Ned Pillersdorf Is Running Against Hal Rogers For Congress!

On Friday, July 4, 2025, in Rosenberg Square in Prestonsburg, Kentucky, attorney Ned Pillersdorf, the husband of former Kentucky Supreme Court Justice Janet Stumbo will announce his entry into the Democratic primary election in opposition to long time Congressman Hal Rogers, who at 89 is one of the longest serving members of congress, and perhaps one of those most likely to be unable to successfully complete another two year term. Kentucky's 5th district contains most of the ten poorest counties in the state, and has one of the highest percentages in the nation of recipients of both Medicaid and SNAP, commonly referred to as Food Stamps. The district is also the site where in 1964 President Lyndon Johnson launched the War On Poverty. The district is also sometimes the bearer of the brunt of the heartless jokes about how "we declared a War On Poverty and poverty won". It is also the disrict in which former Congressman Carl Perkins spent his career working tirelessly for the betterment of all Kentuckians. Ned Pillersdorf has also spent his entire legal career working tirelessly in the district for the betterment of all Kentuckians without having ever spent a day in public office. Pillersdorf is the attorney who put together the coalition of pro bono lawyers who won thousands of appeals of highly unjust deprivations of Social Security benefits to the former clients of jailed attorney Eric C. Conn. He is also the attorney who represented the dismissed employees of Blackjewel Coal in their battle to receive unpaid wages when the company folded without warning. No one in the last 40 years has done more for Eastern Kentucky and its people. Every person who has benefitted from the work of Ned Pillersdorf should be in Prestonsburg on July 4, 2025, to support the man who has supported you in your times of greatest need, always been there when injustice was running rampant, when the wrongly persecuted workers of Kentucky were facing the loss of everything they ever owned, when widows and orpans were in danger of losing pension benefits from their deceased fathers, and anytime injustice was continuing to preserve poverty in the 5th district of Kentucky. I look forward to the day when Ned Pillersdorf will be sworn in as Congressman Pillersdorf and the US House can once again have a Democratic majority.

"Maggie: A Girl Of The Streets" by Stephen Crane

Many time on this blog, I have mentioned that I often buy books at what I refer to as "junk stores", Goodwill, Salvation Army Thrift Stores, etc. I find all kinds of less common books in such places. One of my favorite little places to buy such books is at a little shelf outside the door of the snack shop, gift shop near the entrance to Pavilion H at the University of Kentucky Hospital. It is actually located in the hall between the entrance to Pavilion H, the old main hospital section, and the kiosk where patients sign in. I believe the little gift shop is operated by some arm of the hospital auxillary. The little book shelf operates solely from donated books which must come from a variety of sources including medical staff, auxillary members, patients and their visitors and might contain anything at any given time. All the books sell for some minimal price, usually 75 cents. Due to the fact that my wife has frequent appointments at the Kentucky Clinic across the street, I often take a long walk around the medical buildings in order to get my exercise, cruise past the little bookshelf, about 2 feet wide and 4 shelves high, browse what it contains, and buy anything that interests me. My last purchase there included the book I am writing about now, "Maggie: A Girl Of The Streets" by Stephen Crane, the author of "The Red Badge of Courage" which is a much better known book. The edition of "Maggie..." which I found there is actually A Norton Critical Edition which contains a great deal of critical and historical material in addition to the full text of "Maggie..." which is actually a novella of only 58 pages. But this edition also contains about 200 more pages of the supporting writings, photographs, and maps of New York City in the late 19th century. It was edited by Thomas A. Gullason, Ph. D., an English Professor at the University of Rhode Island. It is an excellent piece of work both from the simple aspect of being a fine novella by one of America's best early novelists, and by virtue of being a fine piece of editorial work by someone who clearly understood his materieal well. The book was originally published in 1893 and the text Dr. Gullason used is that original text. He has wisely not fiddled with the language of the time, has inserted numerous and sometimes voluminous footnotes to provide extensive information about the language used, geography at times, and other aspects of life in New York City in the late 19th century. I read the book with my wife Candice as we do nearly every day. I read aloud from our chosen book as she washes our breakfast dishes. When she finishes, I rinse the dishes. We take turns choosing the books we read and it is an exercise that works well for us in terms of both literature and personal relationship. This was obviously a fast read, in terms of the text of novella alone. In light of its brevity, it was a very nice book to read. Crane's writing does use some now antiquated words at times but he was a fine novelist as anyone knows who has ever read "The Red Badge of Courage". His writing style was actually much more modern in nature than most of his peers at the time. The novella still stands up to just about anything from any modern author in today's times. Maggie is the oldest daughter of a poor, Irish, working class family living in an early tenement in New York. Her mother is an abusive, alcoholic. Her father is an abusive, heavy drinking wagon driver in the streets of the city. Her brother Jimmie is a street urchin with a violent nature. The entire family and every one around them is simply striving to stay alive in a very hostile environment. As Maggie matures into a young woman, she becomes enamored with a friend of her brother named Pete who is a bartender and passes himself off as being much more than he actually is in terms of his money, lifestyle, worldly ways, etc. Maggie falls for Pete, leaves home to be with him after a particularly violent incident with her mother. She is wined and dined by Pete early in their relationship, taken to concerts, bars, and other forms of entertainment and comes to believe that Pete will improve her life. As the novella progresses, it becomes apparent that Pete is a womanizer who is totally in everything purely for his own satisfaction. Eventually, Maggie leaves Pete after he tires of her and moves on with an older woman whom he considers more interesting, charming, and attractive. Maggis is rejected by her mother and the family as a "fallen woman", and dies on the streets. It is obviously a very dark novella filled with poverty, alcoholism, womanizing, prejudice toward minorities, and nearly everything negative that New York offered in the 1890's. But it is a fine novella and well worth reading. If you can find a copy, get it, read it, and come to understand the poverty that immigrant working class families suffered in the early days of our country. And, in light of the recent hatred, animosity, and aggression toward the immigrants who once were and still are the real builders of our country, it is fine novella to read in today's politically disastrous times.

Christmas On Beaver When Times Were Hard!

 On Beaver Creek, the times were hard.

We had no taters, had no lard.

All the way from Allen to Kite,

Times were tough, money was tight.

It wasn't any better from Martin to Wheelright.

Both forks were suffering, it felt like a blight.

The mines were down, people were leaving.

Old grandmas sat crying and grieving.

Miners were headed to places off yonder

While mothers of children would sit and ponder

How to feed four, or five or six

Hungry mouths with nothing to fix.

Christmas was just about a week away

And children had learned not to say

Old Santa's name by night or day. 

This had become a mighty hard life

For hardworking husbands and every young wife.

There would be no toys under green trees.

Adults were praying on bony knees.

Smoke houses were empty of the last meat.

The canning was gone, nothing to eat.

Squirrels were in hiding in the highest trees 

Too far to shoot the ones you did see.  

Rabbits had been killed till few were around

And  they all hid warm underground.

Old men were selling their best coon hound

Nothing to feed them, nothing to go around. 

A lot of dry cows were already beef

And acorns were sought under every dry leaf.

Real old men and their real old wives

Said this was the worst time in their lives.

Christmas was less than a week off

And lots of people had started to cough.

Hungry people get sick a whole lot quicker

With nothing to eat and no pot licker.

But somewhere off in them big cities

The ones who had left bought a few play pretties,

Loaded them up with flour, lard, beans, and rice,

They were bringing it home and didn't think twice.

On Beaver they knew they had poor kin

And letting them starve would be a great sin.

In Kendallville, Cincy, Chicago, and Dayton

That Friday afternoon they all were waiting

For quit time to come and time off to start

So they could come home and touch grandma's heart.

They loaded all the good stuff they all could afford

Filled up their tanks and thanked the Lord

They still had good jobs near Christmas day

So they come home and proudly say

We didn't know what you need but thought we should

Bring a few things and maybe we could

Help out some in these hard times,

Sing a few carols, recite a few rhymes,

Cook a few dishes on Christmas day

And thank the Lord while we all pray

That times get better and the mines start up

And grandpa can buy another bluetick pup.

Granny can see her way till spring

And hoe in the garden and softly sing

Those Old Regular songs she likes so much

That she sings with her own special touch.

Maybe the children can get new clothes

And  John L. Lewis will speak out for those

Who need to work now right here on Beaver

So nobody else will have to leave her

To go up north to some strange town

Where family and friends are never found.

We'll all come back to Beaver some day

Settle right in and always stay

On the old home place with the little old house

Where we can be as warm as a mouse,

Right here on Beaver, the creek we love

Which was a gift from above.

Right here where home is in our souls

Where we want to stay until we grow old

Right here on Beaver, both left and right,

Where we can sleep warm every night,

With the peace of Christmas in our lives

With husbands, sons, daughters, and wives.    

Roger D. Hicks, December 24, 2022

How Much Did You Waste On Memorial Day Flowers?

 

For all my life, I have watched the majority of people in Appalachia spend a great deal of money, often money they don't really have available for trivial spending, for flowers to decorate graves on Memorial Day.  Let me say, first and foremost, I have nothing against Memorial Day or the reasons for it.  But the waste of much needed money to decorate graves, often the graves of distant relatives, relatives the buyer never actually knew, relatives they didn't really like or get along with, is simply waste, unwise spending, and spending which never should take place. I haven't spent money on grave decoration in many years, not because I can't afford it, but because it is wasteful.  I honestly believe that my own parents and grandparents, now long dead, would tell me if they could that they would rather see me put my money to rational uses in my own family, never put flowers on their graves, and live a useful, productive, honest life in tribute to the things they taught me while they were living in the case of my parents and maternal grandparents, whom I knew, and in the case of the paternal grandparents whom I never met since they were both dead more than ten years before I was born.  

 

I have seen at least one of my siblings spend money they did not have, could not afford, and should not have spent, to decorate numerous graves every year of their life.  I am certain that sibling's children are doing the same thing.  I grew up in a large extended family in which both sets of my grandparents and my father raised large numbers of children under tough, but not totally poverty stricken circumstances.  My paternal grandparents raised ten children in a log house in the head of a hollow in Mousie, Kentucky.  They farmed, hunted, fished, and did whatever was necessary to raise those ten children and I never heard my father or any of my aunts or uncles ever say they went hungry once in their lives.  My maternal grandparents raised eight children to adulthood and lost two as small children.  They were poor but never hungry according to the stories I heard from my mother, grandparents, and aunts and uncles.  It took several years for my maternal grandparents to rake and scrape to save enough money to buy a small subsistence farm of their own but their children never went hungry due to the hard work of the entire family.  My father raised nine children from his two marriages and worked in the log woods, coal mines, and farmed until he got together enough money in his fifties to buy a small country store when his first wife grew too ill from an unspecified neurological disease to care for a home and the one son they still had at home.  My father remarried to my mother who had one daughter at the time and they subsequently had me and raised us both to adulthood in the country store which he built after he decided to move from his first location.  I never had a hungry day in my life.  I am certain my parents and grandparents would tell me to save my money, put it to good use in my own family, and not waste it on Memorial Day flowers for their graves.  What about your own Appalachian ancestors?  What would they say to you about Memorial Day flowers if they could?  

Christmas In The Head Of The Holler

 

 

Christmas In The Head Of The Holler

We live here in the head of the holler.

Whole family’s down to one last dollar.

December is here. So is the cold.

We are lost without any gold.

 

You other folks wait on Old Saint Nick

But here in the holler we think it’s a trick.

He hasn’t been here in about ten years

Never brought us anything to dry our tears.

 

We keep eating leftover pinto beans

Wearing more holes in the holes in our jeans.

We just need flour, milk, and lard.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

The children are crying with little hard squalls

Sleeping four to a bed curled up in balls

We eat anything that crosses the yard

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

Some people call this house a shack

No windows in front, no door in the back.

Children run out, chickens run in,

If we catch them they never run again.

 

We remember the year we all got gifts

New pants for Pappy and Granny got new shifts.

Daddy got a pocket knife. Mommy got a skillet.

Brother got a goat and we had to kill it. 

 

We remember that year we had plenty to eat

Shirts on our backs and shoes on our feet.

That year we had more than we needed.

The house got paint, the garden got seeded.

 

Since then it’s been all downhill

Nothing to eat, no hog to kill,

Nothing to spend on the food stamp card.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

 

You other folks wait on Old Saint Nick.

Here in the holler we know it’s a trick.

We just need flour, milk, and lard.

Life in the holler’s never been this hard.

Copyright by Roger D. Hicks, December 21, 2020

 

 

"River Of Earth" by James Still--Book Review

James Still--Photo by University Of Kentucky

This novel by James Still is frequently referred to as "the quintessential Appalachian novel" and at times even as "the best Appalachian novel ever written".  I agree that it is a wonderful novel with beautiful use of dialect which is very difficult to produce accurately without becoming maudlin.  Still did an excellent job of dealing with the classic Appalachian dialect of my native and his adopted Knott County Kentucky.  The novel is narrated by a young boy of about 8 or 10 whose family is overburdened with poverty, illness, death, and deprivation.  They move back and forth from the hillside farm on which the story begins and the coal camp nearby where the father works whenever he is able.  The mother is devoted to her family and the family farm where she eventually buries her most recent child who dies of poverty and malnutrition.  Another son loses some fingers from playing with a blasting camp during their stay in the coal camp.  Three worthless relatives of the weak father move in on the family anytime they begin to do well and have an extra meal or two available.  They contribute nothing to the family and generate strife between the father and mother.  In this book (The Hills Remember: The Complete Short Stories Of James Still), Still writes in (his version of) the dialect which my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the customers in our country store spoke during my childhood.  Other than Mildred Haun, Still may well be the best writer in Appalachian dialect.  But one word used by Still always sticks in my craw as a native Knott Countian.  That word is "chaps" to refer to children and I never heard any of the native speakers around whom I spent my childhood use that word to refer to children.  I suspect the word "chaps" was imported by James Still into his novel subconsciously from his native Eastern Alabama.

" When I wrote about "The Hills Remember: The Complete Short Stories Of James Still", I discussed his dialect writing in comparison to that of Mildred Haun and I append that discussion here: Still is also frequently referred to as one of the better, if not the best, writers in Appalachian dialect.  I do not dispute that he is a fine writer in Appalachian dialect.  But I will always believe that Mildred Haun is a far superior writer of Appalachian dialect.  Her classic work "The Hawk's Done Gone" is far and away the best dialect writing ever done in Appalachian Literature.  As I said earlier, I spent the first twenty years of my life in Knott County Kentucky, was educated there through high school and began my college education at Alice Lloyd College.  I was also reared by my parents, maternal grandparents, and an extended family of aunts and uncles who all grew up in Knott County early in, and in some cases before the turn of the twentieth century.  I know Knott County Appalachian dialect as well as any human on earth and I must insist that there are times when I see that  James Still wrote linguistic expressions which I never heard from my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, farmers at the livestock sales or jockey grounds, or the elderly customers at my parents' country store.  The one word which he used frequently, especially in "River Of Earth" and his short stories and which I never once heard in Knott County is "chaps" in reference to small children.  In my childhood, small children were "young'uns", "chillun", "yard apes", "curtain climbers", and several more conventional, less colloquial terms.  But they were never "chaps".  I suspect that is an expression from Still's youth in Alabama.  Getting back to the comparison between Still and Haun, I will defend Still to the degree that the two of them were writing dialect based on two different subregions of Central Appalachia.  I have also traveled extensively in the Cocke County, TN, area where Haun spent her life and did extensive research among Appalachian serpent handlers there.  The two subdialects have significant differences.  But Haun's consistency and accuracy in writing dialect is superior to James Still's.  It is also worth noting that it is only 63 miles from Harrogate, TN, where Still attended college to Newport, TN, where Haun lived her life.  I do not know that Still ever spent time in Newport but since he and Haun both attended Vanderbilt University it is possible that he did know her and might have even visited the area which would have also exposed him to the dialect which she wrote so admirably.  It is also possible that Still's travels from Chambers County Alabama to Claiborne County Tennessee to Davidson County Tennessee to Knott County Kentucky could have provided a plethora to opportunity for Still to blend the dialects of the four to a degree that not even he recognized."

I do not mean to disparage James Still as an Appalachian writer.  He is a wonderful writer and his work, especially "The River Of Earth", has been taught in classes in colleges and universities all across America and several foreign countries.  But after 68 years of life arising in and being deeply influenced by Knott County, I am firmly convinced that I understand the local dialect as well as anyone on earth.  And, if I am allowed to move on from the discussion of his dialect writing to a simple discussion of the novel as an example of outstanding literature, I firmly believe that it borders on being a masterpiece.  But there are other writers who have lived and written in, of, and about their native Appalachia whose work rivals Still's and I would never go so far as to say any of them have written "the best Appalachian novel".   I believe that appellation is still up for grabs.  I believe that supporters of Harriett Simpson Arnow, Denise Giardina, Gurney Norman, Wilma Dykeman, and Thomas Wolfe can all make rational arguments that each of these authors has written "the best Appalachian novel".   

But let me close by saying that James Still was a wonderful novelist.  In my opinion, he was a far better novelist than a poet for which he actually is often praised more highly.  This novel is arguably a masterpiece and will always be worth reading because of the strong characterizations, the building and resolution of conflicts throughout, and the stark, simple, powerful language which draws the reader into this book and leaves her wanting more and also wanting to help this family fight against their unending struggle to survive.  It is wonderful writing. 

"We Be Warm Til Springtime Comes" by Lillie D. Chaffin BOOK REVIEW

Until recently I had never read anything by Lillie D. Chaffin even though she was from Pikeville, KY, and had served as Kentucky's Poet Laureate in 1974.  She also has an Appalachian Literature award named for her at my Alma Mater, Morehead State University.  After having read her children's book, "We Be Warm Till Springtime Comes", I have to admit I had been remiss by not having read her work.  I strayed into the book during an expedition to a small antique store which a friend owns where I sometimes buy a few items for my personal collection.  On that trip, I bought a few books of Appalachian or Kentucky interest and "We Be Here..." was one of them.  It was published in 1980 by Macmillan and illustrated by Lloyd Bloom.  The copy I bought was in excellent condition with the dust jacket in nearly perfect shape, still contained the original poster of one of the illustrations by Bloom.  It also contained a signed letter and post card from Ms. Chaffin to the previous owner.  I would probably have bought the book even if it were not purely Appalachian.  

The book is intended for juvenile readers from about the third to sixth grade and is a most genuine Appalachian story about a poor family living in poverty in the mountains in the middle of a hard winter.  The family is composed of a mother, a son about ten years old, and a small daughter.  The family is facing an increasingly hard winter with no coal or wood to burn for heat.  The son makes a decision, over the mother's objections, to go to the coal bank on the hill behind their house to dig for coal to help them survive the winter.  This is one of the most genuine and authentic Appalachian stories I have ever read.  Although we never burned coal when I was a child, the family farm on which I was raised in Knott County Kentucky contained the remains of two coal banks where previous owners of the land had dug for what is known locally as "house coal".  

For those of you who have no knowledge of coal banks, they are small holes dug into a coal seam which is at or near the surface for purposes of gaining access to enough coal to heat a home and fire a cast iron cook stove or "step stove" as most of them were known. But after several years of digging, a coal bank might be as much as hundred feet deep inside a hillside.  Few of them ever had a solid roof and roof falls were numerous. I have never dug coal in a coal bank.  I was very lucky to have a family who lived somewhat above the level at which many of our neighbors did.  But I grew up with and went to school with several children, mostly boys, who had to dig house coal in order to facilitate family survival.  I went to high school with three children whose father whom I knew was killed accidentally by a mishandled charge of dynamite during an effort to obtain house coal from a coal bank.  

The inherent danger of digging in a coal bank combined with the hard winter and poverty work to make this a very tense book for a young reader.  But it is an excellent book for such readers at the same time since it focuses on the boy's self sufficiency, honor, and determination to help his mother and sister survive the winter.  His willingness to take a potentially fatal risk to assist his family is the heart of the story.  It is wonderful story and well worth reading.  I will take the time to find and read more of Lillie D. Chaffin's work and so should you.  

Lloyd Bloom's illustrations for the book appear to have been originally rendered in charcoal and present only a few shades of black, white, and grey.  In another setting, they might be considered a bit goth.  But they do an excellent job of increasing the tension of the book and stressing the dangerous potential of the effort.  Go online at a good used book site and find a copy.  You will enjoy this book a great deal.  

PATENT MEDICINES AND OTHER THINGS WE SOLD IN COUNTRY STORES

MORE MEMORIES FROM A COUNTRY STORE

 

 

A recent encounter in which I came in contact with a fairly good collection of vintage to antique patent medicines brought back a lot of memories of the items we regularly sold in country stores.  I came to be in possession of a fairly sizable collection of these patent medicines recently and sold them to a neighbor and friend who still runs a fairly authentic country store and antique shop.  But as I went through the collection, I was reminded of dozens of similar items my parents and other country store operators used to sell which I never see anymore.  I have discussed some of these items in one of my earlier posts, The Country Store And Travelling Salesmen.  While I had these recently found items in my hands, I took photos of most of them and will just post the photos and write a few of my own personal reminiscences of them. I apologize for the quality of some of the shots.  Many of the items are small and I cropped the photos a bit too small since I use a fairly cheap digital camera. 

 

Phillips Milk Of Magnesia Tablets Store Display (Roger D. Hicks)






One of the nicest items in this group I found was a vintage Phillip's Milk of Magnesia Tablets store display box of about 12 boxes of tablets.  These and several other types of "stomach medicines" were sold regularly in country stores in my childhood.  It was fairly common for country people to avoid going to doctors both because of poverty and distrust of medicine in general which translated into  faith in both folk medicines and readily available patent medicines which could be bought from  the country store operator who was a neighbor and friend who was generally better known and more trusted than the doctor at the county seat.  But I do not want to leave a blanket negative impression of the country doctors of my childhood.  Two in particular, Dr. Mark Dempsey and Dr. Melvin Wicker from Floyd County both deserve posts on this blog at some time in the future. I recently did complete my post about Dr. Mark Dempsey and was able to learn a great deal about him and his political beliefs while researching it which pleased me greatly.  I deeply regret that I did not know him much better when I was young and he was still alive.  I hope my readers also enjoy that post about him. 

 

 

Tube Rose Scotch Snuff (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

 

Another item which I found in this same collection was an unopened can of Tube Rose Scotch Snuff, which may well have been a contributing factor for some of the usage of "Stomach Medicines" by people all over Appalachia and the south.  I do not recall that my parents ever sold snuff or that there were ever many people who asked for it in Knott County during my childhood.  Most of our neighbors, my father, and even myself, for a short while, were chewers of tobacco.  This tobacco usage was split between pouch, plug, and twist with Red Horse, Red Man, Beech Nut, Kentucky Twist, Brown's Mule and a few other brands carrying most of  the business.  Since tobacco was not commonly grown in Knott County, there were very few chewers of homegrown.  But I have known of a few people who got a few seeds and raised a small patch or often just a row or two for private use.  But getting back to this can of Tube Rose Snuff, it was a fine example of a vintage country store piece and was unopened with the Internal Revenue Stamp still attached and unbroken.  It was manufactured in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and also carried a union labor stamp which is rarely seen on any item today.  That regrettable loss of union shops began about 1981 with the ascendancy of Ronald Reagan and a strong anti-union element in  American politics.  Today's fight by fast food workers for an increase in the minimum wage is directly rooted in the changes of attitudes which were promoted by the Reagan Administration beginning with the firing of the air traffic controllers shortly after he became President. 

 

 

Ramon's Pink Pills (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

Another of the items in this collection which brought back instant memories of itself and a dozen other patent medicines was Ramon's Pink Pills, "an adult laxative for sluggish bowels due to temporary constipation".  This is a classic example of "stomach medicine" and Ramon's Pink Pills were sold by the millions across Appalachia and the rural south along with Carter's Little Liver Pills, Fletcher's Castoria, Geritol,  Black Draught, SSS Tonic, Lightning Hot Drops, and a wide variety of purgatives, antacids, and putative cure all's.  My parents must have sold thousands of boxes, bottles, and cans of these medicines.  And I have to say that finding the Ramon's Pink Pills and the Milk of Magnesia in the collection were a lot like meeting old friends after too long a time apart. 

 

 

 

 

Old Hickory Throat Troches (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

 

 

Another item in this collection which I found fascinating but did not recognize from my childhood was a tube of Old Hickory Throat Troches which were made by the Old Hickory Medicine Company in Andalusia, Alabama.  I even tried calling a number I located on the Internet to learn more about them and found it disconnected.  I have to assume that the company, like most of the patent medicines, is no longer in existence.  I believe these were sold as a treatment for minor sore throats and must have been similar to cough drops.  If any of you remember them, please send me a personal E-Mail or comment on this post.  I would love to know exactly what they are.  I am sorry to say that I have never been to Andalusia even though I have travelled extensively in Alabama. And I also recently sold a vintage 1953 Hank Williams Song Book to someone in Andalusia.   

 

 

Colgate Tooth Powder (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

 

Another item I found and did not remember ever seeing in our store was a small metal can of Colgate Tooth Powder which I assume was a precursor of tube toothpaste.  And to be honest, I do not recall that we sold a great deal of tooth paste in our store.  As I think about it, I believe this might have been due to one or more of several reasons: 1) due to poverty, many people might have been using other methods such as baking soda; 2) a lot of our neighbors never seemed to brush their teeth regularly which is also often connected to poverty; 3) folkways of cleaning teeth such as brushing with fragrant twigs might have also been practiced.  Whatever, the reasons, Colgate Tooth Powder or any other brand was not common in our store in my childhood. 

 

 

Zenith Brand Tibet Almond Stick (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

 

Another unknown, at least to me, item which showed up in the collection was a metal can containing a Zenith Brand Tibet Almond Stick which was used to either repair or disguise scratches in furniture.  I do not recall any similar items to this being common in the area when I was growing up.  Many of our neighbors had either homemade furniture or cheap store bought furniture and never seemed to pay a whole lot of attention to minor dings.  It probably had nothing to do with a particular disregard for caring for property but was rather more about a different set of priorities which did not place scratches on furniture at the top of a to do list for the average parent with a garden, a house, livestock, and several children to care for. 

 

 

Windsor Rubbed Sage (Roger D. Hicks)

 

 

Another old friend which showed up in the collection, much like a long awaited letter from home, was a can of vintage Windsor Rubbed Sage.  I have written in this blog before about my love for sage as a spice in both sausage and turkey dressing. In the post Thanksgiving In Appalachia, I disclosed my love of sage. And in the recent post Hog Killing Time In Appalachia, a reader and I engaged in an interesting exchange in the comments section which discussed the love of sage.  I always associate the smell of sage dressing and, to a lesser degree, sage sausage with the wonderful memory of coming in out of the Thanksgiving or Christmas cold to the smell of hot sage dressing, steamy windows, and a plethora of other traditional Appalachian seasonal dishes on the table.  Many people in the area during my childhood grew their own spices including sage.  My own family only grew our own hot peppers, dill, and one or two others.  When my wife and I moved into our current home 21 years ago, we found that the deceased owner had kept a greenhouse for years and also had planted garlic, dill, mints, and numerous other spices around the property.  Sadly, I have not kept them all alive and now I have to buy them all.  I do not specifically remember Windsor Rubbed Sage from my childhood.  The brands of spices we were most likely to sell were McCormick's and Sauer's which were then and still are high quality spices.  But still, seeing this box of sage brought home a hundred wonderful food and country store based memories. 



 

 

Dr. LeGear's Flatulent Colic Medicine (Roger D. Hicks)

 

Another of the non-food items from this collection was Dr. LeGear's Flatulent Colic Medicine, a patent medicine for use in horses, mules, and cattle.  I spent a childhood in a country store, worked about 15 years in the Central Kentucky Thoroughbred business, and spent more than 3 years working on the Vision Quest Wagon Trains and I had never seen this medicine before.  But veterinary medicine in Appalachia during my childhood was nearly non-existent and many counties at that time did not have a single veterinarian.  Just as they did with their children, most Appalachians until the late 1960's treated health problems in their livestock themselves with remedies based primarily in folkways. 

 

This was a wonderful walk down Memory Lane for me as I found, inspected, remembered, and wrote about these items from my childhood.  I hope it is a source of warm Appalachian memories for my readers as well.  I will expand this post a couple of times in the near future.  But, for now, I want everyone of my readers to enjoy it as much as have I.  Therefore, I am posting it while it is still in progress.  

 

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Update February 25, 2022

 

This item is not a patent medicine but when I found this photograph of one of  favorite childhood memories both from my time at Salisbury Elementary School and simply from growing up in a country store.  This is a Blue Horse Writing Tablet which I used every day in both grade school and high school and which we also sold regularly in our store both to my fellow students and to their parents who used these Blue Horse Writing Tablets for everything from writing letters to distant relatives to saving recipes to keeping important addresses and records to sending business letters to Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Wards to writing obituaries for our newly dead relatives.  Nearly everyone I knew in my childhood used these tablets for something on a regular basis.