handle and Dimension Company made specialty wood products, including hickory spokes for automobiles, handles and baseball bats and the Burnsville Wagon Company with about twenty employees not only manufactured substantial and much in demand farm wagons, but also turned out hickory spokes for the Ford Motor Company for the new-fangled automobil. The Pioneer Pole and Boom Company was another Burnsville-based timber-related company. With many timber-related companies constantly seeking labor, the skills of Bill Copeland had no trouble finding employment.

Left: Gowing Veneer Company: 1) first building in flood, 2) workers posing on logs, 3)second building, rebuilt after fire, 4) detail from photo #3.

Right: Wooden spokes in Model T wheels.

A Shoe Leather Commuter

Bill and Minnie Copeland settled with their young family in the railroad town of Orlando, four miles east of Burnsville. Living in Orlando and working in Burnsville before the day of the automobile was no problem for the laborer of the early 1900’s. The four mile trip to Burnsville simply added about an hour each way to the work day which usually started at 7 a.m. and ended at 5 p.m. Today this extra burden seems unreasonable but during that day and age it was of little consequence. We are not sure how long Bill continued his daily walk to his job in Burnsville but by the early 1920’s most of the timber-related companies had either ceased business operations or had moved to more timber-rich areas.

Children of Bill and Minnie

The children of Bill and Minnie Copeland were born in Ohio, but they found their spouses in Orlando. The oldest, Laura, married Oscar L. “Dock” Henline and resided the rest of her life in Orlando, dying there in 1966 at age 77. When she was young, her first fancy for a boy in uniform was Dock’s cousin, Frank Henline, but she eventually married Dock who was also a World War I doughboy.

Dock and Laura had no children on their own but they adopted a son, Jimmie.

Left: Oscar "Dock" Henline in uniform and Laura Copeland

Right: Semantha (Skinner) Henline, Doc's aunt, and Minnie Copeland, Laura's mother.

Lester, the oldest boy, was born in 1892. He married Nora Oldaker, daughter of Sylvester and Annie Oldaker. Lester worked for the Atlantic Foundry in Akron and died in Ohio around 1980.

Earl, the third child of Bill and Minnie Copeland, married Lena Godfrey, daughter of Tom and Bridget Godfrey of Orlando. When he was a young man, Earl laid track for log trains on timber operations in central West Virginia. Later Earl and his family moved to the Akron where he died in 1964.

Left: Earl and Lena (Godfrey) Copeland.

Right : Lena's younet siblings Edward and Nellie Godfrey, and children Junior and Frank Copeland with Earl Copeland's auto. Thanks to Pat Reckart for the photo.

The youngest Copeland son Everett, a house painter, died in Ohio around 1961.

A Grievous Injury

Bill’s grandson, Junior Copeland, recalls that while working at the hickory mill in Burnsville, his grandfather suffered a grievous injury when his right hand was nearly severed by a whirling saw blade. Fortunately, in the early part of the 1900’s, Burnsville enjoyed the services of excellent doctors in Dr. John W. Kidd, Dr. L. L. McKinney, Dr. J. R. Hughart and Dr. W. F. Leech, the latter of whom operated a large hospital which was located on the lot adjacent to the future M. P. Church, South which would be built around 1913. Recalling the family tradition about his grandfather’s injury, Junior advises that there was some debate about whether to go ahead and remove the hand entirely. However, his grandfather told the doctors to sew it up and if it didn’t work they could go back and take the hand off. Fortunately, the repair job worked as far as the re-attaching went, although there was permanent nerve damage with a lack of feeling in the hand and the hand was somewhat drawn. Otherwise, the re-attached hand lasted Bill a lifetime.

The End of the Sawdust Era

Just as a shortage of trees brought an end to the woodworking industry in Ohio and brought Bill to West Virginia, the same shortage of trees came a little later in West Virginia and brought an end of Bill’s employment in Burnsville. Thereafter, Bill worked in timber cutting, house painting and carpentry and also for a time with the Hope Gas Company, none of which proved to be steady work.

Leaving Orlando

By the early 1920’s Bill was earning a living in Orlando painting houses and doing carpentry work. In his Buzzardtown News columns in the early 1920’s Uncle Zeke frequently mentioned for whom Bill was painting which no doubt led to additional work for him. Bill’s grandson, Junior Copeland also recalls that, at some point, his grandfather worked for the railroad, or perhaps with a timber company, loading logs on railcars for shipment. Although Bill was approaching 60 years of age in 1925, his working years were not yet done and to get steady work, which he could not find in Orlando, Bill and Minnie moved to the Marion County village of Grant Town. Bill’s grandson Junior does not believe that his grandfather worked in the coal mines at that place although in 1925 coal mining at Grant Town employed hundreds of miners.

A Long Wagon Trip Captures a Fancy

Junior Copeland recalls when he was a young boy, perhaps eight or nine years of age, he and his father Earl Copeland visited Hoy Skinner, a native of Orlando and son of Alexander and Anzina (Clark) Skinner, who had moved to a farm at the Mogadore, Ohio around the late 1920’s. The Hoy Skinner farm in Ohio is now beneath the waters of the present Mogadore Reservoir. Junior places a great deal of significance to the visit with his father’s Orlando acquaintance because the Skinner family moved to Ohio in a horse drawn wagon with a cow tethered to the rear. Needless to say, such an extraordinary feat captured the fancy of young Junior.

Right: Akron, Columbus and Mogadore, Ohio and Grant Town and Orlando WV.

Back in the Buckeye State

As did many native residents of Orlando, Buckeye Bill Copeland returned to Ohio for his senior years. The final decades of his life were spent in the Columbus area where he worked digging graves in the historic Union Cemetery. Bill died in 1945 at age 78. His wife Minnie lived to be 103 and died in Akron in 1974. They both were interred in the Union Cemetery in Columbus.

The Fretwells

by David Parmer

Alma Fretwell

Her many friends and family filled the Mount Zion Methodist Church of Orlando. Her six pall bearers, all dressed in black, and remarkable because they were all women, sat solemnly in a pew as Reverend Richmond spoke of her suffering and asked divine blessings upon her husband John E. Fretwell and her four young children, Stacia Mae, Margie Lou, John Richard and William Alonzo. Alma Gay (Gaston) Fretwell passed away on April 12th, 1937 at the young age of 39 years, after a long and painful illness. Under the direction of Mike Moran, Orlando’s gentleman undertaker, the pall bearers, Mrs. Vada Henline, Mrs. Maysell Bennett, Miss Hattie Alkire, Mrs. Margaret Posey, Mrs. Pearl Edgell and Mrs. Marie Barnett, carried the plain, simple casket to the waiting funeral coach for the solemn journey to the Orlando Cemetery where she would join her young daughter, Laura Rose, who died four years before, and her first born, Virginia, who died in 1922. Requiescant in pace.

Left: Click on this obituary to enlarge it.

Right: Alma (Gaston) Fretwell.

John E. Fretwell, Lumberjack

John E. Fretwell, husband of Alma (Gaston) Fretwell, was born in 1882 at Valley Head in Randolph County to Richard A. and Cynthia (Marple) Fretwell. Reared in timber country, John was engaged in the vocation of timbering for most of his life. When he was a young man, West Virginia was still covered with vast tracts of virgin timber and saw mills were busy converting huge logs into dimension lumber for shipment to urban areas throughout the eastern United States. For a young man who relished the sound of axes and crosscut saws echoing throughout the steep hills, West Virginia was the place to be. However, early in his manhood and seeking adventure, John followed his brother Alonzo to the Canadian wilds of British Columbia which was also enjoying bountiful harvests of virgin timber. Lumberjacking in Canada was little different than in West Virginia and John was sure there was enough timber in British Columbia to last his lifetime. Unfortunately, John ran afoul of the law as the result of a fight. Not waiting for the turning wheel of justice to stop on his marker, he bid adieu to the land of the maple leaf and the Canadian Mounties and returned to the U.S. In 1920, the census has John living in a rooming house in the 7th Ward of Akron, Ohio, but by the following year he was taking a bride in West Virginia.

Left: Map showing West Virginia, Akron and British Columbia.

Right, upper: John Fretwell

Right: a scene from British Columbia

A Restaurateur Gets Married

How John Fretwell came to don the chef’s hat is unknown, but the earliest report of John operating a restaurant in Orlando is the year 1921. When John and Alma married in November 1921 in Burnsville, his occupation was listed as “restaurant business.” At the time of his marriage, John had reached the age of 36. Alma was 23. John and Alma took up residence in a four room house in the Orlando bottom adjacent to the two story building which housed the Odd Fellows Lodge, the Lloyd Skinner barber shop and the Lee Skinner general store. John operated his eatery, known as the “Home Restaurant,” in the Rachel Kidd building, located across from the northern side of the Orlando junction depot. The Kidd building was partitioned in half with the eastern end utilized as the restaurant and the western end operated as a store by Bill Foster and later by Bill Conrad. To accommodate train passengers, John sold packed lunches for twenty five cents as well as ice cream and soft drinks. In April 1926, John sold the restaurant to O. C. Thompson, but re-purchased it in August 1927. He continued to operate the restaurant until 1929 when Bill Conrad, the building’s owner, decided to demolish the building and rebuild a larger one, exclusively to be used as a general store.

John Returns to the Woods

The lure of the timbering industry drew John back to the lumber camps when he lost the lease of his Orlando restaurant. By 1936 John was working for the Cherry River Lumber Company in Webster Springs. By that time he was in his fifties and past his prime as a hewer of trees, which is a young man’s job. John’s son William reports that his father took care of the horses which were used to skid logs from the mountain slopes. According to his young neighbor, Dale Barnett, John also worked as a “lobby hog” in the lumber camps. A job usually filled by older employees, a “lobby hog” worked around the lumber camp doing odd jobs such as bringing in fire wood, building fires, sweeping, and anything else that needed to be done to accommodate the operation of a lumberjack camp.

During Alma’s extended illness, and because of the seriousness of her condition, John was frequently called home from the forests of Webster County. The primitive state of the practice of medicine in rural West Virginia did not bode well for Alma and her family, and she slowly slipped into the clutches of death.

After the death of his wife, John, without immediate family in the area, entrusted his children out to friends in the Orlando area. This was a common practice during the days before the cradle-to-the-grave social programs of the present time. Although dividing the family is not a desirable arrangement by present day standards, in the 1930’s it was the only practical alternative since John’s employment was in a lumber camp in Webster County. Stacie, the oldest daughter, was twelve years of age at the time of her mother’s death and William, the youngest, was but three. The Smith family, consisting of two bachelor brothers, Gene and John, and their niece Miss Hattie Alkire of Meadow Run, took in the oldest boy, Jack, and later the Bill Barnett family and the John Wooddell family of Orlando also provided care for Jack. Bill, the youngest Fretwell child, lived for some time with his Aunt Georgia Skinner and her husband Burt. It is also believed that in addition to providing care for the oldest boy Jack, the Smith family also looked after the youngest son, William. Margie Lou, the second oldest girl of the family, now living at Crestview Manor in Jane Lew, states that as the Fretwell children became older they began to take care of themselves and their father came home to Orlando on weekends to mediate any disputes that would arise between the siblings during the week.

Left: Stacie Fretwell.

Politics

According to Dale Barnett, John Fretwell is remembered as a strong believer in the politics of the Republican Party. He is also remembered as being well read in the affairs of the day and often voiced disdain for the failed social programs of FDR in the 1930’s.

A Recollection of the Burning of Claud Mick’s Barn

Margie (Fretwell) Goldsmith, the youngest daughter of John and Alma Fretwell, now resides in Crestview Manor at Jane Lew. Prior to entering the nursing home, Margie lived in Weston and from time to time would visit the Colonial Restaurant on Main Street in Weston which was operated by Pat (Morrison) Reckart, a native of Orlando. Pat and Margie would frequently reminisce about their early years in Orlando. During the 1940’s the Fretwell family lived in the house located beside St. Michael’s Catholic Church which later was the home of Pat Morrison. The Fretwells lived in this house when Claud Mick’s barn burned in the winter of 1940-1941. Margie advised Pat that she could still hear the wretched cries of the horses which perished in the blaze and that for a long time thereafter she had nightmares of the gruesome pleas of the horses for release. Margie would bury her head in her pillow to escape the terrible dream.

Goodrich

Too old to serve in the military during World War II, John is believed to have served his country by working in the Goodrich Company in Akron which manufactured tires for the war effort. According to his son Bill, John Fretwell’s first employment with Goodrich resulted in a lay-off and when he sought re-employment later he was disqualified because of near blindness in one eye. Because of his youth at the time, Bill is not certain of the years that his father worked for Goodrich but is of the impression that his father worked at Goodrich during the 1930’s. However, that does not seem to jibe with the death date of Alma in 1937 at which time John was working in Webster County for Cherry River Lumber, and the fact that the Fretwell children were in attendance at Orlando School until at least 1942. To this writer, it seems more probable that John was hired at Goodrich during World War II despite the fact that he was over 60 years of age because of manpower shortage during the war years.

Left: From a 1942 advertisement

Right: John Fretwell

Return to West Virginia

Over the past century many sons and daughters of West Virginia migrated for purposes of employment to Ohio or some other industrial state. Many of those migrants felt a strong draw of the mountains and returned to the home of their youth. An aging John returned to West Virginia from Akron and took up residence in Weston but his final resting place was Orlando. He died in 1973 and was laid to rest in the Orlando Cemetery beside his long departed wife and children.

Gravestones for John Fretwell 1882-1973, Alma (Gaston) Fretwell 1897-1937, Arcinia B. Fretwell, stillborn 1922, Laura Rose, 1932-1933.

It’s Sunday – Come Read the Funnies of 1921 with Uncle Zeke!

by David Parmer

By 1921 Uncle Zeke had been writing the Buzzardtown News for over ten years. Never without an opinion about a national or local event, Uncle Zeke was either making his readers smile, laugh, or curse, but hardly ever were his readers indifferent to his musings about what was going on in the nation or on Oil Creek. This article re-lives his ramblings in the Buzzardtown News from 1921.

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February 1, 1921
Crippling Briers
Burr Skinner has actually crippled a few briers this winter.
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That’s Some Parsnip
Listen! O. P. McCord tells this one: He says J. L. Fox dug a parsnip and the family cooked two messes of it, then sent the remainder to George Riffle whose family ate two messes of it and sent the remainder to O. P. McCord and his family ate three messes of it, and then had to throw the remainder away. Some parsnip, eh?

The Greatest Common Divisor
Marion Riffle asked one of his boys the other evening how he was getting along with his arithmetic. “Ohh,” said the boy, “I am having some trouble. The teacher wanted me to find the greatest common divisor.” “Well,” exclaimed Marion, “haven’t they found that fool thing yet? They was lookin’ for it when I was a boy.”
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Who to You, Too
One evening not long ago O. P. McCord walked out upon the hill to look over his farm, something which he had not done for a long time. On nearing a patch of woods an old owl looked out of a big know hole in the tree and said in a loud voice, “Who-who-who?” O. P. said, “It’s McCord, you infernal fool; I thought everybody knew me.”
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The Orlando Literary
At the Orlando literary last Friday night the following question was debated: Resolved: that the State Capitol should be moved to Clarksburg. To affirm, P.A. Moran and Walter Mills; to deny, P. N. Blake and James Griffin. The decision stood two to one in favor of the negative.

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Methuselah
It is said that when Methuselah was a little boy three hundred years old he was very mischievous at school. Of course a boy at that age would be very bashful so when he disobeyed, the teacher would make him sit with the girls. I imagine that this is the reason he never got married in his young days.

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Noah and P. T. Barnum
Some people claim that just as soon as Noah’s ark landed he sold his animals to P. T. Barnum who was in then show business and got drunk on the money. Well, we read of Noah being drunk, but I don’t know where he got his money or booze either.
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Just Listen to This
Someone said there must not be anybody in Buzzardtown but O. P. McCord and Fred Lemley. Listen! Bruce Posey told George Riffle that Mart Posey told Roy Riffle that Rich Posey told Jack Riffle that Ezra Posey said that he heard John Posey tell Ellis Riffle to tell Taylor Riffle that Budde Posey told Marion Riffle that Sanford Posey wanted Lee Riffle to tell Oscar Riffle that Jarrett Fox saw Rye Heater telling Tom Conley that Ernie Fox had overheard Joe Skinner tell Poke Sharp that P. N. Blake said that Fred Lemley told O. P. McCord that "Red” Beckner “wanted Bud Hamilton to keep his infernal hounds at home.

Right: Bud Hamilton, owner of the "infernal hounds."

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February 18, 1921
Take Your Time
Never hurry through life unless you are going for the doctor.
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Big Game Hunters
Ezra Posey and Burr Skinner spent a few days in the mountains recently looking for big game.
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Brains and Beauty
If you are looking for brains and beauty come to Buzzardtown.

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It Sure Beats the Deuce or Contrary as Dick’s Hatband
Well, sir, it beats the deuce. There are some people in this world as contrary as Dick’s hat band and yet they don’t seem to know it.

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It Must Have Been Mail Pouch
The other night O. P. McCord started to laugh and swallowed about a pound of tobacco. He says he very nearly swallowed a whole chew.

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A Year of the Census
Our town is improving very rapidly: we now have one preacher, two section foremen, two bachelors, two old maids, three widows, a Smart Alec, a dude, a tattler, a know-it-all, a liar, about forty church members and a few Christians, six fox hounds, two coon dogs, one fiddler, one banjo picker, one Jew’s harp player, one boozer, and last but not least, plenty to eat and a host of good cooks. Drop in some day when you can’t stay long.
It’s True if Bill Copeland Told It
Well, I’ll be jumped up and befuddled if Bill Copeland isn’t talkin’ of gittin’ up a liar’s contest. Well, Bill can’t be beat. Of course, I won’t mention any name, but it is real funny to see Bill Copeland when he hears the truth told.

Right: Bill Copeland

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See What Holly Griffith Caused
Well, since the State Capitol building has been burned and the penitentiary has been damaged, and Griffith is at large again, I hardly know what to do. I think I will leave West Virginia and move to Webster County where it’s root hog or die.
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That’s the Craziest Thing
What do you think? A feller told me the other day that I must be crazy. Well, if he could notice it, I must be doggone crazy.
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April 19, 1921

Bad Roads is the Cause
John Blake says that if the roads weren’t so bad he could ride his kickless mule to the moon in three hours.

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Spousal Abuse
The housewife seems to be the most cruel person on Earth. Listen: She will beat eggs, whip cream, thresh beans, pound beef, squeeze lemons, mash potatoes, rob bees and kill chickens. And then claim to be so innocent.
Smells like Old Spice
Hogs are so scarce in the community, it would be almost worth a quarter to smell a hog’s breath.

*
Snap Back with Stanback
I have been bothered considerably with headache recently. The doctor said he thought it was caused by insufficient knowledge.

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Loaves and Fishes
O Gee! If I had some lard I would fry some fish if I had any.
He’ll be in Trouble Tonight
It is said that in six days God made heaven and earth and then he rested. Then he made man and rested again. Then he made women and since then neither God nor man has had any rest.
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Champion Angler
Red Beckner, the champion angler of our town, succeeded in landing four dandy suckers recently, the largest being nearly three inches long.
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If Bill Copeland Told It, It Must beTrue
Bill Copeland says that Dr. Peck has threatened to indict Henry Cole at the next term of court for being so slow. See here, Doc, men who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
Left: Dr. Peck

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May 3, 1921
Now, He’s a Plantsman
O. P. McCord says if he had a gallon of molasses he would plant them and raise his own sorghum this year.
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Making Music
As good luck would have it I happened to hear a pig squeal the other day, and it sounded as sweet as Uncle John McCarty playing “Leather Britches” on the fiddle.

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A Big Eater
O. P. McCord doesn’t feel very well at this writing. Neither would I if I would eat a peck of greens at one mess.

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Bug Juice
We have been informed that the devil recently visited Orlando with his holy water, commonly known as bug juice.

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May 24, 1921
He’s Sick
I have been troubled a little of late with neuralgia, rheumatism, and headache, and, to tell the truth, I don’t feel very well myself.

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Winding his Waterbury
I have been so busy the past week that I haven’t got to do anything. I have both the itch and a Waterbury watch, and what time I ain’t a scratchin’ I am windin’ my Waterbury.
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He’s Got No Talent
Archie Jones is learnin’ to play the fiddle, and honestly you can hardly tell it from a Buzzard cluckin’.
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He’s Done Plowing
O. P. McCord actually plowed a patch of potatoes the other evening, something he was never known to do before. It is feared that something awful will happen. His little son Fred says the horse would soon teach him to plow very well.

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He’s Not a Big Man
George Riffle tried for two hours the other day to sit down on his own lap and when he found out he couldn’t he tried to crawl into his pants pocket. Well George is awfully queer, anyhow.
Is it Yams or Sweet Potatoes
Gee Whiz! Mrs. O. P. McCord has six thousand sweet potatoes set out, up to now. Or maybe its only six hundred; it’s a big lot anyhow.

Left: O.P. McCord's wife Della (Hyre) McCord

Right: in Oil Creek, orange sweet potatoes (on the left of this image) are yams. There's a wonderful, milder root vegetable that we call "sweet potatoes". Generally speaking, we're pretty snobby about the superiority of our white sweet potatoes over the commonplace orange yams.

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Jack Benny Didn’t Invent It
Poke Sharp, who has been only thirty five years old for the last forty years, is on the sick list.

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Truth Has a Sharp Edge
Some people say they suppose it would be easy enough to tell the truth if they only knew how.
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Maybe He’ll Buy a New Hat
N. J. Henline says that Joe Skinner’s hat is in a very bad shape since it had a stroke of paralysis some time ago.

Right: Joe Skinner and his hat

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June 8, 1921
No Good Came of It
Tuesday morning just after I got out of bed, I discovered that a nice heifer calf had died, and it so upset Jerooshy that when she went to get breakfast she put sugar in the coffee pot instead of coffee, soft soap in the bread for shortning, baking powder in the sugar bowl and salted the eggs with soda. Gosh, my appetite weren’t much good for a spell. I have a kind of fool headache yet.

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July 6, 1921
What Will She Do Now
Mrs. A. N. Posey is troubled very much over two dish rags that blew away during Saturday’s storm.

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Them’s Big Claws
What do you think? The tarnal crawfish are catching Joe Skinner’s chickens.

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Seasonal Footwear
If the weather keeps on getting hotter, by Jucks, I’ll have to order me a pair of barefooted shoes. .
Cleanliness is Godliness

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It begins to look like some people ought to send their feet to the laundry and their faces to the barber shop.

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They are Both out of Work
It has been said that God made man, and man made money. Then God made bees and bees made honey. It seems that neither man nor bees are doing much at the job at present.

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It’s Almost Time
George Riffle says he will soon have a mess of young chickens, as he has some almost ripe.

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It’s Either Too Late or Too Early
During these short nights, it takes some people half the night to go to bed and the other half to get up.
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August 10, 1921
I’m Glad that is Straightened Out
Biddie Fox says she likes Grafton better than she does Buzzardtown. I suspect she means

Grafton Riffle.

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August 17, 1921
On Women’s Fashions
Women wearing shoes with heels like peggin’ awls, waists that only cover about half the upper cut of the body and skirts that reach far above the shoe tops. I wonder what we’ll see next!

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Where Did He Go
“Bud” Hamilton was somewhere one day last week, but you’d never know where by asking him.

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August 31, 1921
Crop Failure
Ha, Ha, Ha! ‘Jist orter see Bill Copeland’s ‘terbacker patch.

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It’s Those Horse Traders Again
A peculiar looking person passed this way a few days ago. He was almost barefooted and naked. He had long hair and a misshaven beard. I think he was president of the horse traders reunion.
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Boozing Amphibians
Bull frogs must be bootleggers for they keep a yellin’ “Jug-of-rum,” all the time.

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He Needs to Cleanse His Palate
A certain person at the birthday dinner recently mentioned, kept eating pound cake very freely. When someone passed him the bread and asked him if he wouldn’t like a piece of light bread, “Oh, no,” he said; “this corn bread suits my taste exactly; it tastes so much like the corn bread my wife makes.”

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What Won’t They Think of Next
Ernie Fox says just as soon as he can get someone to help him he is going to make him a horse; he got the pattern at the “hoss” traders’ reunion last Friday.

Left: Ernie Fox
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It’s Booze That Talks
I’ll bet a gallon of old hen against a gallon of pick handle that the devil has more people employed at present than any other person on earth. Now put up or shut up; its booze that talks.
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Boogerhole
What do you think of a person who would tear down a garden fence to let cattle in to destroy a woman’s summer’s work. I think such a person ought to be banished to Boogerhole, there to associate with big Boogers, little Boogers, little Boogers, he Boogers, she Boogers, black Boogers, and all other kinds of Boogers until old Nick shall say “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter into the eternal abode of my dark domain.”

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Skygoglin’
Davy Parmer of Orlando has been seen looking a little skygoglin’ at some of the fair sex in our town recently.

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Dog Days
Some people say that every dog has its day. As dog days are now out I wonder what the balance of Bud Hamilton’s dogs will do, as there was not enough dog days to go round all of them.

“Elder” Apples
What do you think? People are making apple butter out of elderberries this year.

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Wedded Bliss
Well, who would have thunk it. And yet I guess it is so, at least everybody is tellin’ it. Davy Parmer told it twice, and Sonny Conrad is still tellin’ it. And Pat Moran said by “tunder” it is a fact: “That John Dolan and Miss Addie McCauley were recently joined in the Holy bonds of hemlock E Pluribus Unum, world without end. Amen. Miss McCauley is the accomplished daughter of Sam and Cecelia McCauley of Weston and John Dolan is the young proprietor of the Dolan Hotel at Orlando. May they live long and happy on this earth and may peace, pleasantness and sunshine surround their way, and may their voyage on the sea of matrimony be calm and serene, is the wishes of their old friend, Uncle Zeke.

Left: Pat Moran
Right: Sonny Conrad (Detail from a photograph of Beham Henline's funeral.)
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September 31, 1921
Half Souled
George Riffle actually broke the Sabbath, and he is wondering if Davy Parmer, the shoe cobbler, can mend it.
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And the Street Flowed with Liquor
It is said that old John Barleycorn and all his imps were in Orlando last Sunday. The day was pleasantly spent in a general knock down and drag out. Some people think that the Devil might swap his interest in the infernal regions for a little patch up here on the earth. Well I have the very spot picked out for him already equipped with the Devils, and I’m sure he would like it if it isn’t too tough a place for the old gentleman. If he ever comes to see about it he had better bring a gallon or two of moonshine and a deck of cards and I think he would be sure to make a deal. He couldn’t make it any worse.

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Which Will it Be
Some of our folks have about decided to buy a horseless carriage, but they are puzzled to know whether to get a Ford or an automobile.

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October 4, 1921
It Must be a Dodge
Fred Lemley sure has some car. It can almost climb a tree.
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Old Lafe
Our school is being taught this term by Prof. L. Mick of Burnsville. Lafe is a good teacher and takes great delight in telling the pupils how it happened.

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As Short as Short Can Be
Mary had a little skirt,
As short as short could be,
And every time she took a step,
You could see above her knee.
-Uncle Zeke
(Old and half blind)

October 19, 1921
High Prices
I wonder what is the matter? Cattle are low and beef is higher than it was when the old cow jumped over the moon.

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A Light Eater
George Riffle says if he had two ‘taters and a pint of chestnuts he could winter like a top.

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Squirrels Beware
Burr Skinner says he has all the squirrels killed around here but one: and Devil and Tom Walker couldn’t get it.

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Tsk! Tsk!
It is sad that even the church members at Orlando are moonshining and that the class leader was caught with a sixty gallon barrel of booze in his possession, but we can vouch for the latter not being true. O, when will prohibition prohibit? I would like to see the time when the officers of the law would do their duty and put a stop to such cussedness as is being carried on in most every community. Shame on the young men and older ones too who are ruining their reputations, their health, and their immortal souls. Listen, the Good Book tells us that no drunkard can enter the Kingdom of Heaven , and if you miss Heaven you miss all.

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November 9, 1921
The Great Pumpkin
Talk about your pumpkins and squashes! Neither Bailey nor Riffle is in it when Bill Copeland steps in. He says he raised 92 pumpkins on eight vines averaging eleven and one-half pumpkins to the vine. The smallest one weighed 41 pounds and the largest 100 pounds. He says he weighed one blossom alone that weighed an even five pounds. The vines, he says, ran around the garden each way and met and grew together on the opposite side, so he doesn’t know how long they were, but they were “some pumpkins” anyhow.

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The Splendid Oarsman
While over in Ohio last week some very strange things happened there. One man jumped into a boat and began to pull up the Ohio River. I couldn’t have pulled up a little ravine much less a river like that one.

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The Lost Child with Short Arms
In one of our towns I saw a little boy running along the street crying. A cop asked him what was the matter, and he said he had lost his mother. The cop sad, “Why didn’t you hold on to her skirts?” He said it was so short he couldn’t reach it.

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The Great Dilemma
Another fellow asked an old bachelor why he didn’t take a wife and settle down in life. He said he would but he didn’t know whose wife to take.

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There Was No Medicaid
A doctor went into a home to see a patient. “Well,” said he, “young man, you will soon be on your feet again.” “Quite likely,” replied the young man; “I will have to sell my automobile to pay your bill.”

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All or Nothing at All
A young man asked a peculiar old codger for his daughter’s hand in marriage. “No indeed,” said the old man; “you take the whole girl or none.”

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It Was a Rough Night
One man said to another, “I heard you were held up the other night.” “Well,” said he, “It must have been an act of charity. I was so drunk I couldn’t stand.”

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December 7, 1921
Hit Him on the Shin
A lie jumped a cog the other day striking Bill Copeland on the knee and nearly put him out of commission.

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War Tax
There seems to be a war tax on nearly everything. Some time ago a judge sentenced a prisoner to one year and ten days. The prisoner asked the judge what the ten days was for. The Judge replied, “War tax.”
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Capitol of the League of Nations
I suppose the next thing after the disarmament will be the building of the World Capitol and I know of no more suitable place than the City of Buzzardtown.

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Subject, Predicate, Modifiers and Dangling Participles
The question has been asked, “What part of speech is ‘woman’.” In most cases they are no part at all; they are usually the whole thing.

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Expect a Big Bill
I fear that part of my household effects will have to be taken to the hospital. The other day they got into a rumpus and the bed got its head cracked, a chair got an arm broke, the table sprained one of its legs. Just as the clock started to run the shotgun kicked it in the face; my watch fell and mashed one of its hands; the comb got one of its teeth knocked out; the tape line lost one foot; the darning needle got an eye put out. Just about that time I thought peace was restored the umbrella opened up, sputtered around and broke two of its ribs, a bottle fell out of the cupboard and broke its neck; molasses and coffee had a fight; molasses got licked and coffee had to settle down on its own grounds. The dresser complains of rheumatism in its legs and back and the stove pipe has the flue.

. . . . .

Comment on W. H. “Holly” Griffith by David Parmer
“Holly” Griffith dominated the pages of newspapers in West Virginia in 1921. The three-time murderer, escapee from the State Penitentiary, and fugitive, Griffith created quite a bit of excitement in central West Virginia by continually thwarting the efforts of law enforcement to recapture him. One of the murders committed by Griffith occurred in Gassaway. The name “Holly Griffith” seemed to be on every tongue in 1921. Finally recaptured in South Carolina, Griffith served his multiple life sentences in the West Virginia State Penitentiary. Receiving a “medical leave” from Governor Hulett Smith in 1967 in order to obtain cancer treatments at the Cleveland Clinic, Griffith absconded once again and roamed the western states and Mexico with an old penitentiary buddy. He finally turned himself back in to prison authorities and died in prison in 1971