On a recent visit with my Aunt Lucille (Lewis), she asked if I wanted this crazy quilt that she remembers her mother (my grandmother) making when she was a little girl. She was going to cut it up and make smaller items out of it for her children. Thankfully, she never got around to this project.
The quilt is made from my grandfather's suit coats. Some are dark blue, black and pin stripped. She cut squares, sewed them together and then did the embroidery over them. It's a very heavy quilt and there are some off colors around the border where she ran out of material.
My mother asked if I was going to cut it up....NO WAY. This is a treasure for me. I touch it and instantly remember by grandfather and his suit coat for going to church. On the trip home from my aunt's, my father started telling stories about Papa.
William David Lewis (WD) was a sharecropper along the Tennessee River, mostly in Perry County, TN. The family was finally able to buy their own farm when Papa's brother, Tipton Brown Lewis, was killed during WWI and they received money from the government. (As a side note, my nephew recently named his son after this brother.) Papa served in the same war, but never saw action after he developed phenomena and lost one lung.
Papa delivered my father when he was born at home and had to tell my aunt that she was not dieing, only having her menstrual cycle.
Papa worked in a factory as a night guard. Daddy said that Papa would come home from work and go to church. It was Daddy's job to wake him up if he started to fall asleep. Papa never worked for more than 75 cents an hour. Papa also went to school to be an accountant. As poor as my grandparents were, my parents still had to borrow money from them to buy the land that we still live on.
After my dad moved to Nashville, when he was 18, my grandparents finally got a house "in town" with running in-door plumbing. They lived there until they both died. There was also an outhouse on the property that my grandfather continued to use until he was too weak to walk outside. He developed gangrene in his legs when I was in high school. The doctor said he should have both legs amputated but Papa refused to have the surgery and wanted to die with his legs on. He lived 3 more years, walked again, and the gangrene was healed. He died from other issues when he was 86.
He was at home when he died. He woke my grandmother up and asked her if she saw the beautiful man standing at the foot of the bed. She didn't see Him, but he did and went to eternity with Him.
I have a vivid memory of my father and my grandfather kneeling before the church as they were ordained as deacons together. I was only about 4 years old at the time and I am so thankful God allowed me to keep that memory. If he were alive today, he would be 112. He was born in 1897 and knew people that had fought in the Civil War. Family legend has it that his great grandmother was kidnapped from the Indians as they passed through Tennessee on the Trail of Tears. Was it true? We have no idea, but as he grew weaker, he began to talk about her and said they were told as child never to mention it. And our family definity has some strong Indian bloodlines from somewhere, with their jet black hair, black eyes, and dark skin.
One of Papa's brothers was arrested for running moonshine during the "dry" years. He was in prison so much, he asked for a job there and ending up retiring as a guard. Another brother also saw "a beautiful man" right before he passed away.
Papa never had favorites in his grandchildren. He wouldn't force you to talk to him. He didn't hand out trinkets or cash to get us to love him. He was simply there. Willing to swing if you wanted to swing on the porch. Willing to twiddle his thumbs with you until you were in a better mood. He worked in the yard and worked in the garden and was happy if you would work with him.
His home was our (the grandkids) haven where we would spend weeks at a time with them. He supported my grandmother in all her ministries and learned from her what a tithe was. He wasn't loud, just a quiet man that we loved.
Their house, that I remember them in, was bought by the church next door and now the bedrooms of my grandparents are the studies of the pastor. There is a huge cross in the year drapped in purple. I somehow believe that they would like that.
