Twenty Four years ago there was a small Macon publication called "Out of the Sky." Several issues had reached publication and enjoyed by many. It had been founded and published by a young friend of our son Paul's, David Clark....a very talented, versatile writer and musician.
Knowing my Mother and finding it interesting that she was the oldest subscriber to his publication, David asked me to write an article on my her life to be used in his then struggling small publication. Before the last issue came to fruition the paper ran out of funds and was shut down permanently, leaving Mother's article unpublished and unread. I always felt this was such a disappointment to her and while I have shared the original draft with a few friends and relatives I truly regret that she never saw her story in print. She wanted it to be read and perhaps found meaningful in it's message . It would be my wish that somehow she will know that people, here and there, are enjoying her thoughts and remembrances. I have since the time of our first writing, made some additions that Mother had often spoken of to me over the years. I hope she will not disapprove since she so loved telling me these stories. If only I could somehow return to those days when she was physically with us, there are many questions I would ask her, in addition to the information we included here. We would reminisce for longer periods of time. I would have tried to absorb and record every possible thing she would wish to share. Grateful for the time we had and finding it important to urge everyone we know to keep journals, of all the people we hold dear, I leave you with this thought. Pricelessly beautiful history often escapes us through the passage of time, slipping through our fingers one story, one day, at a time.
I miss her sorely, as does our family,...as we always will, and I now plan to add her story to our blog on this coming Mother's Day in her honor. It would be my hope that her stories related here, will be received as a personal message from her, as was our purpose in writing her story originally. Claudia Evans Pullen made a difference in our world, she mattered, she created her own life story.
Peace, Joy, Love to all
Remembrances of a Teenage Teacher
I am told that I am the oldest subscriber to OOTS. That is not the only thing that amazes me ...... I do not feel a day over fifty even now. Quite frankly, I don't really know how I got to be almost eighty two years old already. "How time flies when we're having fun," I always say, and somehow this seems to ring more true than ever these days. (Fair warning to my daugher, Paula, and her husband, Howard...time will move faster the older you become.)
The Early Years
Why, it seems only yesterday that I was a seventeen year old girl. Having been born in 1907, I fell quite fortunately into the era of the "roaring twenties," and although the days preceding the great depression brought misfortune to many, these were also years when life was lived by those of us becoming young adults with a kind of fervent zest for life that our predecessors of the staunch Victorian era would've never dreamed possible.President Calvin Coolidge was in office in my seventeenth year of life. I was living with my parents in a little town known as Soperton, Georgia in the county of Treutlen. This county had been formed in 1918 by taking parcels of land from adjoining Montgomery and Emanuel Counties. My father, the son of Irish immigrants who came directly from the Emerald Isle during the great potato famine, had come to Soperton from nearby Dodge County where he had been born. My father and mother had settled in Treutlen County early in their lives, where they owned and operated Evans General Merchandise Store and half of the drugstore two doors down on the same square. The General Store stocked everything from groceries to shoes, fabric, kerosene, hardware, etc. I remember still my brothers and their cronies playing checkers by the pot-bellied stove near the back of the store on cold wintry days when things were a bit slow.
Some of my fondest, most vivid memories are of the trips we made with my father to Macon to replenish the dry goods store, traveling in our Overland automobile. The now long-gone Dannenburg Wholesale Company on Third Street supplied our needs during those days. Macon was the "Big City" to all of us with a population of about 53,ooo people. Our trips at that time were an all day affair. The red clay hills surrounding the dirt roads that lay between Soperton and Macon left colorful images of that special terrain for me. So different, as those memories now immerge, from the flat plains of southeastern Georgia to the rolling green hills of our middle state. We never traveled further than Macon as there were no paved roads to Atlanta before 1925.
Life in A Small Town
I was the baby girl in a family of eight children.....four girls and four boys. The house in Soperton where I, Claudia Belle Evans, was born still stands right across the train track from the school house where I began school in the first grade. I was told by my sister, Effie, and other older members of the family that I would introduce myself in a way that I could never "live down." To this day, even my younger relatives remind me of my words: "My name is Taudie Belle...and I'm a puddy dirl too." My father, they said, always loved this same introduction by me to whomever I met, at home or at the General Store. As often happens with babies of large families, I was admittedly, a tiny bit spoiled....."the apple of my Papa's eye."
(Later, and I am not quite sure when, my father would build the house, now known as the Evans House, four houses down from the County Court House on the square.) Of course, at that time, people in our small town had not conceived of kindergarten, but I did make it through first and second grades in that first year of school, making my parents and brothers and sisters, very proud. There were only eleven grades of school at that time and by the time I was sixteen I had graduated from high school.
(Later, and I am not quite sure when, my father would build the house, now known as the Evans House, four houses down from the County Court House on the square.) Of course, at that time, people in our small town had not conceived of kindergarten, but I did make it through first and second grades in that first year of school, making my parents and brothers and sisters, very proud. There were only eleven grades of school at that time and by the time I was sixteen I had graduated from high school.
For the Love of Music
These were the days of silent movies. Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford and other famous faces of those "black and white" movie days flickered across the screen of our small community theatre as I filled in the background music on the upright piano. I loved "tickling the ivories," as we called it. As a result of always being a piano player, I never learned to dance but oh how I loved making the music. Not learning to dance was probably worth the sacrifice, I've decided, since music was and is still such an important part of my life. Although I am now slightly crippled in my finger joints, my hands still allow me to play the organ every Sunday at our local Methodist Church where my husband, Paul, and I had been married when I was twenty five years old. I have continued to play the organ and piano for my church for the past fifty years and forever grateful for this opportunity. My older sister, Effie, paid for two years of piano lessons, my only formal training, when I was a teen ager. She was always very proud of me....I had shown great natural talent playing most of the time "by ear." She was the one who encouraged me to learn notes also.
As I recall now, those old rag time numbers I so loved to play, "Bye Bye, Blackbird," and "Bye Bye, BLues."...must have been a commentary on the moods of the masses at that time. People during those days sought ways to at least put some of the hardness of the days and nights aside....even as we do today through music in all forms and styles. "Happy Days Are Here Again," later became the song of the day and we thanked God for the words and the music and I was never happier than when I played those songs. Music surely got us through many of those hard times with our sanity and sense of humor still intact.
Growing Up Fast
When it was time for me to become an independent person the positions for female workers
outside the home were quite limited, especially in very small southern towns. I don't remember the exact circumstances that led to my coming to Macon to attend the Georgia - Alabama Business College, but it seems to me that it was a natural choice to have made since I could accomplish this training within a year. And just as importantly, or moreso, I could ride the train to and from Soperton each weekend.
I remember quite well Papa bringing me to Macon to find appropriate living accomodations for "his young lady." We soon found a boarding house owned and operated by the late Mrs. Emmett Barnes. The house was located somewhere on Mulberry Street near the college I was to attend. The highlight of each week came on Friday when I would board the MDS (Macon, Dublin and Savannah) steam locomotive to return home.....the haven which never seemed quite equalled by any other at that time in my life.
As was customary in those days, families were kept close in most instances. Family relationships stressed as probably the most important in one's life. My own father's desire to make this true was perhaps even stronger than many parents. His children must settle somewhere near by, he had said many times. It was understood by us all. So resounding in my mind, even now, are his words to me, "It' s time for you to come back home now, Honey."
So school in Macon was now done,no matter that I had not completed my degree. I was led right back to my parent's house, in the big white house where several of my brothers were still residing helping Papa to run the general store. (As I remember, a partner whose name I do not remember, operated the drug store of which my father owned a portion.)
So it was that at the ripe old age of seventeen I returned to Soperton, not unhappily so, to live beneath the roof of my parent's house. I would live there until my marriage in my twenty fifth year of life.
I remember quite well Papa bringing me to Macon to find appropriate living accomodations for "his young lady." We soon found a boarding house owned and operated by the late Mrs. Emmett Barnes. The house was located somewhere on Mulberry Street near the college I was to attend. The highlight of each week came on Friday when I would board the MDS (Macon, Dublin and Savannah) steam locomotive to return home.....the haven which never seemed quite equalled by any other at that time in my life.
As was customary in those days, families were kept close in most instances. Family relationships stressed as probably the most important in one's life. My own father's desire to make this true was perhaps even stronger than many parents. His children must settle somewhere near by, he had said many times. It was understood by us all. So resounding in my mind, even now, are his words to me, "It' s time for you to come back home now, Honey."
So school in Macon was now done,no matter that I had not completed my degree. I was led right back to my parent's house, in the big white house where several of my brothers were still residing helping Papa to run the general store. (As I remember, a partner whose name I do not remember, operated the drug store of which my father owned a portion.)
So it was that at the ripe old age of seventeen I returned to Soperton, not unhappily so, to live beneath the roof of my parent's house. I would live there until my marriage in my twenty fifth year of life.
The Birth of a Teacher
It was at this time in my seventeenth year that I became principal of a two-room school in the rural area of Treutlen County. Papa bought me a beautiful little black Ford roadster with a rumble seat. He wanted me to have good transportation back and forth to Rosemont School which was located nine miles out of town. In my own mental "video" there are pictures of me in that fine little car stopping at intervals to give a lift to some of my own students who needed a ride. Those who got the rumble seat considered themselves lucky kids on warm, sunny days, as we kicked up the dust on those long dirt roads to the school house.
Rainy weather brought us to a much slower ebb in travel, and those who rode in the rumble seat on clear days on those days rode the bus.( I don't know how we worked out the system of who got to ride when and where. But I trust we did it fairly.) One could easily find herself in a ditch off an unnavigable muddy road though I don't remember that ever happening. I had been driving a car from the time I was eleven years old, so this was a very beneficial skill learned early by me.
Life was not easy then for many, and while I felt very fortunate to have been part of a fairly prosperous family, we did not always see the harshness of the times as did so many others. In hindsight, now I do see how very primitive were some of the life conditions in those days. Funds were scarce, especially in rural areas for schooling. Our friend, the pot-bellied stove, furnished heat on those cold wintry days, wood being cut by the large boys in my classes, some of whom were about as old as I was and many were a head or so taller than I (then five feet, two inches tall.) Their size never kept me from disciplining them when I felt they deserved it...and if I felt a paddling was warranted I never hesitated to give those boys a good one. "Keep those boys straight, Miss Claudia," the parents would remind me. There was no doubt I would do just that.
I have recently been reminded by one of "my girls," long ago a mature adult and once my former student, that one particular boy in her sixth grade class required a lot of discipline and each time I paddled him she would cry. She also reminded me that each day at recess I would call all the girls together and counsel them on "female" topics, advising them in ways she still remembers. (Teahcers in those days were in full charge and almost never questioned by parents.) I am always humbled and grateful when reminded of any contribution I have made that had a lasting positive impact.
Another vivid memory, which also left visible signs on my physical body, concerns the shoes I chose to wear to school each day. Those three inch heels always came from my father's store on main street and while quite fashionable, I always wore just whatever size was available when I needed a pair. Today I have the bunions and callouses to prove it.
Rainy weather brought us to a much slower ebb in travel, and those who rode in the rumble seat on clear days on those days rode the bus.( I don't know how we worked out the system of who got to ride when and where. But I trust we did it fairly.) One could easily find herself in a ditch off an unnavigable muddy road though I don't remember that ever happening. I had been driving a car from the time I was eleven years old, so this was a very beneficial skill learned early by me.
Life was not easy then for many, and while I felt very fortunate to have been part of a fairly prosperous family, we did not always see the harshness of the times as did so many others. In hindsight, now I do see how very primitive were some of the life conditions in those days. Funds were scarce, especially in rural areas for schooling. Our friend, the pot-bellied stove, furnished heat on those cold wintry days, wood being cut by the large boys in my classes, some of whom were about as old as I was and many were a head or so taller than I (then five feet, two inches tall.) Their size never kept me from disciplining them when I felt they deserved it...and if I felt a paddling was warranted I never hesitated to give those boys a good one. "Keep those boys straight, Miss Claudia," the parents would remind me. There was no doubt I would do just that.
I have recently been reminded by one of "my girls," long ago a mature adult and once my former student, that one particular boy in her sixth grade class required a lot of discipline and each time I paddled him she would cry. She also reminded me that each day at recess I would call all the girls together and counsel them on "female" topics, advising them in ways she still remembers. (Teahcers in those days were in full charge and almost never questioned by parents.) I am always humbled and grateful when reminded of any contribution I have made that had a lasting positive impact.
Another vivid memory, which also left visible signs on my physical body, concerns the shoes I chose to wear to school each day. Those three inch heels always came from my father's store on main street and while quite fashionable, I always wore just whatever size was available when I needed a pair. Today I have the bunions and callouses to prove it.
The Long Road
Over many, many years I obtained my degree in elementary education by attending three month summer terms, some of which were spent at Mercer University in Macon...other very hard-earned credits came through correspondence courses from the University of Georgia and also from Georgia Teachers College in Statesboro, Georgia.(Now Georgia Southern University) I obtained my teaching degree there in 1952 when my own daughter began her freshman year of college on that same campus.My retirement from teaching came thirty-five years after I had begun my career as principal of Rosemont School at age seventeen. This retirement came one year before the historic desegregation of public schools.
Sweet Rewards
On the streets of Soperton I still see my former students, their children, and their grandchildren who are kind enough to tell me that I made a difference in their lives as I contributed to their educations...and in what ways I might have influenced them. It makes me conscious of just what important roles teachers have always played in the lives of those they've instructed. Teachers have the power to destroy the love of learning, to bruise...or to heal the soul of the young...to touch on the future of the world in a way so unique as to be almost sacred. I pray I touched my students in constructive ways, making the future more positive for them and their children...even in some small way. The responsibility of a teacher is no less than an awesome task. I pray the teachers of today sense the "awesomeness" of their calling. I do believe it is a "calling." Now I am aware of the contrasts in time, in teaching, in life itself.As My World Turned
The changes that have occurred in the eight decades of my life have been profound. From the first manned flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, to Voyagers recent flight to Neptune and beyond, from silent movies to home videos, from groups gathered around around little boxes called radios to groups gathered in front of forty-three inch television screens in one's own home (furnished with pictures bounced from earth to satelite to television screens)...so hard for me to comprehend. From castor oil to antibiotics and exploratory surgery to the now famous Magnetic Resonance imaging, from wood burning cook stoves to microwave cooking...from barefooted boys to guys sporting L. A. Gear...from kerosene lamps to laser. (Oh how I hated cleaning the chimneys of those old lamps!)
What a world...what a time to have lived and to be alive! I feel so lucky to have experienced life in a time such as this and to be alive still. I feel so fortunate to have seen such transitions occur, to have watched in amazement while the world transitioned from horse and buggy to the "jet-set" crowd who think nothing of a weekend trip to the Grand Cayman Islands for a scuba dive.
What a world...what a time to have lived and to be alive! I feel so lucky to have experienced life in a time such as this and to be alive still. I feel so fortunate to have seen such transitions occur, to have watched in amazement while the world transitioned from horse and buggy to the "jet-set" crowd who think nothing of a weekend trip to the Grand Cayman Islands for a scuba dive.
The Brass Ring
God has been good to me...a long and healthy life...the capacity to love and the gift of being also loved by friends and family...and oh...a paper like "OOTS" in which a still exuberant eighty-two year old can relate some of her experiences and express some of her observances about life without fear of condemnation or reprimand. Thank you, David, for the opportunity to tell my story...such as it is.
By the way, I still walk two miles a day on a course with those younger "fillies." So don't count me out just yet!
I have lived to see my own grandchildren become adults..the three of them independent people contributing their own gifts to the world, making their own impact through their choices in life. I pray for them for while this is a wonderful time to be alive it is also a very frightening time...so many more choices to be made, so many more paths from which to choose for journeying through life. Every day I am reminded that we are all teachers and we are all students. May we teach each other with gentleness and kindness so that learning will bring about a more peacable world.I have remarked many times of late to my daughter, Paula, that I feel as if I have been on the "Merry-Go-Round of Life" and have truly caught that sought after brass ring. She smiles and tells me my ride is far from over! Whatever...I say....whatever He says. A really nice ride it is! Thank you, Lord, thank you.
(As related to her daughter, Paula Pullen Knight, in 1989, twenty five years after her retirement from teaching in the Georgia Public School System. The order in which you have read it is as she related to me.)
Claudia Evans Pullen passed away on April 11, 2000 at the age of 91.
A post note to Nana....words from her favorite song:
"I'll Be Loving You Always." Thank you for the posting,
Dear Ones. She loved you all so very much and lives on through you all, our
children, her children and grandchildren.
Happy Mother's Day a bit late, Dear
Nana. May your message live on in the hearts of those who knew and loved you.
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