Appalachian Memories

Moments in a Life: Connecting with History (Good Night John)

By T.L. HEADLEY, MBA, MA, MA, BA

Everyone’s lives are marked in terms of moments – captured in photos or videos, or perhaps only in the memories of those who share in them.

Late last night, I learned of the passing of Ralph Waite. To me, Waite will always be John Walton, patriarch of the Walton Clan in the television series from the 1970s and 80s. Waite was one of those iconic figures to people of my generation.

I still remember watching that first Waltons movie, “The Homecoming” — which featured Andrew Duggan and Patricia Neal as Ma and Pa Walton. We watched it on a fuzzy old black and white television, with the signal that was fading in and out. Still it was very special. It told the story a Depression-era family that was growing increasingly worried about whether the father would get home in a driving snowstorm at Christmas.

Waite was not in the original movie, but when the series premiered the next year he and Michael Learned, along with Will Geer, Ellen Corby and Richard Thomas, along with the rest of the cast, quickly became like real members of our family.

I saw a lot of my family in the Walton family. Our family was tight-knit. The passing years were marked by Sundays at church, church picnics and dinners on the ground, and the end of summer was always the big family reunion at my great-grandparents’ home that celebrated my Great-grandmother Mandy Davis’ birthday. It was nothing for 600 or even 700 people to show up – all family – for the big day. Entire churches would cancel services so the members could attend the reunion and people from across the country would plan their vacations around “coming home” for that weekend.

My grandfather and grandmother were in many ways my world. Every Sunday we were expected – the whole family – to show up after church at my grandparents’ for Sunday dinner. Usually 20-30 people would be there and if you weren’t, you had better have a good excuse.

My grandmother ran the house. Women cooked and served the men who ate first together. Then they served the kids and then the women ate together. For that matter, we had assigned seats at the table based on our “rank” in the family – the oldest son on one side of my granddad’s chair and the oldest grandson on the other side. The first time I took my soon-to-be wife Kim to my grandma’s for Sunday dinner, I forgot one important thing – to tell her about the way my grandmother handled dinner. We were all talking in the living room and then my grandmother told us dinner was ready. I got up and went to my seat and Kim joined me and sat down beside me. The problem was, that was my first cousin’s seat. My grandmother, who was carrying a big pot of dumplings to the table, stopped in mid-stride and looked at Kim – who she was seeing for the very first time – and said “Kim, I need you in the kitchen … now.” To her credit, she got up, went to the kitchen and helped the other women with the meal. I was sitting there thinking … “Well, I’m going to miss her” – figuring she would be mad. She never said a word – until we got in the car to take her home. Not three turns of the wheel and she let loose.

“I have never seen people so sexist… yadda, yadda, yadda.”

I just drove until she slowed down and then I turned to her and said, “are you finished?”

She just glared…..

I looked at her and I said quietly… “Darling, you saw only what you think you saw and nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is that my grandma runs that house and we love her but we men live in sheer terror of her.”

My grandmother grew up in the Depression. She grew up on a farm as part of a big family. Times were hard. She would tell stories of making her own dresses and curtains for the windows. She always kept a garden, canned and always had meat in the freezers. Grandma Walton was the same kind of woman. Like Grandpa Walton to his grandkids, my grandfather, though he died in 1982, was my buddy. Saturdays were always “our time.” When I was little he would load me up and take me with him to get his check at the company store at Yolyn. We would eat there and then stop by the Trailways Depot in Logan to visit his friends for a while before coming home — great times that I take with me to this day. He was a deacon at my church as was my dad.

My dad was a hard worker. He worked construction for the mining industry, primarily as a lineman and electrician. After suffering two heart attacks in the early 1970s, we went through a few years of hard times while he was off from work. Unlike many people, though he got his disability social security, he chose to go back to work once he was medically cleared and he was so happy the day he got the news. The first thing he did was get out his lineman’s boots, belt and spikes and go out into our yard to climb a pole. He worked another 15 years before finally retiring. Like Pa Walton, he simply wouldn’t give up.

My mom – she is still the center of the world for my brothers and sisters and I – was my best friend growing up. She taught me to read before I even started to school by reading Bible story books to me, trailing her finger under the words. She was always there when I needed her. My family was my rock. It was watching the Waltons – watching John Boy dream of becoming a “writer” – that first stoked my interest in the profession. I watched “him” tell the story of his family in these little snippets of time – these moments that became the television series. I learned how to write and tell the stories of people I met.

Over the past few years, I have lost several members of my family – several voices have been stilled as I watched days turn into years. One of the things that has become important to me is to make sure these stories – these voices – are heard by my kids and hopefully someday my grandkids. We no longer have those big family reunions and that is a shame. My kids and the children of my cousins will never have the memories I carry with me of those days. Sure, they will read my words and see the photos but they will wonder who all those people are, unless someone tells them their stories.

Memories such as these are the concrete that holds families together. And sadly that is something missing from today’s America.

John Walton was a “fictional” character brought to life by Ralph Waite. But his story was the real story of so many Americans of the “Greatest Generation” – my grandparents’ generation. Waite left his mark on the memories of millions of Americans. He became a part of our families – a big part of the moments we shared when I was a child. Through his story, I learned of the stories of my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents. They would watch the Waltons and then talk about their own experiences, bringing to life their own stories – my family history. So I thank Ralph Waite and all the rest of the cast of the Waltons for helping that to happen. May you rest in peace.

Good Night John.

About the author: T.L. Headley is a journalist and public relations professional specializing in the energy industry and economic development. He holds an MBA from West Virginia University and an MA in public relations/journalism from Marshall and is working toward a Ph.D. in Education. He is 2001 graduate of the state Chamber of Commerce’s Leadership West Virginia program and will be sitting for professional certification in community and economic development next fall. He is a native of Lincoln County.

A Few Thoughts on Father’s Day

By T. L. HEADLEY, MBA, MA, MA, BA

Today is Father’s Day and I spent the morning at Church with my wife and two sons. We had a special service with World War II Medal of Honor Recipient Woody Williams serving as Lay Minister. His sermon surrounded service — service to your God, service to your country and service to your fellow man. He spoke about the sacrifices that so many have made so that we can be free and of the supreme sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. He also spoke about the sacrifices that parents make for their children and the bond that cannot be broken that exists between parent and child.

Hearing the sermon made me think about how my relationship with my dad shaped the way I am with my children. You see, dad’s father died when he was just about seven years old. He never really had a true “father figure” to guide him in how to be a father. As his first born, dad was trying to learn how to be a parent. To be honest, there were some times when we fought like cats and dogs.

Sometimes it seemed that we would never be able to bridge the gap that built between us through my teenage years. But a funny thing happened …. over the years dad learned how to be a dad and, well, I learned how to be a son. Somewhere along the line, our relationship changed. Perhaps it was when I got married and then a few years later my wife and I had our oldest son, Ian. He was dad’s first grandson. It was about the time my dad finally retired from a life as a construction worker for the coal industry.

I was living close to mom and dad at the time and I guess in some strange way my being a parent kind of brought my dad and I closer together. I finally got to know my dad — who he REALLY was and not who I THOUGHT he was.

I was working for a state agency at the time and often had to take long trips. My wife couldn’t go with me and so often I would invite my dad along for the ride. He enjoyed those trips. They gave us time to talk and in many ways it was during those long drives with just the two of us, that I learned about my dad and he learned about his son. We listened to each other for the first time. We talked about life and about mistakes we had made and we found in each other a friend. I am happy that fate gave me those opportunities to build that relationship.

When you are growing up, it’s easy to see your parents as somehow out of touch — to think they don’t know what its like to be a teenager or a 20-something year old.

Funny thing is that they do. And that is why they seem to want to “butt-in” and tell you when they think you are making a mistake or are wrong about something. More often than not, they DO know and they are trying to spare you from making the same mistakes they made.

As a parent, I am the product of the influences of my father, mother, my grandfather and grandmother that I knew and, yes, even my grandfather and grandmother I never had the privilege of knowing.

From my dad, I learned that it is okay to make mistakes as long as you acknowledge them and tell your kids when you do. From my mom I learned about unconditional love. From my Grandfather Hugh and Grandmother Margaret, I learned the importance of being strong and brave and confronting problems head-on but also the importance of being there for your children. And from my Grandfather Golden and Grandmother Gladys, who I never knew, I learned the importance of treating every day with your children and those you love as a blessing to be treasured.

Yes, I am the product of those wonderful people — as well as so many more of my family, my uncles, aunts, great-uncles and great-aunts, my great-grandparents and my cousins, and, yes, my friends. All of them had a hand in creating the “me” that writes this.

Today, we celebrate “Father’s Day” and a month or so ago we celebrated “Mother’s Day.”

Today has been a blessing to me in so many ways. I hope it as been so for you.

I would ask that you take a moment and learn a bit about your parents. If they are living, spend some time with them and just talk — not about problems or the latest crisis — but just talk. Learn who they are. If they are no longer living, ask someone to share their memories about them. You never know what little nugget of treasure you might unearth by doing so.

And also, take a moment and talk to your children. Again, just talk. Go fishing or just sit out on the lawn and enjoy this beautiful day. Let them know you love them unconditionally, share your life with them and allow them to share their’s with you. Today is a day for love, for family and for learning. 6/15/14