A Boy Named Pearl

The Moonshine Festival is over for another year. I spent a lot of time at the Historical Society building, Two ladies who worked there and I exchanged lots of stories about the area. 

One day we talked about Pud Slatzer. I believe he was the son of James Slatzer. We all knew the man nickname Pud, but none of us knew who he really was.

I sat down with the Straitsville arrest records from 1870 to 1925.  The third time I found an arrest record for Pearl Slatzer, I ask, "Who was she?"

Pearl was a man, in those days Pearl was a man's name. Now, if I were a boy whose mother named me Pearl, I would definitely find a nickname as soon as I was old enough to know my name was Pearl.

One of the ladies believed Pearl was in fact Pud.  It made sense. In my research anyone named Pearl, I would have assumed was female. 

We had a different version of one story. We knew Pud was a moonshiner. He also everybody, along with all of their secrets. Get someone drunk, and they will tell you everything.  

Pud and another man were in the bar. There was a gambling machine of some kind. Pud said he was going to take it. The man owned the machine and told Pud he wasn't authorized to have it.

They argued until the machine owner said he was going to take the machine home, so Pud couldn't take it. Pud told the man if he picked up the machine he would shoot him.

The fool picked up the machine and Pud shot him. The sheriff took Pud to jail, because even in Straitsville, murder kind of a serious matter.

In my version of the story Pud's father, uncles, brothers, etc., took their guns and went to the jail, where they  demanded the sheriff turn him loose.

Whatever the truth, Pud never spent a night in jail. Later he was later found innocent of the murder. I guess the man just got in the way when Pud's gun was going off.  

Moonshine Fest part II

Thursday, I went to New Straitsville, you can't imagine the drive down route 595, everything looks the same as it did in 1800. I went to the cave where the miners hid to form a union. The story of the fire the miners started, I wrote once that it burned of a half a century, I was wrong the fire was started in 1884 and it is still burning, I'm told they have it contained to a certain area, but it still burns.

There is so much more to learn. My book about the people of the area will be a story of life that could happen anywhere in the USA doing any kind of work. It will be a picture of American history, who the people of that time were, what they felt, the standards of right an wrong were at different times in history. 

 

Moonshine Fest

Hi all, I'm in Ohio getting ready to go to the Moonshine Fest, the weather is lousy so I may be the only one there. I plan to return again on Saturday if it isn't pouring rain. I'll tell you about it when I return this evening. Would love for anyone in central Ohio to join me.

Virus-free. www.avast.com

HI All,

Sorry to take so long posting. Want to invite you to have some fun. Memorial Day Weekend is the Moonshine Fest in New Straitsville, Ohio. I'm going down on opening day which is the Thursday before Memorial Day, I will return on Saturday in hopes of meeting all the people who have to travel or work during the week.

Straitsville is in south eastern Ohio. I am writing a historical fiction about a German-American family who were among the first settlers in the early 1700's. I am following them from fighting Indians to the Civil War, to the first Labor Union, to the depression and how moonshine kept the family going.

If you are anywhere in the area, please come down and meet me. I will post how I will be dressed, I plan to wear something that will stand out.  Please join me if you can

CASEY JONES

I had a book about a choo choo train, the engineer was Casey Jones. Obviously, I was a very little girl. In my father's home town of Straitsville, when my parents visited friends and family, lots of family. They always talked about Casey Jones. These adults were talking about my story book.

Years later in Frankfurt, Germany, I was the Community PSNCO, we were closing down the military in Frankfurt, I was all over the place. I spent about a week I was working in an office, I don't remember why, it was a busy time.

There was a retired soldier, married to a German, working as a civilian government employee. He was around ten years older than me. We found we were both from Ohio. He was born and raised in a little town called Straitsville.

WOW! I told him my maiden name. From that point on we were talking about memories of South Eastern Ohio. He said, "Of course, you know who Casey Jones was."

That's when I found out all those adults weren't talking about my story book, they were talking about a real person. Casey was a well-known philanthropist in the area.

Many more years, I am on ancestry looking up my family history, in and around Straitsville, Perry County, Ohio. Yes, I am writing a book, as well. In every city, town, and village, in the USA, you will find people named Jones. I need help.

I found a John, David, George, Clayton, and Joseph Jones. All of them have the middle initial, C. Talk about dead ends. Three were coal miners, one of them a mule driver. A mule driver took the wagon down in the mines where it was filled with coal then he drove it back. Crossed him off my list.

The other two listed as coal miners also were crossed off. David and John look like they may have been rich enough to be the famed Casey Jones.

HELP

I put this on my face book which has numerous relatives I never met but can trace back to my grandparents or in some cases my great grandparents.

Anyone who has ever been to Straitsville, Ohio, maybe for the annual Moonshine Fest, or perhaps you have ancestors from that area, which means you are likely related to me in some form.

If you know anything about this Casey Jones please let me know.

EASTER SUNDAY

This is the week I usually do a political rant. Trump is still ugly, but he got ISIS attention. Korea hopefully has taken a step back to reconsider their threats. He does one thing right then does dumb over and over. That bomb could have done a lot of good for us, but then Trump's ego got in the way.

I decided on a joke, but couldn't find one. One thing I hope isn't a joke, it looks like my 5^th great grandchild is going to be a girl. Finally, hopefully. If it's another boy, well, it's another player on the family football team, but I sure hope this one is a cheer-leader.

Kathy, my dear friend of over sixty years came through, she sent me the ideal message for Easter. Enjoy.

Jesus once said that even a simple act of kindness is never forgotten.  He also said that those failing to exercise kindness will also be remembered …... 

 

You can never do an act of kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will become too late. 

 

Time is free, but it is priceless.  You can't own it, but you can use it.  You can't keep it, but you can spend it.  Once you've lost it, you can never get it back.  Be sure that those you love are made aware of that fact -- daily.  One day soon you may not be able to remind them .... ever again.

 

In the final analysis, the only thing humans have of value is time itself.  As the Creator, God already owns all things, so time is the only thing of value we can offer to Him, serving wherever and however He sees fit. 

 

The majority of God's servants will live out their lives serving quietly, unnoticed in the background, because everything He has made has a purpose, a reason for existing. 

 

Don't think too much.  You'll create a problem that wasn't even there in the first place, along with an awful headache.

 

Before a man speaks it is always safe to assume that he is a fool.  After he speaks, it is seldom necessary to assume it.

 

Nothing will work unless you do.

 

Thank God tears are colorless.  If they were different colors for different feelings, our pillows would reveal the private thoughts of our hearts during the night.  

 

Success is how high you bounce after you hit bottom.

 

Never demand perfection of imperfect people, because there are none on earth at this time, and you are guaranteed to become disappointed with them.   

 

Humans are creatures quickly impressed by mere appearances, forming quick opinions of other people or things they do not understand.   Undoubtedly this is why Satan's efforts to lead people away from the Truth involves something or someone appealing to the power of the eye. 

 

Warning: Going to sleep on Sunday will cause Monday.

 

If a man has done his best, what else is there?

 

In prayer, it is better to have a heart without words than words without a heart.

 

Remember that the most valuable antiques are old friends.

 

Too many professed Christians today are no longer fishers of men but content with being keepers of the aquarium.

 

For all his sophistication, man owes his existence to 4 inches of topsoil and the fact that God makes it rain.

 

I am not afraid of storms, I am doing my best to learn how to 'sail my ship'...  

 

Over my shoulder, one last backward glance: Success during this life is like the words to the song, `I will sail my vessel till the river runs dry'.

I believe there are a few people out there who haven't read Umbrella on the Floor yet. Here are the first couple pages. Enjoy

I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA. 

My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.

This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early. 

Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall.  The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.

He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.  

The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.  

We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.

Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.

Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.

Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.

The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.

 Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.      

Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.

The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.

Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."

I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.

When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."

Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.

Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.  

Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.

"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.

After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?

 

I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA. 

My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.

This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early. 

Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall.  The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.

He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.  

The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.  

We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.

Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.

Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.

Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.

The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.

 Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.      

Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.

The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.

Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."

I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.

When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."

Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.

Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.  

Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.

"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.

After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?

 

I'm sitting in a window seat, in the last row on a Boeing 767, handcuffed to the man next to me. We aren't supposed to be on this plane because it's a contract plane. Which means it is a commercial airline that the government has contracted to fly military and their families to and from overseas assignments. This flight is nonstop from Frankfurt, Germany to Philadelphia, PA. 

My name is Karen Gallagher. For the next ten days, I am a Warrant Officer in the United States Army, assigned to the Criminal Investigation Division. This assignment is sort of a parting gift from my Colonel. I used all of my leave, over the past few months, after my parents were in a car accident. My mother stills needs me, so I made the hardest choice of my life, I resigned from the Army.

This mission is taking me to the states close to my end date. The Colonel gave me the assignment because it will get me home a few days early. 

Walt, my partner, mentor, and longtime friend is sitting in the aisle seat. He is also handcuffed to the man in the middle. Master Sergeant Walt Walters is in his forties and well over six-feet tall.  The rest of him looks like Mr. T. with an Army haircut.

He volunteered for the assignment. We have partnered several times, beginning with when I was a Private. This is the first time we've worked together since I became a Warrant Officer and out rank Walt. It should be interesting.  

The man in the middle is James Edward Blackburn, a convicted murderer. Walt and I are escorting him to the United States Penitentiary at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Blackburn faced a Court Marshall in Heidelberg, Germany where he was found guilty of first degree, premeditated murder. He is sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.  

We were scheduled to be the only passengers on an Air Force carrier flight from Frankfurt to the Dover Air Station. The plane was grounded for repairs at the last minute. Under the circumstance the powers that be decided we needed to depart on the next plane flying.

Here we are on a contract flight with kids in nearly every row. Instead of landing on a small military installation, we will land at a large international airport.

Walt and I are both nervous about all the civilians on this plane.

Usually, I love the hustle and bustle of the Philly airport, but the idea of getting through the crowds, with a prisoner, is not making me smile.

The sun will be going down when we land. Walt and I will drive our prisoner to Dover, Delaware in a rental car that should be waiting for us when we arrive. Tomorrow morning we will board an Air Force flight, to Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. Military Police from Fort Leavenworth will meet our flight and drive us the final hundred miles to the penitentiary.

 Walt has a white pullover sweater laid across the handcuff attaching him to Blackburn. On my side, I have a new burgundy sweater masking my cuff.      

Blackburn is staring straight ahead. He's been this way since we took custody of him at Rhine-Maine Air Base this morning.

The flight attendant comes by to get our dinner order. Blackburn doesn't acknowledge her; his eyes are wide open, still staring straight ahead.

Walt moves his index finger between himself and Blackburn as he says, "We'll have the chicken breast with mixed greens."

I lean forward and tell the attendant that I'll have the same.

When our dinners arrive, Walt removes his handcuffs and discreetly slips them down in the seat beside him. This frees up Blackburn's right hand so both he and Walt can eat. Blackburn picks at his food until Walt says, "You got two minutes before I put the cuffs back on. Officer Gallagher can eat."

Blackburn abruptly pulls his hand away from his tray.

Walt finishes eating, then puts the cuffs back on Blackburn. I go through the same procedure, to free up my hand. Blackburn is still staring straight ahead at the back of the chair in front of him.  

Once the food is cleared, the movie comes on. It's some new sci-fi. I prefer a good whodunit, so I lay my head against the window and close my eyes. My body is contorted because of my attachment to Blackburn. If I turn in his direction and fall asleep, my head might fall over on his shoulder or worse, his lap.

"Turn around. I'll keep an eye on you," Walt says in a low voice.

After turning in Blackburn's direction, I take a long look at him and wonder what he's thinking behind those staring eyes. How can he keep staring at nothing? He reminds me of the Beefeater Guards I saw in London. People wave their hands in front of their faces and yell, "Are you in there?" Like the guards, Blackburn's eyes are fixed straight ahead. I doubt tickling him would work. A smile crosses my face. If I slowly slid my hand down and unzip his pants, would that make him blink?