An Everlasting Love

One thing I've kept in mind while digging in my family's past is that sometimes, it's nice to take a break from the files and the clues, and focus on the people sitting right in front of you.

Take for instance, my grandfather, Phillip Bradford Eby. Today, I got to spend the afternoon just in his company, which is a true gift that I've often taken advantage of. While we were sitting there watching an episode of Gunsmoke, I quickly asked, without thinking, "How did you and Grandma Pearl meet?"

My Grandparents. (A little back story: My grandmother died in 2003, and since then I've always felt it safe to avoid bringing her up in his company. The only time I have ever seen him cry was at her funeral. I cannot handle emotions well, and I usually avoid anything that could lead to tears being shed because I become an awkward idiot patting people on the heads saying "No...you...no cry.")

Papa Phil has not been feeling well lately, and today was no different. He was very quiet and lethargic when I arrived, and up until I asked this question I thought he was asleep. But when I mentioned my grandmother's name, he smiled and seemed to get a jolt of energy throughout his body.

"My dad used to take me to the skating rink when I was 14," he said."After that I was skating." My grandfather used to frequent skating rinks when he was a teenager, and Jacksonville had plenty. He was working for his grandfather at the time, who was a locksmith, and as a little bonus he would let Phil take the car out. He took the car and went to a skating rink in Fernandina Beach, where he became friends with a group of local boys who lived on the beach, and he moved in with them.

From Fernandina, he traveled to a skating rink in Macon, Georgia, and other rinks in the area. Eventually he ended up as the floor manager of the skating rink on Lem Turner.

My Grandfather, Phillip Eby, in the rink. "I took my girlfriend there one night, and she introduced me to her friend," he told me, barely paying attention to the western on TV. That friend was Pearl Opal Lucas. He turned her down, because he had already brought his girlfriend.

"I told her 'no way, I'm not going to do that.'"

Pearl told him that since he turned her down, she wouldn't skate with him when he DID ask her one day.

A few nights later, my grandfather was at the rink working, when he turned around and noticed that his girlfriend was skating with another man. "It was fine, because I was working," he said. Still, he wanted to skate, and he spotted Pearl. He approached her and asked her to skate, and she said yes.

While the two were skating, she told him that she wasn't going to accept, but changed her mind quickly. While they were skating, he turned his head and they kissed.

Two weeks later, while they were in a car outside of an A&W Root beer Stand, he asked her to marry him. She said yes.

"So we went to Folkston to get married, and got our blood test done. They couldn't marry us though, because a storm had just came through and messed up the town. So we went to Woodbine and got married in the judges living room," he told me, grinning. "I tipped him $5."

My grandparents at the beach. Well, whatever they did worked. They were a loving couple and remained married. It's funny to know that a moment in a skating rink led to 4 children, 8 grandchildren, and 1 (so far) great-grandchildren. If you're looking for inspiration for your marriage or relationship, look to your grandparents.

That Teenage Feeling

When I was little, I vividly remember my great grandmother. I can remember her smell, and her voice. I recall a feeling of warm comfort that would envelope me when I was talking with her. For a while as a child, I lived with my maternal grandparents, and at the time my mom’s extended family lived in same area. I remember visiting my mom’s cousins and my great aunts and uncles regularly. I especially remember the woman that I called Nanu. (It’s like Nana, but instead of the extra na, you add the nu, like noodle.)

The first memory I have is waking up and walking into the living room and seeing my grandma and Nanu on the couch. To me, they were both so alike. I remember just sitting in her lap and being held. She was always so kind and loving. I remember watching all of Where the Red Fern Grows in her lap.

(Side note: I was an incredibly spoiled child, as I am now an incredibly spoiled person. If I wanted a toy, then my grandmother got me that toy. To this day I do not eat vegetables, and it started because my grandparents never forced me to eat them.)

I figured out how things worked in the house very quickly. I was rarely told “no,” but when I was I took it as a challenge. (Since I lived with my grandma, she acted a bit more motherly than grandmotherly.) Once, I wanted to take a bath in the middle of the day so I could play with my bath toys. My grandmother told me no. I waited 5 minutes, and then asked my grandpa to call Nanu on the phone so I could talk to her. I walked into the closet and told her that I just wanted to get a bath because I was dirty and that grandma said no. “Let me talk to her,” she said. I very smugly took the phone to my grandmother, and stood next to her listening.

I got to take a bath that afternoon.

I decided to start my search with Nanu. I knew that some work had been done to preserve the history on my father’s side, and I was very curious about what I’d find on my mother’s side.

My great grandmother's name was Katie Bell Slay. Katie Bell was born in September 15th, 1928 to Riley Slay and Pearl Pippin.

Katie Bell Slay, listed here on the fourth column of a 1940 United States Census. This census was taken in May of 1940, making her 11 years old at the time.

Katie Bell grew up in DeFuniak Springs, Florida, which is in the Florida panhandle. Her mother died when Katie Bell was 9 years old, leaving Katie Bell the oldest woman in the house, and she often cared for her father, Riley, who was aging poorly, as well as the rest of the children.

Just looking over a document from 1940 with her name on it inspired me to look further. It amazed me to just imagine a census worker on my ancestor's front porch, with my great grandmother in the doorway, a mere 11 years old. So I continued searching, unaware of a huge family secret lurking under the surface.

This is a 1945 census report from the community of White House, located in Duval County, Florida. Highlighted is Katie Bell ,16 years old, and the name Pearl Opal, 2 years old, her daughter and my grandmother. Katie Bell was 14 years old when she gave birth to my grandmother, Pearl. Even more, the census lists Katie Bell as married and with the last name Lucas. I had always known that my grandmother was years older than her siblings, but I didn't know how young Katie Bell was when she was born. I began to wonder why her husband wasn't listed along side her on the census. I searched for a marriage certificate and license, and it exposed two more clues to unraveling this mystery.

This is Katie Bell's marriage certificate to Warren Oliver Lucas.
They were married December 17th, 1942. Katie Bell is 14 years old here, and also about 7 months pregnant. My grandmother Pearl was born February 13th of the following year.

Then, I found their marriage license, which was granted to them a few days before.

This is their marriage license. It lists Katie Bell as 17 years old, which is untrue.

Why was her age altered? Because she was pregnant at at such a young age. The paper suggests that Warren Oliver Lucas is the father of Pearl, my grandmother, but it seems a little fishy.

I did some internal family searching, and concluded the following story: When Katie Bell's mother died, her half brother William Slay(her father's son from a previous marriage) came to live with them. The two developed a relationship, and Katie Bell found herself carrying his child. Her father panicked, and the family sought out a lawyer, who bought off a young man planning to enlist in the US Navy during World War 2 named Warren Oliver Lucas. Warren and Katie Bell's marriage was nothing more than the certificate. The two never spent a night together, and no child was conceived between the two. They divorced in 1968.

This is from the same 1945 Duval County census that I referenced above. William Slay is highlighted. At the time of this census, William was 39 years old, and living in his father's home. Katie Bell is listed on the page after this as also living with her father, in the same household as William.

By the time I went to bed, after finding all this information out, it was almost dawn. I was amazed by the story. I knew Katie Bell as my great grandmother, my Nanu. I never imagined the life she led before I met her, and here it was, laid out in front of me. It sounded like the synopsis from a film, or a novel.

I'm eager to learn more, and to fill in the blanks. I wish I could ask Katie Bell herself to tell me everything, and learn about her life first hand, but that opportunity has past me by. Katie Bell died October 1st, 2006.

Rest in Peace Katie Bell Slay
September 15th, 1928 - October 1st, 2006

Make sure to leave any questions or comments below.

A Brief Introduction

When I was growing up, I had this strong desire to distance myself from my family. I felt as if I was better than the people that I simply shared a name with. I had huge dreams that were going to come true for me, and I didn't need to work hard because I was going to get what I wanted regardless.

To start things off, I'm a homosexual who was growing up in an extreme southern family.(Sidenote; I have beat around the bush with this for a long time. My family is anything but supportive about this, even after all these years, but it's time to just be honest with myself and accept that I'm gay and that some people won't accept it.) Throw in some teen angst and the death of my grandmother, and I was a kid overflowing with powerful feelings toward my family. I wanted nothing more than to leave and never look back.

And then I did. When I turned 18, I packed up my entire room and threw everything into my van. I kissed my Mom goodbye and went and lived with some friends that I worked with. Over the years, I've moved around a lot. I've gone back to live at my Mom's only once, and it was brief. I drifted to different jobs, different personalities, and different parts of the city of Jacksonville.

Getting away from my family has made my "heart grow fonder." I started college and began doing something with my life. I stopped blaming my family for my problems. I wanted to become a prominent member in my family. I wanted my family to know that I love each and every person in our family tree, despite their short comings. So I started to show up more often at family events. I'm still struggling with communicating with some family members, but I want to reach out to them and just let them know that I really care about them, regardless of whatever happened in the past.

I've always had a fascination with gossip. I remember being younger, and begging cousins to tell me their secrets. This blossomed, with the help of the radio program This American Life, into a healthy appetite for stories. Now, here I am, on the verge of turning 22, with a lot of free time after obtaining my A.A degree. I've decided to use this time to begin working on my family's genealogy. But, besides doing research, I want to conduct interviews with my family and collect their stories and memories so that I can have a better understanding about the people that I call family.

One of the hardest things to deal with at this point is that I've already lost so much. My great grandparents are all gone, and they took all of their memories and insight with them, and I can't get that back. Some questions that I crave the answers to could only really be answered by them, and now I'll never know for sure. I regret not listening to every story they had, or telling them just one more time that I loved them.

I'm not just doing this for myself. I want to do this for everyone in my family. I hope to go as far back as I can, and broaden my search to include my extended family. I hope that this will hold some importance to my descendants. I want my great-grandchildren to know more than just the dates on my tombstone; I want them to know about the life I led, the people I loved, the events that shaped me to be who I am, and everything else that the dash between 1990 and 20?? represents.