…yet they still don’t know how to drive a car!

Using a few ballpark figures, I calculated that in the years we’ve had our two Cornish Rex cats (14 years for the first and 13 years for the second), we’ve spent at least $20,000 (I underestimated, I’m sure).

Wet food, dry food, cat litter, toys, treats, food/water bowls, litter boxes (plastic pans, covered boxes, electromechanical “automatic cleaning” boxes and plain cardboard boxes with plastic liners), cat carriers and medical care combined.

Not to mention developing/storing photographs, washing/drying bedcovers, shampooing the carpet and the cost of tapwater for all of the above, including for drinking.

In cat years, our feline companions are in their senior/elderly phase.

One is covered with “liver spots,” displaying two crooked ears from cat fights.

The other teeters and totters after his latest bout of vestibular disease, he, too, with a crooked ear (from an ear infection).

A couple of mouse-munching, cricket-crunching warriors.

They are unaware of our wars and national elections.

They warm up to us on cool days like this one.

They, like the redbud tree outside, teach me that the obsessions and vivid imaginations of our species are minor in comparison to the actions of the grander universe.

Yet they exist because of our species…

…our desire for change within our comfortable sameness.

A thought to remember again and again when members of our species get out-of-hand and seem out-of-control.

 

Countdown to infinity by halves

Dr. G. Brottel bent his knees and leaned back.

Neill, his dance instructor nodded.  “Yes, young man.  That’s exactly how you do it — chin up, look past your partner’s right ear and slightly point your right shoulder to hers, your hips straight.”

Galdous followed the instructions, just as he had followed instructions during his years at university, culminating in his dissertation, “Applying The Lamaze Method Aboard An L5 Society Geostationary Observation Station Boosted To An Earth-Moon Lagrange Point.”

This, of course, fed his interest in leading his partner, Yui, around the dance floor.

Mimicry circuitry in his central nervous system sped up his learning.

At night, he and Yui watched each other watch a 3D video which enhanced their sympathy learning of the moves in a weightless acrobatic encounter combining waltz, tango, Lindy hop, Balboa and East/West Coast swing.

By the end of their work shift the next day, their supplemental brain systems had worked out the coordinated muscle movements needed for smooth swaying on the spherical dance surface.

Yui, assigned to him and he assigned to her at birth, along with several alternative matches based on known genetic symmetry, melted into his arms as they spun “in the air” while holding the formal dance frames required for interplanetary competitions they planned to win.

Having grown up in adjoining educational centres but, not allowed to constantly interact like siblings, which tended to discourage the compatibility of their genetic material for later replication needs of the space colony, they had just enough similar phys-ed workout routines that meant they could anticipate each other’s moves without thinking.

Guinevere, a theoretical science university student and specialty dance instructor from Moon Base Amber Road, made mental notes about Galdous and Yui’s trajectories.

Her mental notes were sent to a supercomputer which adjusted the subroutines that would generate the next dance video for Galdous and Yui to watch that evening.

Guinevere, working on her PhD, the dissertation preliminarily titled, “Recalibrating Rocket Propulsion Guidance Systems Using Realtime Algorithm Remodeling of Neural Network Flow Diagrams,” general enough to give her flexibility with her university sponsor, had found that teaching others the dance steps she had learned during physical rehab not only helped her repair skeletomuscular damage from a bad spaceship smashup but also reinforced the pathways of her upgraded organic wireless circuitry.

In other words, practice what you preach, do what you say and say what you do, be a do bee, and go with the flow, as her therapist liked to say in mock repetition.

Guinevere held out her arms and Neill kicked off the floor toward her.

“Here’s what I mean, Galdous.”  Neill cupped his palm and placed it in the small of Guinevere’s back.  “Lift your left arm and gently push Yui forward.  Yui, bend your knees to your chest, balling yourself up, and spin around Galdous’ waist.”

As Guinevere spun around Neill’s waist, she remembered a mistake in her recent classroom experiment calculations, which meant that the student satellite they had launched yesterday was going to miss its target.

She closed her eyes and focused on correcting her mistake.

If she could work out the logic in the next few seconds, she just had time to send the new algorithm to the Moon for automatic coding, then routed to the satellite for reprogramming.

Later, while Galdous and Yui watched their evening dance instruction video, a student satellite performed a series of maneuvers in space that oddly resembled the steps in the instructional video.

Only Guinevere knew what was going on, silently laughing to herself as she explained to her fellow students recording the satellite’s path that she had invented a new method of optimising a satellite’s stress test by putting strong centripetal forces into effect that pushed the physical limits of the satellite, including triaxial shear test methods employing all six degrees of freedom at once.

Lee Colline managed the lives of everyone on the space station.

He paid attention to all communication between the station and bases throughout the solar system.  A pattern matching program alerted him to the accidental conjoining of Guinevere’s dance instructions and satellite reprogramming.

Lee ordered a review of future upgrades to all persons working and/or living on the station.

Although Guinevere’s “accident” had caused no harm and, in fact, may have led to a new discovery, he had to make sure that the next accident didn’t adversely affect the station.

The immediate application of basic science to practical living had long bothered Lee, who thought that some amount of peer review should separate the two after the Great Cataclysm had demonstrated the fallacy of shortterm economic subsystem profits over the longterm needs of the whole ecosystem.

Who, though, understood that socioeconomic systems rarely used peer review as a safety measure the way that scientists had long agreed peer review was necessary for protection against false claims and inaccurate conclusions?

He mentally wrote an emergency measure that would be reviewed by the Committee for implementation across the Solar System Space Station Network: “All student experiments must align their policies with the Post-Great Cataclysm Procedures for Protection Against Instant Gratification.”

Does this comic piece from the New Yorker really exist? Does it matter?

Le Blog de Jean-Paul Sartre

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Jean-Paul_Sartre_323.jpg

 

Saturday, 11 July, 1959: 2:07 A.M.

I am awake and alone at 2 A.M.

There must be a God. There cannot be a God.

I will start a blog.

Sunday, 12 July, 1959: 9:55 A.M.

An angry crow mocked me this morning. I couldn’t finish my croissant, and fled the café in despair.

The crow descended on the croissant, squawking fiercely. Perhaps this was its plan.

Perhaps there is no plan.

Thursday, 16 July, 1959: 7:45 P.M.

When S. returned this afternoon I asked her where she had been, and she said she had been in the street.

“Perhaps,” I said, “that explains why you look ‘rue’-ful.”

Her blank stare only reinforced for me the futility of existence.

Friday, 17 July, 1959: 12:20 P.M.

When S. came through my study just now I asked her to wait a moment.

Rueful,” I told her. “Because ‘rue’ is the French word for street.”

“What?” she said.

“From yesterday,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. Right.”

“And you said you had been in the street.”

“I got it,” she said.

“It was a pun,” I said.

“Got it,” she said. “Puns aren’t your thing, are they?”

“They fill me with dread,” I admitted, for it is true.

“I gotta go,” S. said. “Hey, from now on? Maybe not so much for you with the jokes. It’ll be like an hour for lunch, I gotta thaw the poulet.”

Existence is a vessel that can never be filled.

Sunday, 19 July, 1959: 8:15 A.M.

Let others have their so-called “day of rest”! I shall continue to strive, to think, for in work alone is Man’s purpose. This is what the bourgeoisie seem never to grasp. Especially that lout M. Picard from No. 11. Every day is a “day of rest” for that tête de mouton. How I wish he did not have his Citroën up on blocks in the front yard! Appearances are without meaning, but still, it does not look nice.

Wednesday, 22 July, 1959: 10:50 A.M.

This morning over breakfast S. asked me why I looked so glum.

“Because,” I said, “everything that exists is born for no reason, carries on living through weakness, and dies by accident.”

“Jesus,” S. said. “Aren’t you ever off the clock?”

Monday, 27 July, 1959: 4:10 A.M.

Lunch with Merleau-Ponty this afternoon in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I was disturbed to hear that he has started a photoblog, and skeptical when he told me that although all its images are identical—a lonely kitten staring bleakly into space as rain falls pitilessly from an empty sky—he averages sixteen thousand page views per day. When I asked to see his referrer logs, he muttered evasively about having an appointment with an S.E.O. specialist and scurried away.

So this is hell.

Monday, 3 August, 1959: 11:10 A.M.

I was awakened this morning by the sound of an insistent knocking at my door. It was a man in a brown suit. He seemed to be in a hurry, as if Death itself were pursuing him.

“One always dies too soon—or too late,” I told him. “And yet one’s whole life is complete at that moment, with a line drawn neatly under it, ready for the summing up. You are—your life, and nothing else.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I’m just the UPS guy.”

“Oh,” I said. “I— Oh.”

“Sign here,” he said.

“I thought you were a harbinger of Death,” I told him.

“I get that a lot,” he said, peering down at the place on the clipboard where I had signed. “Spell your last name?”

“S-A-R-T-R-E,” I said.

“Have a nice day,” he said.

A nice day. How utterly banal.

Tuesday, 4 August, 1959: 3: 30 P.M.

A year ago, in a moment of weakness, I allowed my American literary representative to sell one of my books to a cinema producer for what was described as “a bold exploration of contemporary issues.” Yesterday I received a packet of publicity materials for a film titled “Johnny Sart: PD Squad.” The subtitle, or “tag line,” was “No badge. No gun. No exit.” A series of transatlantic telephone calls followed. Apparently I am unable to have my name removed from this abomination, but I will receive what is called a “co-producer” credit.

Existence is an imperfection.

Thursday, 20 August, 1959: 2:10 P.M.

If Man exists, God cannot exist, because God’s omniscience would reduce Man to an object. And if Man is merely an object, why then must I pay the onerous fees levied on overdue balances by M. Pelletier at the patisserie? At least this was the argument I raised this morning with M. Pelletier. He seemed unconvinced and produced his huge loutish son Gilles from the back, ominously brandishing a large pastry roller. The pastry roller existed, I can tell you that.

Friday, 2 October, 1959: 5:55 A.M.

My sleep continues to be troubled by odd dreams. Last night I dreamt that I was a beetle, clinging to the slick surface of a water-soaked log as it careened down a rain-swollen stream toward a waterfall. A figure appeared on the horizon, and as the log drew closer I could see that it was Camus. He held out a hand and I desperately reached for it with my tiny feeler. Just as the log drew abreast of Camus he suddenly withdrew his hand, swooped it through his hair, and sneered “Too slow,” adding superfluously, “Psych.”

It is my belief that the log symbolizes the precariousness of Existence, while the tiny feeler represents Man’s essential powerlessness. And Camus represents Camus, that fatuous ninny.

Tuesday, 10 November, 1959: 12:05 A.M.

It has been over a month since I have updated my blog. I am seized with an urge to apologize. But to whom, and to what end? If one truly creates for one’s self, why then am I so disturbed to find that my unique visitors have dwindled away practically to nothing, with a bounce rate approaching ninety-five per cent? These twin impulses—toward reckless self-regard and the approbation of others—neatly negate one another. This is the essential paradox of our time.

I will start a podcast.

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/shouts/2012/10/le-blog-de-jean-paul-sartre.html#ixzz2AuHZHRIw

Regardless…

Disregard, irregardless, regardless, doesn’t matter.

The use of symbols today seems pointless.

The future puts pressure on this moment.

The future?

Imagined plans, developed schedules, partial goals completed.

A cat warms by the electrically-heated oil radiator, a cat which suffers a vestibular disorder and wobbles like a kid stepping off a merry-go-round.

Funny, how events align — the start of a cat’s dizziness, the dizzying effects of a hurricane — one affecting me more than the other but both having economic impact.

13,701 days to go.  Time to write another story within the story of our lives…

The Future is Calling But is It a Wrong Number?

Some books of my father wait to be catalogued and read, a few based on war and spying.

Is a civilisation a sign of its architecture or the other way around?

When we survey the megalopolises that attract people like moths to a flame, how does the data sort out?

The boxes and cubes,
the donuts and folds,
the windows and doors,
the ceilings and floors.

Their general purposes.

Our general intentions.

We tear down buildings that no longer profit us when the footprint is more valuable for deeper/taller skyscraping monoliths.

A few pyramids and burial mounds remain from the thousands that once existed.

We pour prehistoric plants and animals for roads between cities that grow like slime mold, tendrils stretching for miles and miles.

Roads that fade into history as the oases that feed civilisations die out and sprout dies.

Dies and molds,
Forms and shapes,
Injections and cuts,
Diaphanous and cold.

When two or more generations separate us from war, what will our descendants think about civilisations — their competition for primary cultural status in architecture, for instance?

The Yellow Leaves of Autumn

Looking through the dusty bedroom window in the late morning sunlight, I saw yellow, lots of yellow…

Dirt and dust from Plains’ states, a plain state of dirt and dust, plane wood, plane wings, stated simply, plainly, mainly.

A hunter’s paradise, a Halloween scene, a setting for a Sorcerer soundtrack, a story tinged with subplots from “Special/RX.”

What about Collins by Samuel Johnson?

Seven Ages of Man, Redux Revisited Remake

I lay on the sofa in the sunroom, watching leaves follow an imaginary gravitational path to the ground, when a mosquito bounced against the window screen.

I thought about all the mosquitoes that are born and never find a meal, dying before they reproduce.

I thought about why our species has such a strong urge to save so many of us from certain death.

I remembered the poetic recount of the Seven Ages of Man.

I wondered what it would look like if I pretended not to know what the Seven Ages of Man is supposed to represent.

I thought of beds, chairs and desks.

That’s it!  The Seven Ages of Man is about furniture!

We live our lives to give furniture meaning and a feeling of purpose.

Thanks to the following websites for the reposted use of their images:

http://etc.usf.edu/clipart/44400/44468/44468_baby_crib.htm
http://www.freecraftunlimited.com/clipart-school-2.html
http://jessesharville.com/2010/09/08/lazy-lovers-in-bed/
https://www.australiandefence.com.au/news/thales-wins-dmo-cisso-contract
http://classroomclipart.com/clipart-view/Clipart/Legal/legal_1-judge-on-bench-in-court_jpg.htm
http://www.andreadams.com/the_cartoon_express_senior.htm
http://imgur.com/r/pics/O5IzW

A pitch to the undecided

Right now, the two frontrunners in the U.S. presidential election are debating each other, the debate broadcast through various mass media outlets.

I listened for a few minutes and heard the same things they’ve been saying to and about each other all over again all over again.

So, I wandered into the study and decided to blog about my day, instead, which is more interesting to me right now, stoking my ego, not a presidential candidate’s.

Earlier today, I finished sewing the fiber optic light components onto my “Captain America, the ‘late Elvis years'” outfit for an upcoming costume party while I watched the home refinishing crew working on the house next door and the chipmunk/squirrel/wren wildlife digging through the leaves that have fallen onto our driveway.

Later, my mother called to say she’d found our family history book dating back to the beginning of the American Revolutionary War and will pass it on to me, leaving me as both inheritor and carrier for our future family members.

Later still, my wife and I drove on out into the countryside, stopping at a community center to greet our friends, the Cox family (no, not this one),who told us about their days working as tenant/cropshare cotton pickers, moving from rented house to rented house where crop work was needed, long before the high-tech days hit Huntsville and provided them office desk jobs.

Going to the community center was like walking back into the lives of my wife’s and my hometown.

Local politics, loosely tied to national issues but focused on specific problems that can easily be addressed without a legislative stalemate — prioritising road construction projects, sympathetically addressing the legal education needs of citizens going through the probate process, shaking hands with everyone in your district rather than swooping in for photo ops using canned speeches and preapproved Q&A sessions.

Tonight, the community center hosted three candidates for local political office (quotes below taken from their political handouts) while providing free dinner — southern pork BBQ, baked beans, potato chips, soda and tea:

  • Patty Demos, an attorney, Republican candidate for probate judge — ” a mother committed to community and family; active member of high school booster clubs; active in Open Gait, a therapeutic horseback riding program for special needs children; active in Leadership Huntsville/Madison County, Class 24; past board member of FOCAL, Foster Children’s Alliance of Madison County; former lead member of National Children’s Advocacy Center Child Abuse Multidisciplinary Team; married 20 years to Joe Demos, a Huntsville State Farm Insurance agent, raising four sons: TJ, Payton, Mickey and Ryan, who attend Huntsville public schools”
  • Tim McNeese, Republican candidate for Madison County Commissioner District 1 — “Buckhorn High School Advisory Board member since 2008; Buckhorn High School Quarterback Club Board member, serving as President and Vice President from 2008-2009; East Madison County Recreation Association Board member, serving as Vice President and Equipment/Facilities Manager; coach of several soccer, baseball, and basketball teams at East Madison County Recreation Association for over 10 years; married to the former Micheal Johnson for over 24 years, with two sons, Taylor a sophomore at the University of Alabama and Garrett a 7th grader at Buckhorn Middle School; worked in financial industry for over 20 years, currently mortgage loan officer with RBC Bank”
  • Eddie Sisk, Republican candidate for Madison County Commissiioner District 3 — “Eddie graduated from Paint Rock Valley High School in 1976, and after working in the construction field for several years, he began his public service career with the City of Huntsville in 1980.  Eddie served as a supervisor in the Public Works Department where we oversaw various drainage and road projects.  In 1991, Eddie left the City of Huntsville to pursue his lifelong dream of being an entrepreneur.  He became the full-time owner/operator of Valley Trophies and Engraving, a business he had begun several years earlier, and grew it into a successful business.  He sold [it] in 2011 after 22 years.  Eddie is married to Felicia Ogle Sisk and has two step-children, Matthew and Bryan.  Currently, Eddie’s ambition is to return to public service and apply the business and public service experience he has gained over the years to make Madison County District 3 a better place to live for current and future generations.”

I really want to write a scifi short story but first, a mention of the phrase “dark social,” the aspects of computer technology-assisted social connectivity that we don’t talk about as much as we used to, which may explain American ideology, or might not.

My wife says she can’t tell if either presidential candidate won tonight’s debate.  As for me, I was turned off by their angry debate style and left the room, but you know that already, because I have bigger fish to fry.

Speaking of which, only 13,716 days to go!

A Distant Cousin Inquires…

[This post is for a distant cousin of my father, who wanted to know more about their family lineage, including personal accounts]

On Saturday, May 10th, 2008, the family history my father had shared with me as we spent time together on Saturday:

About growing up on Black Oak Ridge in Fountain City, TN, with his grandparents, same house his mother grew up in.  A large part of property on Black Oak Ridge owned by a freedman in late 1800s.  Part of freedman’s land purchased by Dad’s great-grandparents in early 1900s.

Grandparents married in 1910.  Dresser with mirror in my parents’ dining room served as part of wedding dowry.  Dad’s grandmother died while he, who took the train to work at Tennessee Theater (and usually walked home), was met by his two aunts at the theater so Dad knew the news they had.  His grandfather died in a nursing care facility during my youth.  Dad recalled where both his grandparents had laid in bed during their last days in their house.  He drew up floor plans of the two-story house.  I recall the old linoleum peeling up in the kitchen, faded wall covering in the front room (the wall dividing the front room into a bedroom and parlor long ago removed to accommodate a hospital bed), stairs to the second floor and a dark closet in the back of the second story with just a sheet over the door, giving a eery feeling to the upstairs.

“Granddad’s mother’s first name was Gertrude. She was known as a strong-willed, somewhat controlling person, especially to her daughter-in-law, my Grandmother, Lucy Margaret Pope Eldridge (Mrs. Frank L.) and my Mother, Thelma May Eldridge, etc., etc.

“Don’ t know her maiden name, nor do I remember her husband’s (Great-Grandfather Eldridge) first name.

“Granddad (Frank Eldridge), their first-born, was a sheet metal worker and union member at the Southern Railway.

“His youngest brother George Eldridge (Uncle Ed) was a staff member of the Burlington Route RR. He commuted daily by train from Naperville, IL, to The Loop and return, 1920s – late 1940s. (Uncle Ed “ran away with the circus” when he was young, and ended up in IL.) He and his wife, Lil, had one son, who lived in Kankakee, IL, until he retired to AZ. Best I recollect, Uncle Ed lived with him until he passed away. Lil (Lilly) was a first gen. German-American. I remember her Mother speaking in a German-accented English.

“His sister, Ada Eldridge Waters , and her husband, owned a small potato chip bakery in Pueblo, CO. Their son Earl was our only family member KIA in WWII.

“The middle brother, Charles, lived in LA and worked for Lockheed Aircraft there. He had one son, whom I met only once, when Granddad and I ‘went west’ in 1951. Never had contact with him thereafter.”

My father’s grandfather (my great-grandfather) worked as a tinsmith/sheet metal worker for the Southern Railway because he left school in the sixth grade to help support family (his father had worked as a blacksmith).  He used college-level math and trigonometric shortcuts to design and build parts for his job.  He also built the house on Black Oak Ridge, one story at a time.  The floor sloped down in places where he had extended the width of the house.

Dad’s mother and uncle used to haul water up the hill from a spring until they got regular running water at the house.  Dad used to play at the spring and creek with his friends Philip and George Bradfute.  One time they saw a water moccasin and hightailed it up the hill back to the house as if the snake could chase and catch them.

The scary room I remembered as a child had no fearful connotation to my father.  His grandfather developed black and white film from Brownie cameras in that room, considered an upstairs closet.  A tape job held together one of the family Brownies — family lore said that the camera had rolled all the way down House Mountain.

My great-grandfather owned only one car in his life, a Model T in the 1920s.  His wife had earned a reputation as a speedy driver of the car, started back when she had ridden a fast horse (the horse had racing blood and would outrun horse-and-buggy riders if passed).  The family used to ride the car up to Monte LeConte long before the Great Smoky Mountains National Park existed.  Mechanical brakes did not work well on the car so reverse was used to slow down the car.  On the way down the mountain one time, they couldn’t stop the car when a cow stepped out onto the road so they hit and killed the cow (and of course, damaged the car).  They located the farmer — he didn’t blame them or ask for compensation because the cow had stepped in front of them, not the other way around.

Harris and Pope are family names on the Eldridge side of my family (Eldridge is paternal grandmother’s name; Capps is paternal BIOLOGICAL grandfather’s name (and not one to discuss with my father since Papa Capps abandoned my father and his mother) — my father changed his name to Hill after his mother remarried).

Grandma Harris attended Smithwood School.  One of the stories she told related how some boys at school came from the French side of Switzerland (a town called Tunn?).  American school boys taught the Swiss boys how to say “I love you” to American girls and then laughed when the Swiss boys said the phrase to the American girls (probably thinking they were saying “Hello”).  Very funny.

The Harrises owned property where Maryville College now sits.  Supposedly a sign on the school campus attests to that fact.

Dad delivered newspapers as a kid.  Dad has told me about some of his famous customers in emails through the years.  I will pull those together for a later blog entry.

My great-grandfather kept a string of dried hot peppers on the back porch and would eat them to settle an upset stomach.  In his later years, he sat in the front room of the house to watch television.  A set of condos sits where that house stood — a result of my grandmother and great-uncle selling the property to a developer, teaching me that money has more importance than land held by two generations of family members, signs, too, that my family has always migrated to new/better land.
Subject: FW: Family history for descendents of Col. John Sawyers

Here is some information of Dad’s family history (scanned and OCR’d from a book cited in the email links at the bottom of this blog entry):

FAMILY HISTORY OF COL. JOHN SAWYERS. Col. John Sawyers, born in 1745; died November 20, 1831, age. 86 years. Buried in Washington Church Cemetery, Knox County, Tenn.

Rebecca Crawford, wife of Col. John Sawyers, born February 7, 1753 ; died February 25, 1841, age, 88 years and 8 days. Buried in Washington Church Cemetery. John Sawyers and Rebecca Crawford were married January 30, 1776, in Augusta County. Virginia. To this union were born the following children :

5. — John Sawyers, Jr., born April 9, 1786; died October 1, 1851. Buried in Washington Church Cemetery.

JOHN SAWYERS, JR., FAMILY.

John Sawyers, Jr., second son and fifth child of Col. John Sawyers, was a man of sterling integrity and of sober and industrious habits. In stature was about 5 feet 10 or 11 inches; dark hair and eyes, and withal a commanding figure; in deportment gentle and kind; in the church, state and society, he was one of the substantial citizens of that day. He married Nancy Shell, a daughter of Christian Shell, who early emigrated from Virginia and settled near Graveston, Knox County, Tenn. At the time of his marriage, in 1809, his father located him on about one-third of the one thousand acres purchased in August, 1794, which he afterwards willed him. Upon this tract of land John Sawyers, Jr.. built a large four-room, two-story house of native hewn logs, with a huge stone chimney in the center. Two rooms of this house are still standing with the chimney intact. This house is three-quarters of a mile East of the Josiah Sawyers old home, on the old Emery Road.

John Sawyers, Jr., was the first child born after the removal to Knox County. His second wife was Miss Martha Thompson, whom he married about 1846, who some years after the death of John Sawyers, Jr., married James S. Bell, Beaver Creek, Knox County, Tenn.

James S. Bell died Sept., 1860. His wife, Martha Sawyers Bell, died in 1866 or 1867. Both are buried side by side at Bell’s Camp Ground, Knox County, Tennessee.

2nd S. G. John Sawyers, Jr., fifth child of Col. John Sawyers, born April 9, 1786; died Oct. 1, 1851; buried Washington Church. Nancy Shell, wife, born Feb. 18, 1788; died May 26, 1844; buried Washington Church.

John Sawyers, Jr., and Nancy Shell were married July 11, 1809. To this union was born the following children, to wit:

7. Rebecca Crawford, born Oct.1. 1822; died Nov. 7, 1877 ; buried Anderson Cemetery. Married Samuel K. Harris. (See Harris part of History.)

Rebecca Crawford Sawyers Harris, seventh child of John Sawyers, Jr., became a member of Washington Church upon profession of faith soon after her marriage to Samuel K. Harris. Her life was full of Christian activity and work. She was a thorough student of the Bible, having been trained therein by her grandmother, and she in turn imparted this knowledge to her children by daily reading to them from the Holy Scriptures. She was a woman of strong character, self poised and possessed considerable executive ability. She met the cares and duties of life with a courageous heart and cheerfully and dutifully filled her place in her home. She was a true mother, devoted to the welfare of her children. She left her children, as a testimony to her la})or of love for them, the memory of a life which time cannot erase, and her children rise up and call her blessed.

The immediate cause of her death was pneumonia fever. The morning before she died in the afternoon she said to her son. Dr. M. M. Harris, “The chariots have been here all night waiting for me.” The most of her children were at her bedside, to whom she said many blessed words before her departure.

She was buried Sunday afternoon, Nov. 9, 1877, Rev. David A. Herron, her pastor, preaching the funeral. Buried in Anderson Cemetery.

SAMUEL KINCHEN HARRIS.

Samuel Kinchen Harris, twelfth child of Simon Harris. Born Sept. 12. 1818. on the Holston River, opposite the station known as Mascot, Tenn.. on the Southern Railway, about fourteen miles east of Knoxville. At the death of his father in 1831, Samuel Harris being about thirteen years of age, it fell upon his shoulders to support his widowed mother and two sisters, Clara and Martha. He had but a limited education, owing to the fact of his having to support the family, but notwithstanding this and the poor facilities at that day for getting an education, he attained a good common English education. In stature he was five feet ten inches, fair complexion, blue eyes and light hair; a robust, healthy man all his life.

At his marriage to Rebecca Crawford Sawyers in 1810, he moved to Harbison’s Cross Roads, where he rented a small farm and lived there until the fall of 1841, when he purchased a small farm in Hinds” Valley, eleven miles east of Knoxville, on the Tazewell pike. Here he lived until 1853, when he became Superintendent of the Knox County Poor Asylum, which was then and is now situated at [Maloneyville. He lived here four years, moving to the present old home eight miles east of Knoxville, on the Tazewell Pike, in January, 1857. This farm of two hundred and thirty acres he purchased from Dr. Isaac A. Anderson, founder of the present Maryville College, paying for the place at that time four thousand ($4,000) dollars. Here he lived, completing the raising of his first family of ten children. His beloved wife, Rebecca Crawford Sawyers, died November 7, 1877.

Samuel Kinchen Harris was one of the substantial citizens of Knox County, He served as Justice of the Peace of Knox County for six years, between 1870 and 1880. During this time he took an active interest in all matters pertaining to the best interests of the County, especially in the matter of public roads. He, as well as his first wife, were members of Washington Church, he being at his death a deacon in that church. He lived an honest, Christian life ; his word as good as his bond ; was honorable in all his transactions, leaving behind him a record that his children and descendants may justly be proud of.

OBITUARY of SAMUEL K. HARRIS

One of the Most Prominent Men of Knox County Died at an Advanced Age.

“Samuel K. Harris. age 82 years, one of the best known citizens of Knox County, residing in the Third Civil District, died Friday night, May 4th, 1900, at 7 o’clock, at his home. His health had been failing for some time, yet the end came as a surprise to his many friends in the city.

“The funeral occurred Sunday at 2 p. m., at the Anderson burying ground, six miles out on the Tazewell Pike. Rev. T. M. Lowery. D. D., pastor of the Third Presbyterian Church, Knoxville, conducted the services, assisted by Rev. J. H. Newman, of Maryville, Tenn.”

About a month after the death of Samuel K. Harris, William M. Harris, one of his pall-bearers. was killed by accident — June 19th, 1900. William M. Harris being an Elder, and Samuel K. Harris being a Deacon, in Washington Church, a memorial funeral service was held in their honor at Washington Church, some time in July following, the memorial sermon being preached by Rev. P. M. Bartlett, D. D., of Maryville, Tenn., who was then supplying the pulpit at Washington Church.

SAMUEL KINCHEN HARRIS’ FAMILY
2nd H. G.— 3rd S. G. Samuel Kinchen Harris, born Sept. 12, 1818 ; died May 4, 1900; buried Anderson Cemetery. Married Rebecca Crawford Sawyers, born Oct. 1, 1822; died Nov. 7, 1877; buried Anderson Cemetery. They were married Oct. 22, 1840, by Rev. Gideon S. White. To this union was born ton children, to wit :

3rd H. G.— 4th S. G. 1. Madison Monroe Harris, born Sept. 21, 1841.

2. John Sawyers Harris, born Aug. 2, 1843 ; died June 2, 1881 ; buried Anderson Cemetery.

3. Susan Malvina Harris, born Nov. 30, 1845.

4. Clarissa Rowena Harris, born IMareh 23, 1848 ; died July 14, 1901.

5. Joseph C’owen Harris, born July 23, 1850.

6. Rev. William Emmons Blackburn Harris, born May 7, 1853.

7. Mariah Paralee Harris, born Sept. 9, 1855.

8. Claiborne Alfred Harris, born June 2, 1858.

9. Ellen Cornelia Harris, born July 14, 1861.

10. Miunie Virginia Harris, born Aug. 28, 1865.

WILLIAM E. POPE’S FAMILY.

3rd H. G. — 4th S. G. Ellen Cornelia Harris, born July 14, 1861, married William E. Pope, born June 4, 1861. They were married September 20, 1883. To this union was born six children., to wit:

4th H. G.— 5th S. G. 1. Nettie Rebecca Pope, born July 5. 1884.

2. Lucy Margaret Pope, born April 24, 1887.

3. Willie Myrtle Pope, born Aug. 2, 1889.

4. Charles E. Pope, born April 16, 1894; died March 30, 1895; buried Anderson Cemetery.

5. Laura Cornelia Pope, born Feb. 28, 1896.

6. Pearl Richmond Pope, born Aug. 13, 1898.

W. E. Pope lives at Fountain City, Tenn. Has been employed by the Sanford, Chamberlain & Albers Drug Company for fifteen years. He and his family are members of the Fountain City M. E. Church.

4th H. G.— 5th S. G. Nettie Rebecca Pope married Nov. 3, 1909, to Rufus H. Caldwell, born Sept. 21, 1875. To this union has been born two children, to wit :

5t.h H. G.— 6th S. G. 1. Evalyn Palmer Caldwell, born June 20, 1910.

2. James Erwin Caldwell, born Dee. 1, 1911.

R. H. Caldwell is connected with the Miller Dry Goods Co., of Knoxville, and lives at Fountain City, Tenn.

4th H. G. 5th S. G. Lucy Margaret Pope was married Sept. 3, 1910, to Frank L. Eldridge. To this union has been born one daughter, to wit :

5th H. G.— 6th S. G. Thelma May Eldridge, born May 22, 1912. Died May 19, 1997.

Mr. Eldridge and family live at Fountain City, Tenn. Prank L. Eldridge is an employee of the Southern Railway Company, Knoxville, Tenn. He is an active member of the Baptist Church.

OBITUARY for Thelma May Eldridge

HIRTH, THELMA ELDRIDGE HILL – age 84, passed away Monday evening in Port Charlotte, Fla. She was a charter member of the South Biscayne Baptist Church. She was a charter cradle roll member of Central Baptist Church of Fountain City. She held a life-membership with the American Federation of Garden Clubs and a life-member of the Florida Garden Clubs. She was preceded in death by her first husband, Lee Bruce Hill; and her parents, Frank Lee and Lucy Pope Eldridge. Retired school teacher of Knox County Schools. Survived by husband, Clarence Hirth of Florida; son and daughter-in-law, Richard Lee and Evelyn Hill of Kingsport; granddaughter and grandson-in-law, Anne Hill and Kevin Sherwood of Kingsport; grandson and granddaughter-in-law, Richard L. II and Janeil Hill of Huntsville, Ala.; great-grandchildren, Nicholas and Maggie Sherwood. Graveside service 2:30 p.m. Saturday, Greenwood Cemetery, Rev. Ed Jenkins officiating. In lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to the Central Baptist Church of Fountain City Library Fund or to Carson Newman College. The family will receive friends from 1-2 p.m. Saturday at Gentry-Griffey Chapel.

Thelma May Eldridge married, in 1933 or 1934, James Horace Capps, born in Knoxville, in the year 1913 [(He subsequently married Bessie Eunice Stallings on 29-Apr-1939 in Knox Co, Tennessee, and had two children: CLADUETTE CAPPS, b. 03-Jun-1946, Knoxville, Knox Co, Tennesse/Knoxville, Knox Co., TN.; ii. JR JAMES HORACE CAPPS, b. 23-Aug-1947, Knoxville, Knox Co, Tennessee.) (She subsequently was remarried to Lee Bruce Hill, born on 27 Jan 1911 (Joppa, Grainger, TN), died on Apr 1978; after Lee’s death, she was remarried to Clarence Hirth – no children were born from from either of the last two marriages)]. To this union was born one son, to wit:
6th H. G.— 7th S. G. Richard Horace Capps was born February 22, 1935 (changed his name to Richard Lee Hill by Court Order-Knox County-1944*).  Died May 18, 2012.

Richard Lee Hill was married to Mary Evelyn Teffeteller on August 26, 1956.  To this union were born 2 children, to wit:

7th H.G. — 8th S.G. 1. Richard Lee Hill, II was born May 6, 1962.

2. Anne Elizabeth Hill was born February 22, 1964.  She was married to Kevin Sherwood on Dec. 28, 1985 (subsequently, she was remarried to Bruce Trask – no children were born from the last marriage).  To this union were born 2 children, to wit:

8th H. G.— 9th S. G. 1. Nicholas Ryan Sherwood was born June 25, 1992.

2. Maggie Ellen Sherwood was born May 13, 1994.

====================================================

Subject: Family history for descendents of Col. John Sawyers
To: My Children/Grandchildren
Date: Saturday, July 3, 2010, 11:04 AM

Dad/Grandpa Richard L. Hill, writes:

Please see the following link for the family history of Col. John Sawyers, from whom I am descended.

See p. 132 for listing of my Mother, Thelma May Eldridge.

She was 5th Harris generation and 6th Sawyers generation. Thus I am 6th Harris and 7th Sawyers.

Note that the book may be viewed in a variety of ways.

http://www.archive.org/details/familyhistoryofc01harr

http://www.archive.org/stream/familyhistoryofc01harr#page/n7/mode/2up

*Dad writes:
Rick, I am not adopted. My name was changed from Richard Horace Capps to Richard Lee Hill by Court Order-Knox County-1944. I have the exact date and have a copy of the court order, should you want a copy of that copy. Lee was from Lee Bruce Hill, Frank Lee Eldridge and Ralph Lee Eldridge.You were the 5th Lee!

Richard was from Richard M. Harris, who entered service as Sgt, Co F, 3d TN Infantry,U.S.A, at Flat Lick, KY, Feb 10, 1862. (I see a faint hand written note in the S-H Fam Hist Book (hereafter S-H FHB), that says “Great Uncle” (of ?).

That same day, another relative entered service at the same place. William M. Sawyers entered as Captain of Co K, 3d TN INF, USA. He was appointed. Lt. Col. 8-20-1863.

Though in heavy fighting throughout the Civil War, each survived the War and was mustered out in Feb 1965. Richard Harris was wounded.

In battle, William was struck down by an exploding shell and carried from the field of battle unconscious. “His person seemed charmed in this engagement, as his sword was broken, and a number of bullets passed through his uniform, but strange to say, his body was unharmed.” (S-H FHB)

Note that they served in the UNION ARMY. We had relatives on both sides.
Knoxville was a town with sympathies in both directions, N. and S.

Here are Forgey men who served : (none shown in Am Revolutionary War in S-H FHB).

War of 1812-15
Alexander G. Forgey, (with Jackson at Battle of New Orleans, which , as you know, took place AFTER the war was declared over-no instant communication then).

Seminole War, 1836-37
James A. Forgey, (son of Alexander A. Forgey) , under General Jessup.

War with Mexico, 1846-48
James A. Forgey, (the same!), entered service again as a private in Co. C, 1st Indiana Infantry, at New Albany, Ind., June 14, 1846, under command of Col. James P. Drake. Mustered out in New Orleans, June , 1847.

Andrew J. Forgey entered service on same date and place and in same unit as James A., served under Gens. Scott and Taylor in Mexico. Mustered out same date and place.

Civil War, 1861-65
James A. Forgey, (yep, once again!), though 45 years old at the time, entered service as Corporal in Co. H, 29th Iowa Infantry, USA, July 24, 1862. This time he was less fortunate, for he contracted smallpox and all but died of it. He was mustered out on disability April 24, 1863.

Thomas C. Forgey, son of Alexander C. Forgey, private, Co B, 46th Indiana Infantry, Feb. 18, 1864. Mustered out Sept. 4, 1865, in Louisville, KY.

Andrew A. Forgey, son of James A. Forgey, private, Co B, 46th Ind. INF, etc, same as Thomas above.

John B. Forgey, son of James A. Forgey, private, Co H,4th Iowa INF, June 4, 1861. Died of smallpox Feb 3, 1863 and buried in National Cemetery, Young’s Point, LA.

 

“……ain’t gonna study war no more….”
from an old A-A ( formerly Negro) spiritual whose title I do not remember.