January 29th 1957, so many of you were wondering where your loved ones might be, so many of you were stranded from your homes and families. Many of you had no homes left after the flood, neither did you know at that time what the future held for you. I believe many of you turned your eyes to the good man above, and sooner or later you found happiness and joy in knowing that your family had not perished in the waters that caused such devastation.

I often wonder if we are as thankful and look to the guidance of a supreme being as we should. Are we only grateful at the time we need him, then so easily to forget what our blessings are. I am afraid that so many that came out of this disaster have forgotten all about it, or maybe are waiting for leadership in trying to prevent it from occurring again. Who, when and where, this will happen - your guess will be as good as mine. I do know that without a united effort being made. We will still be sitting ducks awaiting for the waters to rise again. We are going to have to voice our opinions as we did in 1957, that is if we expect to be recognized in our efforts to prevent floods in the future. 1962

One Of A Kind

Emma B. Ross is the reason that I write today. I entered Hazard High School and at that time they had three courses to choose from, (1) General Course (that would get you graduated); (2) Commercial Course (that would teach you the basics for the business world, i.e., shorthand, typing, bookkeeping, economics, etc.); and (3) The College Course (which would prepare you for your college entry). I chose the Commercial Course because I was interested in the subjects and that gave me the ability to work 46 years (mostly in the legal field) and more than a few people thought that I had been through college. I had to put this in here because I am so proud of my education received at Hazard High School where you were taught by the "cream of the crop". The roster of teachers far excelled anything in the Bluegrass Area of our fair state.

Mrs. Ross manned the hallway, which means she was always standing outside her classroom where she could view the coming and going of the students or walking up and down to make sure no one was up to "hanky panky" (oh, no, not in our halls of ivy). She was a private person, leaned toward the male gender. Her glance was off a little and you could not tell if she was looking at you or somewhere else. As a Freshman I heard all the bad things they said about her, not bad things but stuff like, "her husband died on their honeymoon, that is why she bears scars and all and she seems angry all the time..." I always made sure that when I passed her that I was watching my step so she would not pull me aside.

Time went on and I became a Junior and my love was Literature (remains so today) and I learned that I had to take Junior and Senior English. My skill was not that good in English but good enough, I suppose. I was seated near her desk right beside Wally McDaniel. She loved Wally (Wally was loved by all the girls). One of her strong things was to prepare you to talk in front of the class. Oh, I hated this to the 9th degree but I knew it had to be done. She gave me my assignment and it was something about dating and the taboos, etc. Well, I was ashamed to get up there and speak on this subject. Uncle Matt let me use him as a sounding board and my first speaking assignment was ready. I was told not to memorize but I found early on that memorizing was one of my main qualities. I went over it enough and of course got it down pat. I stood up there right by her desk. I began to speak and was so scared that I thought I was going to wet my pants right there. I looked at Wally and he was grinning. I looked at others who seemed to be watching Mrs. Ross more than myself, and hating the time my talk was up and theirs would start. Uncle Matt told me to put emphasis here and there and not to let it sound like it was memorized. I did that and she was up out of her chair and pointed at me, "You can now take your seat." I just knew I had failed my speaking assignment. She walked in between the seats and stood there and praised my efforts and from that time on she knew me and my love for her subjects.

I did not join clubs in High School, only the Glee Club and FHA because I committed myself to read about 7 books a week and then I skated pair skating with my Dad, so I didn't have interest in the Clubs. I loved watching the dramas she would put on and I missed that chance I suppose but I doubt she would have called on my anyhow.

She lived in an apartment down below the High School and I saw her coming and going a lot, to and from school, and then just going home up Baker Hill. She always appeared lonely to me, very seldom smiling, or I didn't see her smiling too much. She was a dedicated teacher and I guess her teaching gave her comfort and the papers she would have to grade, etc. would take some of her time at night, or I always hoped she would keep herself busy grading papers and preparing the next day's activities. She loved to read out loud and she would call on us to read out loud also.

I would sit in awe of her when she would begin to read from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. She was on top of the old English and she could spout it out fluently. Her eyes would wander even when she read to see if her class was listening. There were times that I saw the makings of a smile on her lips when she was deep into reading one of the stanzas. She wanted her class to learn English Literature and she instilled it in me. I became engrossed in English Literature and she saw I loved the subject. I knew when she called me down while reading aloud that it was for my own good, not hers. I wish I could have thanked her more because my love for her and her subjects led me toward my favorite hobby, the writing of short stories and poetry. I would have loved for her to have critiqued some of my work but she was gone by then.

Mrs. Ross was one of a kind. Her ability to manage a classroom to the hilt was beyond comparison. Her ambition for the girls and boys in her class was very evident in the way she prepared us. I know the boys and girls who joined her Club (she was very picky whom she let into her Club) got an education in high school acting (which excelled in my book beyond high school), speaking, drams, etc. through the efforts of Mrs. Emma B. Ross. I give her the credit for my love of literature and books in general. She was the force behind us all. Some loved it, others hated the sight of that room.

I wish I could read to her as she read to me. Her memory is etched in my "archives" and I can see her face as I type this. She left her mark on me and so many others. I never could erase the thought of her losing her husband on their honeymoon and that she was so alone. She handled it and her life centered around Hazard High School and I wish all the teens could have walked those hallowed "Halls of Ivy" when she was doing the monitoring.

Mrs. Emma B. was special in so many ways. I guess the way I imagine I can smile as I finish this thinking she might be walking the streets of gold hand in hand with her young husband.

Christmas With Lady Godiva

She came down our "holler" riding her white horse in the wee morning hours of Christmas Eve. The snow was falling on the ground and she was butt naked astride that horse and our house sat ride on the unpaved street at that time and she was either drunk or in a stewed condition for she rode that horse right through our front door. (back then we didn't have to lock our doors, etc.) Dad and Mom were busy putting "Santa" under the tree and of course me and my sister heard the big racket and jumped up to see what it was just knowing Santa had fallen down the chimney and broken his neck, but it wasn't Santa we seen but this butt naked woman. Dad and Mom realized we were standing there, Mom grabbed for the curtains hanging on the windows and whatever else she could find to cover her up, and Dad, bless his heart, he was torn out of his frame because we had got them playing Santa and he lost it and shouted, "Ah, hell, youngans come and get it, your Granny was right, there's no Santa Claus". However, we paid no attention evidently because Dad and Mom played Santa for several years thereafter. That was Christmas Eve, 1942, or by that time it really was Christmas Day. Years later, I became aware of the ride of Lady Godiva and that is what I dubbed this night thereafter, "Christmas with Lady Godiva". I found out she was confused from having suffered a terrible beating from her boyfriend/husband and Mom and Dad took care of her until daylight and seen that she was able to straddle that horse again and head back up the holler. Mom had clothed her by then. I seen her time and again thereafter and often wonder what ever happened to her.

My little heart was pounding as my Dad and I started our climb up the hill behind The Bakery on our quest for our Christmas Tree. Snow was just beginning to fall and as I huffed and puffed we got nearer to our destination, the trees growing around birch rock. Dad would caution me, "Idy, don't slip and head over the mountain to Big Bottom." I smiled and caught the snowflakes with my tongue.

Just as Dad finished telling me not to slip, slip I did and I could see Big Bottom below. Maybe I was too excited about our quest to get scared but a clump of trees sitting right off a big rock caught my fall. I knew right off that the tree which sort of cushioned my fall was the one that needed to go down the hill with my Dad and me.

"Idy, honey that tree is scraggly, let's go farther back in the mountain where no one goes where we will find the biggest, prettiest tree in Hazard." I knew he was right 'cause we made many a trek to Birch Rock to dig ginseng, pick the grandest wildflowers in the world that bloomed in the nooks and crannies of the rocks that nature had put there for a flower bed, and yep, as I got older we would take picnic lunches and head to Birch Rock for an outing. Sometimes, we would take our "fellers" with us and maybe steal a kiss or two with only the birds, squirrels and other forest creatures as witnesses to this "stolen kiss".

We continued our quest for the family tree, but guess what, my mind was with the scraggly tree down the hill. Dad could tell where my heart was and we began our descent, stopping only long enough for Dad to take his axe and cut this anything but perfect tree. The snow was falling harder and the sky was turning darker and we knew we had to hurry while there was still enough light to get safely down the hill. However, both of us knew this path by heart for we had traveled it oh so many times.

We got the tree to our front porch and Mom sort of smiled a hidden laughing one as I call it, but only said, "Can't wait to see what you do with this one, Howard."

Here, I have to tell you my Dad was multi-talented and he made most of the clothes that I wore and I knew Dad could make a beauty out of this scraggly tree. As me and my sister, Thelma Jean, watched, Dad got busy and out of boxes of collected Christmas ornaments he chose this and that and added them with the cranberry ropes and popcorn ropes, tossing bright silver icicles here and there, and as we stood there, this scraggly tree was taking on a whole new picture. Dad carefully placed the tree lights as only he could, making the "candle light" lights illuminating our tree, not only the tree but the entire room in which it stood. Dad put the finishing touch on our tree that year with our Family Star that was kept for many years after his death. He had worked magic as that scraggly tree stood all arrayed in a fine and eloquent makeover that in my heart I knew only Dad could have done. As the Heavenly Star twinkled at the top and the little candle lights flickered, it was time for us to go to bed and let the sugar plums dance in our heads. Oh, for the heart of a little child and the simple things that we saw transformed into magical things.

"Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh, Christmas Tree, how lovely are thy branches..."

December 7th 1941, that day, as President Roosevelt said, "...will live in infamy..." Goodness, I was 8 years old and was playing outside and I remember the snow was falling and the radio was always playing at 109 Liberty Street, and every house up the street always had theirs own, and I got cold and was coming in to stand before the fireplace to warm my butt and hands when the news broke and I remember Uncle Matt and Aunt Laura went outside on our big surround porch and sounded the news, doors opened and the neighbors shared this time in December. Some shouted, some cried, some made their children come in from playing in the snow. I suppose to keep us safe. Anyhow, I can remember Roosevelt's strong voice and his words as if it were yesterday. I was only 8 but I knew something dreadful had happened. Later that evening, Uncle Matt (who had taught school in his younger days) sat me in his lap in a big chair by our warm fire and gave me an easy geography lesson on where Pearl Harbor was and what, in his words, he thought had happened. As the fire began to die out that night, I lay beside Granny in her big feather bed and instead of stories of sugar plum fairies, Granny told me about what being in War meant. From that day on, I had a new word in my vocabulary, "WAR" and it has never ceased to be an active word to this day, 2009, some 68 years ago.

Keep Your Nose to the Grindstone

A few days ago I had an old fashioned water grindstone mounted by David Russell from out on Lotts Creek way. David did a very excellent job from what I have heard from so many old timers. I don't think I have heard so many comments in regard to a piece of work of the old time way of doing things. Two old fellows were admiring the makes of what they called a modern piece of machinery. One stated that he left off the watering can. Another spoke up and said, "when in the hell was you born? This is the type of grinder that we used before tin cans were ever heard of." Someone suggested to me that this could bring back memories of many water wheels on the rivers and streams where meal used to be ground. One was mentioned down Dwarf way where a tunnel was cut through the mountain to divert the water to turn these wheels that made the meal for the residents of our area. 1961

W. M. Engle Sr., one time Hazard Mayor, founded the Hazard Hardware Company in 1912. It was a wholesale and retail establishment for undertaking and hardware supplies. The firms two departments were eventually separated and incorporated as Engle Hardware on Main Street, and Engle Funeral Home opened on East Main and was operated by William Engle Jr. Engle Hardware continued to operate under the management of Aileen Engle Combs, the daughter of W. M. Engle Sr., and her husband George Combs.

After severe damages suffered in the 1957 flood, the store was completely remodeled and modernized to operate as a florist and gift shop. Click on image to enlarge