Celebrating Sharpsburg’s Bicentennial “A Time Remembered”

Chapter 5-The Houses

The first house on Main Street, on the right, as you drive into Sharpsburg from the north, was that of Mr. “Nuck” Clark and his wife, Miss Bird.

I was never quite certain, but his first name must have been Enoch. What her first name was, is still a mystery.

They were staid members of the Christian Church, next door and owned a farm nearby.

Mr. Nuck had a brother Dye, who lived on his farm on the road to Owingsville. His son Walter was several years older than I and since he was a “country boy”, I never knew him well.

On the other side of the church lived “Country Bill” Ratliff, with his wife Miss Lizzie, whose maiden name was Peck and their two daughters, Elizabeth and Mary Galloway. The former was my age.

But until I reached the ripe old age of eleven, I didn’t have too much luck with the girls.

I do remember that aunt Mary Bell Allen, who was a Peck, and who was the wife of great-uncle Tom would have Elizabeth and her cousin, Ruth Peck to her house for cookies and lemonade in the parlor and I would be invited.

Once, I remember when we were playing outside and the girls had to go to the privy. I tried to sneak a peek. But the boards in the wall were too close together.

Mary Galloway, not an overly attractive girl about eight years older than I, later finally married Mr. Jim Ralls, who as a widower lived alone on his farm just outside of town.

Next to “Country Bills” home resided two single women, Miss Florence Peck and her sister Fan.

The former, a life-long friend of my mother, was the impeccably dressed, straight-laced type.

The other, masculine in appearance, was sort of a grown-up-tomboy, who when she walked downtown to shop or get the mail, used a tobacco stick as a cane.

In the big, white, house next door, with its full porch, lived Dr. Conway, his wife, who was my cousin Mary and their two offspring, Allie and Emily.

The good doctor was a pretty good doctor, short and rotund, he would huff and puff after climbing the stairs at our house whenever he entered my room to take my temperature and to dole out a supple of one of his tow favorite medications. One was calomel, the other castor oil.

I remember the time I cut my thumb while slicing a green apple and he did a good job bandaging it in his office, which you entered from the side of the house.

There is the story too that after I was born he sent me a silver spoon, as was the custom in those days, with the name engraved on it.

Trouble was, he had assumed I would be named for my father, William Rufus Knight, but I wasn’t.

My namesake was a surgeon in Maysville, Dr. Woodson Taulbee, who was the husband of my dad’s sister, and who was responsible for my delivery.

The latter is true because my mother had gone to see the surgeon, certain that she had appendicitis.

That condition did exist, but it was found that she was also pregnant. In that time, I’m told such a combination was precarious. But Dr. Taubee was up for the task.

Dr. Conway was the attending physician, as he was later when in the sixth grade I contracted scarlet fever. That meant the house had to be quarantined.

Since I was never very ill with the fever, long before the quarantine had expired, mother and I had literally worn out six decks of cards playing double solitaire.

At long last, Dr. Conway said, “Mary, you can fumigate the house and get someone to give it a good cleaning”.

No sooner was it done than mother came down with Scarlet fever. At the same time, dad became extremely ill with an infected throat.

That left an 11-year- old boy as nurse, cook, housekeeper and to take care of both parents.

No one was allowed to enter the house, but good neighbors and kinfolk did more than their share to provide food, bringing it to the front or rear door.

One of them was Maude, a fine African American lady who lived with her husband Peck, on Back Street, just to the rear of our lot.

She brought what we called an “old hen”, cooked to a golden brown and ready to eat.

When mother learned that the chicken had been killed and roasted the same day, she wouldn’t touch it. She always insisted that any foul should sit overnight in the icebox before cooking.

In time, we were all well again. The house was thoroughly cleaned and once more, life returned to normal and six decks of cards were tossed into the trash.

On the other side of Dr. Conway’s house lived Judge Nelson, his wife, Miss Meddie, her sister Miss Nettie and their elderly father, Mr. Barker.

Judge Nelson, who presided over “City Court”, was a former country newspaper editor and lawyer of sorts.

He was a highly intelligent man and with his velvet, resonant voice, a superb speaker.

An avid student of the Bible, he led Sunday School at the Baptist Church and taught class for adults.

Miss Meddie was an immaculate little woman, friendly, ever-busy and a leader in the church too.

Miss Nettie was my Sunday School teacher and was, in the terminology of the day, an old maid.

Mr. Barker stayed indoors most of the time and smoked his pipe incessantly.

Mother used to say she disliked going to the Nelson’s home because the air was so heavy and pungent, made that way by the tobacco smoke.

I think I remember correctly that Mr. Barker, who never had to wear glasses and attributed his good eyesight to the fact that he never rubbed his eyes, gave up smoking at the age of 90.

Several doors down the street there was the Ratliff home.

Mr. Omar, another of the farmers who lived in town, always rode to and from town in a topless buggy, pulled by a high-stepping sorrel mare. His wife, cousin Nan, (it seems most of the folk in Sharpsburg were either a cousin, an aunt or an uncle) was a great cake maker.

A fond memory is being invited into the house for a piece of one of her masterpieces.

In summer, the shades were always drawn against the hot sunshine and always the house was permeated with the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked cake.

Their son, Willie Ray, lived with Miss Mary Barrett, who was from Richmond and had come to teach at Sharpsburg.

On one side of our family home (sold after we moved to Carlisle to N.H. Stone and his wife, who was the daughter of George Bascom, and later destroyed by fire) was Jenny McLoney’s home. (Jenny’s house is now the home of Ms. Thelma June Gulley)

Her husband, killed in an automobile accident between Lexington and Paris, certainly must have been one of the first traffic fatalities in Kentucky. Jenny was a marvelous cook and a lovely, sweet and kind lady.

I can still remember being invited to her house for dinner and can still see and taste delicious baked apples, complete with sauce colored b red whiskey killers.

Jenny had one daughter, Margaret, a friend of my sister. She once had a beau who lived near Mt. Sterling on the road to Winchester.

I remember because he drove a Stutz Bearcat! Miss Sally, a sister of Jenny who was mentally challenged, even in adulthood lived there also.

On the other side of our house and the alley that led back to our garage, which faced on Back Street, were Mr. Will Evans and his brother.

The two old men, at least to me, bred white Collies and Mr. Will gave one of the pups to me.

But enough of the houses in Sharpsburg and their occupants.

Now sixty years later, I can still name the family which lived in each one, on both sides of the street.

And in each of the families there lies a story that could be told to form the basis or plot for many a short story or novel.

Stay tuned for chapter 6 in next weeks edition.