Dissertation_Full Version_FinalDraft.pdf

 Henry Minor 1783-1839   Henry Minor - Wikipedia

Judge Henry Minor

Panic of 1837 - Wikipedia

Biography on Page 261 of Willis Brewer's Alabama... Alabama, her history, resources, war record, and public men : from 1540 to 1872 : Brewer, W. (Willis) : Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming : Internet Archive

1898 Judge Henry Minor was an old-style Virginia gentleman, He came to the state as early as 1817 and was a member of the convention that formed our State He was the second judge of the fifth judicial circuit, having followed C. C. Clay in that office in 1828. He was the first reporter of the decision of the supreme court of Alabama, from 1823 to 1826. He was also clerk of the supreme court until 1838. He came to Tuskaloosa in 1826. where he resided for the remainder of his life. His house was the home ol intellectual and literary refinement. He had a large family of children, to whose education he was devoted, and they were accomplished to utmost extent of the facilities ol the school of that day in our town and adjacent State. If I take the Iiberty, now and then, in these sketches, of speaking of the Tuskaloosa girls, it is not that I them undue notoriety, but would.rather, I have an irresistible impulse to linger amongst things beautiful. Annie Minor, the eldest daughter, was a recognized belle in her day. Her beauty was such that a poet's eye, once beholding could never forget. She was the light of her father's house, the charm of all the village circles. Everybody loved her; and great was the agitation amongst the Tuskaloosa that Annie Minor be married; swains when the snows went abroad and this agitation grew into consternation when it was made known that the favored youth had not been found | in She had ignored All her native adorers, and had elected her fate 10 the person of young farmer of Greene county, Mr.John Friend, an educated gentleman of good family and fair fortune. The nuptials were the occasion of great festivities in the village, and the happy youth was permitted to carry away his bride without encountering any belligerent demonstrations. It is believed that this marriage was a very happy one. Another of Judge Minor's accomplished daughters became the Dr. Ezra Bouchelle, a practicing physician, who was learned in his profession, being himself one of a highly intellectual family, brother of Mr.Francis C. D. Bouchelle, mentioned in another place as distinguished for the brilliancy of his wit and the force of his oratorical powers, as developed at the University of Alabama in the ear lier days. Judge Minor was a warm but discriminating friend.

He kept up during his life an intimacy with Levin Powell, and Was a steadfast friend to Washington Moody and his orphan sisters; to the latter especially he stood almost in the place of a father, and it was from his house that Levin Powell bore away Miss E. Moody 28 his bride, in 1830. Judge Minor spent the evenings of his days in the midst of domestic felicities, unbroken by jar or discord and died in 1838. He was followed, in the office of clerk of the supreme court by James B. Wallace, who came from Lawrence county, making Tuskaloosa his permanent home..

1. United States
2. Alabama
3. Tuscaloosa
4. The Tuskaloosa Gazette
5. 1889
6. Mar
7. 14
8. Page 2
9. Article clipped from The Tuskaloosa Gazette

1837

1839

1898

 

Mrs. Janie Smith Ryne (1888-1972) was a writer from Marianna, Florida.

Martha Jane “Janie” Smith Rhyne (1888-1972) - Find a Grave Memorial

inscription on her tombstone:

When I have finished all there is of living

When I have given all there is to give,

I'll spend my last hoarded breath exulting,

"How good, how good, divinely good to live!"

When asked for her philosophy of life, she said:

Glad of life

Sure of God

I long to soar

But I have to plod.

OUR RIVER  by Janie Rhyne

"Spring Creek" Chipola Jackson County Florida google map - Google Maps

With intricate twists and turns our clear, fern-bordered river cuts is way through hard limestone surfaces. plays hide and seek in caves, splits in two to form an island here and there.

 It rises, some say, "way up yonder close to Dothan the forks of the creek": accurately quoting from ECHOES OUT OF THE PAST. Chipola "has its begin at the juncture of Marshall's Creek and Cowart's Creek not far below the Alabama State Line."

 Its Indian name, because of the fact that no one could know how the Indians meant to spell it or pronounce it, has been given in old writings, in seven different ways: Chanpooley. Channooly, (meaning "Sweet waters: Chipouli River) Chapulle. Chappola. Chapola, and finally our own Chipola, meaning "Sweet Water." 

Never did a lovely little river have more entrancing folk lore and happy memories waked by the sound of its name.

 Dreaming beside it, those inclined to sentimentality (and to making of verses) can see in imagination: 

PHANTOMS ON CHIPOLA

 Moonlight spreads a haze of silver 

On Chipola, and a breeze 

Gentle as the breath of fairies 

Quivers through the cypress trees, 

Wafting from the tangled thickets

 Eerie forms and phantasies. 

Shades of lovely Indian maidens, 

Evanescent shapes as light 

As a swirl of summer vapor. 

Float translucent through the night:

 Flit and skim the dimpled waters 

Where they sparkle diamond-bright. 

Pale but splendid ghostly warriors, 

Armed with tomahawk and bow. 

Gather in their tribal councils 

Where the willows droop so low 

That their fringes sweep the water. 

Swishing, swishing with its flow. Now.from out the shadowed swamp-land, 

Dragging forth his light 

Comes the phantom of a chieftain. 

Young of heart and staunch and true; 

Pausing. beckons to a maiden. 

(See her, just now, come in view?) 

Happy shades of one-time lovers! 

Happier than when time and space 

Fettered their too-buoyant spirits

Bound to circumstance and place!

 Now their freer souls go wandering. 

Far beyond the sight to trace. 

Off they glide on silvered waters 

Swift as arrows leave the bow: 

For a spirit craft conveys them. 

Little recking time they go 

On to where Chipola river. 

Through the Dead Lakes keeps its flow: 

On where Apalachicola 

Rushes to St Joseph's Bay, 

On and on to open ocean: 

But before the sun's first ray 

Tints with gold the charging billows 

They dissolve in ocean spray.

 J.S.R..

St. Andrews Bay Confederate Salt Makers by Janie Ryne

St. Andrews Bay Salt Works and Raids/Panama City – A Civil War Traveler

To get salt for their table use our grandmothers and great-grandmothers had to have the dirt floors of their smoke-houses dug into, clumps of it washed and the salt panned out like miners get gold dust. Salt, a dollar a pound, was precious and, besides, was almost as nearly unattainable. The story of that establishment and maintenance of the salt works, of their rebuilding out of ashes again and again after destruction by the Federal raiders, of the heroic defense of these works by Florida troops is found in various historical records and gives us a drama of perseverance and bravery that makes us proud of the invincible spirit of the South and especially proud of our state and county. For, while Florida was less active than some of the other states in actual fighting, before the need of the war the state had become a principal source of meat supply for the armies and furnished the Confederacy with thousands of bushels of salt, so important as a preservative. The Gulf coast salt was the best produced in the whole Confederacy.

Realizing the necessity of building and rebuilding these salt works after the Federal navy destroyed them, President Davis and the Confederate government, as if by miracle, managed to raise money and materials and keep reassembling these of the Gulf coast salt industry. Some how they were able to finance the operation of works valued at several million dollars. As fast as the Federal gunboats could blow holes in the salt boilers, their crews, scouting the inlets of St. Andrews bay, would dump thousands of salt into lakes, kill the mules and oxen used for hauling, destroy fuel, arrest the workers as prisoners, other indomitable salt-workers, protected by cavalry troops recruited from all over this section, would rebuild. On their next trip of inspection the Federals would be astounded to see smoke coming from the same bayous where they thought they had wrought utter destruction.

So important was the industry to the Confederacy the Florida legislature allowed other states privilege of manufacturing here. Alabama's Governor Shorter, uneasy about our coast defenses and the few troops available to protect the salt works, went so far as to authorize the dashing Colonel Clanton to come to Florida and reorganize a regiment for guarding the works from St. Marks to Suwannee. In 1862 the Florida legislature made provision for the organization of all the salt-workers, citizens and non citizens, into military companies, subject to call invasion. The drama enacted on our own coast seems to have attracted the interest of the world.

Some writers seemed to be taking of sort of disinterested delight in the spunk with which the South almost wore out the Federals delegated for the raiding of the salt industry, before their final demolition of all works in 1865. The New York Herald, continually publishing accounts of the raids, on Jan. 5, 1864 comments with amusement, "Salt works are as plentiful as blackbirds in a rice field." The Comte de Paris notes a raid in Apalachee Bay; a London writer in 1863 tells of "certain adventurer from Marianna, Florida who was suspected of having salt wells" but who successfully foiled the Federals several times before they found his establishment. St. Andrews Bay, with its many arms and inlets was selected for huge salt works because the "swamps a in this bay were best adapted in the entire Confederacy, on account of a protracted drought that caused the evaporation of nearly all the fresh water, so that the water would test at least 75 per cent salt." The destruction of these works alone kept several gunboats and crews busy, and seemed an almost task for three years, although the Confederates had only one field- piece to defend the whole bay area.

West Bay the government works in 1863 constituted village of 27 buildings; many hundred ox teams were kept busy hauling salt to Eufaula sound where it was conveyed to Montgomery. A Master Browne, whose rather boastful accounts in the U. S. Naval Records give numerous exploits of his raiding the Bay works tells of a ten day orgy in which the total result was five hundred works, thirty-three wagons, twelve flatboats, four thousand bushels of salt, probably a thousand kettles and iron boilers.

By the close of 1863 the Federals had caused the demolition of several million dollars of works and salt; but it took only two months, until Feb. 1864, to see these works rise, Phoenix-like, from their ashes and flourish again. In St. Andrews Bay, they rose to such an extent that Browne, not so boastful now, states that "the largest government salt-works ever created in Florida are in operation." Although complaining that they were rebuilt "as fast as I demolished them", he worked persistently, fitting out a new expedition to make raids. By February, 1865, when the Confederacy was spent of strength and funds, the work of demolition of Florida salt works was practically complete.

In 1864 our own men were stationed in various companies at the salt works, some at St. Marks, some St. Andrews; and on the day of the raid in Marianna, Captain William Milton's attack company was at St. Andrews and received the word of too late to be of assistance in defending their own town and families. As to blockade Florida's only means trade with the outside world, Governor Milton, in theory, objected to the dangerous business and fretted , at the foreign doo-dads, perfumes, silks, etc, brought in, but both he and President Jeff Davis gave permits for certain commodities, such as munitions the medicines that doctors everywhere clamored for quinine for malaria, morphine  for pain-killer and anything like anaesthetics for men.Dr. Robinson in the post-hospital in Marianna grew desperate for these. 

I think the governor must have smiled wryly when he heard of invitations ladies in Tallahassee and Marianna sent to friends to "come to my biscuit party, don't whisper a word about where my husband me the flour." The profit in blockade around our Gulf coast and bays, which seemed heaven-sent for such, ran - for one senator - to $3,938.91 within months, on an investment of $1,433!

 Trade schooners, carrying contraband goods to the North or Europe, headed usually to the British Bahamas. Three cargoes were put aboard smaller vessels, and by the time these neared our own goods were relayed to small steamers the alert and brigs; which might be better able to escape eyes of Federal Navy officers, hidden no-telling where. (To be continued) 

1. United States
2. Florida
3. Marianna
4. Jackson County Floridan
5. 1968
6. Jan
7. 16
8. Page 3
9. Article clipped from Jackson County Floridan

"OH, BUT THE GETTING THERE!" 

By JANIE RHYNE 

"Wake up, children, hustle into your clothes and get your milk; Sister, you help 'em!"

 Papa strode heavily through our room, calling back, all in one breath, 

"Wagon's in the back-yard loadin' up; livery stable hack be here any minute!" 

We four, pulling on our few summer garments, could hear him storming loud enough to wake every neighbor in the block; and the stars were still out!

 "Here, Tom, spread this quilt over Grandmother's feather mattress so the children can ride there till it gets too hot!" 

"Angeline" -this our cook, hired just for the summer," did you put both bread boxes of lunch?" "Yessir, yessir; right here under the wagon seat." 

"Oh, Sister, "I begged," let's us ride in the wagon to watch the stars fade out", as we stood near the wagon while Angeline and Tom both got settled in the only seat. 

"The gettin' to the bay and comin' back", Brother informed Tom, who was new, "is almost the most fun!" and the three-year-old echoed, "Most fun!"

 Now Mama and her mother were comfortable the three-seated hack, with red-headed Mr. Mike clucking to his two horses. Everybody waved and waved good-bye to Papa, who promised to drive down soon to our beloved Old Town St. Andrews, bringing a buggy-full of home-grown vegetables.

In the wagon we couldn't hear Mama but we knew she was sighing after Papa had kissed her and left, and Grandmother was soothing her:

 "But, honey, it's not so long; and the children and you and I too, love the crabbing and swimming and the breeze and the quiet; and the West family and the Bakers are congenial neighbors; and the old doctor what's-his-name wasn't so drunk the last time we had to call him. And there will be lots of friends from Marianna camping near the Bryan house. "

"But, oh, this getting there and coming back!" Mama would always answer. 

We four children were ecstatic, realizing that this very morning, June 3, 1897, we were about to experience the same, or even more, exciting dangers, which we'd known for as many summers as our memories could go; for Papa always got his family "off to the Bay" when he happened to hear of a case of fever at home. "This time," we were telling Tom," The creeks could even be higher; maybe even come up to the wagon and maybe, too, make the horses swim and us get out and walk the foot-log across 'em. Papa's asked about 'spring freshets' from every one of St. Andrews oyster-men lined up in front of his store, - but that was two months ago an' they could be high again!" 

There would be two whole days of this pioneer travel; just before sundown today we'd drive through a turpentine camp where convicts had blazed the pines and made them look ghosty, and then the boss would lock up the men in big box-car cages with iron bars. Mama would hurry the drivers along and we, riding in the hack close to her now, would get goose pimples. If we didn't get to somebody's house where they'd have us spread down quilts and mattresses in their big open hall we'd maybe have to run goats out of a tumbledown shack right close to ti-ti thickets, the kind where Mr. Mike had once heard such a terrible panther scream that his hair turned from black to red.

Maybe the fleas the goats left would wake us up, like they did last summer, and Mama would get us up and gone by starlight again. Both days we'd feast at stops, where the grown folks rested the horses- -and feast on cooked-up lunch of boiled eggs, fried chicken and tea-cakes and canned condensed milk and sardines and on bananas from the bunch Papa'd put in. This was that "gettin to the bay" that we delighted in; and then would come the wonderful "bein' in." 

Rowing in the dingy Papa would rent us for the three months; gathering oysters from the big pile he would have dumped at the end of the Bryan house dock, which Old Town campers used. Each Thursday everybody rushed to Ware's at the sight of the 'Tarpon from Pensacola" curling smoke up against the sky and at the sound of melodious "Whoo-whoo" whistle. She usually brought 100 pound blocks of ice and for us, fancy groceries ordered the kind Mr. Ware didn't carry. Every Tuesday and Friday afternoon we had the fun of helping "Old Man Calhoun" haul in his long net that he let down in a half circle in the deep water and now all full of fish, even Mama and Grandmother and most of the Marianna people thought it was fun and Mr. Calhoun would give each family a "mess" fish for supper.

Special days, when Papa was with us like Fourth of July-he would get the Marianna folks to "chip in" and rent Frank Witherell's "steam launch" and we'd go to "Harrison" (where Panama City now). There was only one boarding house, one orchard, one dock and a band-stand there or anywhere else along the coast between Old Town and Harrison. But there would be a crowd of what we children called 'twangy-talking" Northern people celebrating with band music and dancing and speeches by some Northern Baptist and Presbyterian preachers from the churches we went to in St. Andrews. Dora- white cook we hired the summers that Angelina would not come for fear she'd lose her Marianna boyfriend -Dora said the Northerners came like she did when she "got stranded here" around 1885.

There was a big "sale by mail" of St. Andrews beach lots. mailed in your three dollars, got your deed and yourself here, to find your lot in the middle of Gulf. Days when we'd get Frank Witherell to take to the Gulf for that wonderful and frightful riding, I'd look around to see if I saw Dora's lot. 

Mr. G. M. West in his "St. Andrews Florida",tells of the settling and founding of the original Town- St. Andrews my great-grandmother used to visit, chaperoning groups of young folks or staying the summer with her daughter, whose home was in Old Town. Only one family- the Bakers- whom I knew in childhood- was even remotely connected with the prominent and wealthy men who had promoted Marianna and Webbville and in 1838, founded St. Andrews. Mail was brought on horse-back from Marianna, says Mr. West.

 Even those very early settlers found that, years before their coming, Governor Clark from Georgia had come with his family and a yacht, which took him frequently to Pensacola and New Orleans. He built a commodious house of logs. The next to come was a Mr. Loftin from North Carolina. Pensacola Gazette speaks of a proposed St. Andrews College for young Females in Old Town around 1838. There was also a large hotel built soon a sanitarium and numerous saw-mills, fisheries and oyster-shipping claimed plants.

A cultured of little city of perhaps 1500 flourished here, a population including those "visitors from Georgia and Alabama each summer" mentioned by Pensacola Gazette. Mr. West especially emphasizes the cultured society of "Old Town", the educators residing in or visiting St. Andrews in the period of 1851 to 1856; "Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz," he says "was popular in the little social circle. The coastal surveyors here then named the bayou at the east end of Old Town 'Caroline' for the famous authoress The last time she visited here she waved her hand in farewell. 'I fear I shall never see my beautiful bay again,' she said."

 It is good that she, New Englander by birth but a Southerner by choice, did not live to grieve over the repeated bombardments by Pensacola Federal gunboats of the whole St. Andrews Coast, and the destruction, in February 1865, of Old Town she loved and of every habitation on that coast, because of the desperate operation in hidden bayous and inlets of very last of the Confederacy's salt-works, on which the whole army depended.

1. United States
2. Florida
3. Marianna
4. Jackson County Floridan
5. 1967
6. Aug
7. 22
8. Page 3
9. Article clipped from Jackson County Floridan

1. United States
2. Florida
3. Marianna
4. Jackson County Floridan
5. 1967
6. Aug
7. 22
8. Page 3
9. Article clipped from Jackson County Floridan

 

My Daddy,William E. Register(serial number 34333122) was drafted along
with the rest of the Dothan gang on Valentine's Day 1942.

He served in the 446th Bomb Squad of the Army Air Corps' 321st Bomb Group
of the 57th Bomb Wing of the 12th Air Force.
The 57th was the only Mitchell B-25 bomb wing in the entire 12th Air Force.
A cat named Bob Ritger has put all of the issues of the 321st Bomb Group's WWII newsletter,HEADLINES, on the Web.

The material I found on the Web this afternoon is nothing more than a miracle for me because my sister Becky has a copy of HEADLINES
in our family album and this
publication by Daddy's Bombardment Group
gives spectacular details which confirm all the war stories told to me by my Daddy.
You can't imagine the comfortable feeling surrounding me as I read
http://ritger.com/genealogy/histories/Headlines_files/Headlines.pdf
all about my Daddy's unit this afternoon.

I lost almost all of Daddy's WWII stuff because it was in storage at McGough's house when it got flooded by Frederic back in '79.

I was also pleased to find that a cat from Lakeland, Florida has devoted an entire portion of his website to 57th Bomb Wing!
http://www.budslawncare.com/sitemap.htm

But here's the kicker!
Anne M. O' Conner at Maxwell http://afhra.maxwell.af.mil/
copied the ENTIRE DECLASSIFIED TOP SECRET HISTORY OF THE 446TH SQUADRON(usually manned by about 100 officers & 350 enlisted men)
&
put it on the Web!

Insignia of the 321st Bomb Group of the 12th Air Force's 57th Bomb Wing

Bugs Bunny riding a bomb while firing six shooters in each hand
Insignia of the 446th Bomb Squad
images courtesy of http://57thbombwing.com/446th_History/446thSquadronHistory.htm

There are hundreds of photographs
(Mitchell B-25 nose art for The Pink Lady, The Grim Reaper, Blossom Time, Princess Paula, Pennsylvania Polka, Patches,Missouri Waltz, Dollie, Arkansas Traveler II, The Madam of St. Joe the 2nd)
plus all the debriefings and descriptions of over 600 bombing missions.
It's got every date, addresses for every target, the number of planes and the types of bombs used on every mission.

& this website has only been up since 2005!


image courtesy of Chuck Bryan

Here's a story I wrote about my Daddy Earl.

THE WAYSIDE PARK
by Robert Register

One afternoon after school my Daddy came home early from work and asked me this question,
"Bob, how'd you like to go to the picture show with me tonight?"

"Yes,sir,Daddy!" I exclaimed.

"Well, get your toothbrush. Tell Mommy to pack you some warm clothes and bring some books and toys to keep you busy."

"To go to the picture show?" I asked.

"We're going to the Martin Theatre in Panama City, son."

"Hot dog! So we're not coming home tonight?"

"No, Bob, we'll be staying at the Dixie Sherman Hotel in downtown Panama City tonight."

"What about school tomorrow?"

"Tell Ms. Odum you were sick."

"Daddy, won't that be telling a story?"

"You're sick, aren't you?"

"No, sir."

"Aw, I bet you're sick. Sick of school."

"Oh boy!" I ran down the hall screaming, "Mommy, Mommy, Daddy's taking me to the beach!"

There is no doubt in my mind that on that winter afternoon in 1958 I was the happiest eight year old boy in Alabama. Even after almost 50 years, the memories are so sweet that they bring tears of joy to my eyes. My most vivid childhood memories are of my father, Earl Register. He was loud and he was strong and he loved his little boy. He'll always be my best buddy. Neither time nor the unspeakable tragedy of his death, nor anything else can take that man's love away from me.

That is my inheritance. (Thank you, Daddy, I love you.)

When it came to going to the beach, it didn't take me long to pack my satchel.
Mommy took care of my clothing and I gathered up Dr. Zim's Insect Book,
my color crayons, my tablet and my shovel.

I've always been ready to get sand in my shoes!

My mother, Kate, hugged my neck in the driveway and told me to "be good" and next thing you know we're heading for Panama City. Our house in Dothan was on Gaines Street and it was located one door down from the intersection with South Oates which was U.S. 231 South, the Panama City Highway. Being eight-years old, I was very concerned about getting to the beach as quickly as possible so I was a little worried when Daddy hung a quick left onto the Hodgesville Highway.

"Hey, Daddy. Where are we going?"

"To P.C., son. Why?"

"But this ain't the road to Panama City."

"What have I told you about saying the word 'ain't'?"

"I'm sorry. But this isn't the way to Panama City."

"Sure it is. Hodgesville is due south of town and from there we can cut over to Graceville or maybe Campbellton or maybe even Grangerburg."

"Daddy, why do you always go a different way every time you go somewhere? You even do it when we drive over to Grandma's house and it's just across town."

"Bob, I'm not like a cow. I don't go down the same trail back to the barn every evening."

"I just don't want us to be late. What time is it, anyway?"

"Confucius say, 'He who work by the hands of a clock will always be a hand.' "

Daddy had already handed me a strongly worded explanation of that little saying before, so I decided to climb over into the back seat of the company car and take a nap.

The next thing I knew Daddy was yelling, "Wake up, Bob. We're about to cross the Lynn Haven Bridge!"

I loved Lynn Haven with its pink houses and views of North Bay.

"Are we stopping by Aunt Estelle's house?" I asked.

"Nope. We're heading straight for downtown. We'll check in and then eat supper at Angelo's."

To this day, I always think of Daddy's Aunt Estelle whenever I eat fried scallops. That woman could cook the steam out of a mess of scallops. Every time we went to Aunt Estelle's house in Lynn Haven, she fried scallops. If she didn't have any, she'd send out for some.

The last time I saw Aunt Estelle was in the late 70s at the insane asylum at Chattahoochee.
Old age had caught up with her and she didn't know where she was from the man in the moon, but she remembered me though. She told me,"Bob, let me go get out of these clothes and put on my apron and I'll fry you up some scallops." That's the last thing Aunt Estelle said to me as the nurse led her back to the ward.

I never saw her again.

Daddy and I checked into a great room on the top floor of the Dixie Sherman.
That hotel was Panama City's tallest building and it wasn't a skyscraper but as far as Bob Register was concerned, we had a penthouse suite in the Empire State Building.



image courtesy of http://www.beaconlearningcenter.com/weblessons/bayhistory/bhis29.htm

I turned on the TV and opened the curtains so I could see the sun going down over St. Andrews Bay.

"Get away from that window and get ready for supper, son. Go wash your face and hands. We're going to Angelo's."

It didn't take me long to follow directions. I laced up my paratrooper's boots and I was ready for action. Everything we needed was right there around the block from the Dixie Sherman. Restaurants, movie theatres, newstands, soda fountains- downtown Panama City had it all.

Soon we were seated at a shiny formica table beside a plate glass window inside Angelo's Steak Pit. We watched the traffic and the people on the sidewalk as we waited for our steaks. Angelo Butchikas was the owner and he knew Daddy real well because Panama City was on Earl's territory route with Goodrich. My Daddy was one of Mr. Angelo's favorite customers.

When we were through eating, Mr. Angelo came to our table. He treated us like we were royalty. I really liked him a lot.

"How was your steak, Bob?" he asked.

"Real good, Mr. Angelo," I replied.

"I noticed that you didn't touch your black olives."

"I eat green olives, but I don't like black olives."

"Please, Bob, try one of these," said Mr. Angelo.

"Yes, sir."

I tried one of Mr. Angelo's ripe olives. It tasted real strong but it went down all right. Just like eating fried bay scallops reminds me of Aunt Estelle, black olives always remind me of the nice man who had the great steak house in downtown Panama City, Angelo Butchikas.
& many times, when I try something new, I think of Mr. Angelo and his winning smile.

After Daddy paid our check, we walked down Harrison Avenue to the Martin Theatre. We took our seats and sat down to watch Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas in what was probably the most exciting Western filmed up to that time, "Gunfight at the O.K. Corral."



image courtesy of http://www.panamacitydowntown.com/play.php



image courtesy of http://www.martintheatre.com/history.html

It may have been a great movie but it was too long for this little eight-year old from Dothan. I fell asleep but I didn't miss the good part. All that gunfire at the end woke me up so even though I felt guilty and disappointed for falling asleep and missing the movie, I was sure happy about seeing that gunfight at the end.

When I woke up in the morning, Daddy had already gone to work. The night before he'd told me not to worry, that he would leave early and not wake me up. He told me to hang around the room, draw and color and watch TV so I did. I stared out the window at the beautiful bay. I watched a little TV. I drew insects out of my Dr. Zim book and colored cartoons I copied out of the News-Herald. Before noon Daddy was back and we were checking out of the hotel.

Now came the good part. We were going to Panama City Beach!

It was raining cats and dogs plus it was freezing but that didn't matter to us. We were heading for the beach! As we drove over Hathaway Bridge the weather began to break and the rain slacked up a little, but it was still bitter cold. I had on a couple of sweaters, my windbreaker and my toboggan. [Yankees call them "stocking caps"]

Panama City Beach was a ghost town. Nothing was open except a little grocery store across from Wayside Park. There were no cars on Front Beach Road. No lights were on in any of the motels or in any of the other businesses and not a soul was down toward the Y at the Wayside Park. We had the beach to ourselves. Miles and miles of snow-white dunes & crashing waves abandoned for Bob & Earl's day at the beach.

At Wayside Park, I jumped out of the car and ran straight for the sand dunes. The sand around the concrete foundations for the picnic tables were riddled with ghost crab dens and I immediately began to terrorize those little critters. Down by the water we found plenty of big cockle shells that the storm had washed up on the beach. When we got tired of picking up shells, Daddy chased me down the beach so far that I collapsed in the sand from fatigue. We laughed and walked back to the picnic tables to seek shelter from a fresh rain cloud blowing in from the Gulf.

We sat silently on top of the picnic table & watched the storm come in.

Daddy said, "Son, God knows this is the prettiest beach on the face of the Earth."

"Well, Daddy, you ought to know. You saw lots of different beaches during the war."

"Some of the best. The islands of the Caribbean, the coast of Brazil, North Africa, the islands of the Mediterranean, the French Riviera, Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily and the Adriatic Coast.
But I still like Panama City best."

Years later, when I was first out of college, I went back to Panama City Beach for a weekend with our family. Daddy was a little mad at me because I'd showed up a day late(blame Tuscaloosa for that), but he forgave me.
(He always forgave us children, but he never forgot.)

At night, Daddy and I buried a light pole in the sand at the edge of the surf behind the Admiral Imperial. This light attracted skates & rays to the shore and we celebrated the excitement of resting our lawn chairs in sting-ray infested waters by toasting each other.

We were having a lot of fun when Daddy made a very serious statement.

He said,"Bob, you've always obeyed me with the exception of three times.
THREE TIMES YOU WENT AGAINST ME!"

silence

I was scared to death.

Believe it or not, I was speechless. (quite an accomplishment for someone who's Cloverdale neighborhood nickname was "LUNGZZZ" )

"Three times you went against my advice & each time you were right."

"I'm sorry, Daddy, but what times are you talking about?"

"Three times. When you changed your major;
when you dropped out of ROTC;
& when you let your hair grow out.
Three times you went against me and every time you were right.
I was wrong."

OK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had no idea this would be my last conversation with my father but I'm glad it happened at the beach.

Panama City Beach always brings back memories of my Daddy.

For that reason alone,
Bay County, Florida,

will always be THE HOME OF THE WORLD'S MOST BEAUTIFUL BEACHES.

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from the January 14, 1863 Troy Messenger

 Mr. Editor. -My attention has been called to the following taken from the Clayton Banner: -We are reliably informed that a man by the name of James Hightower, resides near Troy, Pike County, hauled with his wagon and team the cannon with which the enemy attacked Mr. Clendinen's salt works, their recent raid on the coast from the point. where it was landed to Mr.C.'s furnaces, a distance of some 25 miles;  and that the Yankees did not interfere with his person or property. Also, that one Broxton, of Coffee county, purchased of the Yankees, after they had taken possession of C.'s works and all the salt he had on hand, at a low price, several bushels of salt, and that Broxton landed his teams and wagons were not any way molested by the enemy, The failure of the Banner to mention the circumstances under which I hauled the cannon, puts quite a different appearance to the whole thing. I was taken by the Yankees, whose officer told me not to attempt to escape, if I did, attempt it, I  would get a bullet through my body, Being m this fix, I was ordered to haul their cannon to Clendinen's salt works, and from thence back to the Yankee It appears from this that the "reliable" statement of the Banner, that any person and property were not interfered with is utterly untrue. I knew not that the Yankees were near me until a few minutes before they took me into their possession, Whether or not  I have acted treasonably, can be seenn if my statement is not believed by reliable witnesses. I deem it entirely unnecessary to say more about the matter, than to denounce it as a vile slander and base calumny.

The Banner will of course do me the justice to call attention to this statement. Respectfully, J. E. HIGHTOWER..

from the February 4, 1863 Troy Messenger

To the Public. I have seen  the Clayton Banner the fullowing statement, to-wit: "Woaro reliably informed that IL man by the name of' James Hightower, who resides near "Troy, Pike county, hawled with his wagon and team the cannon with which the enemy attacked Mr. Clendinen's gull works in their recent raid on the coast, from the point where it was landed to Mr. C.'g Furunecs, a distance of some 25 miles, and that the Yankees did not interfere with his person 01° property. Also, that one Broston, of Coffee county, purchased of the Yankees, ufter they had taken possession of Mr.

C.'s works aud all the salt that he had on hand, at a low price, several bushels of the sult, and that Brotton and his teams and wagous were not in any way molested hey the eneI As Ivas on the coast at that time making salt, I,presume the above was jutended to refer to mè, and I here avail myself of tho opportunity of stating that the charge is cit• tirely false so far as it refers to me. I further state I never purchased. nor received one particle of salt that was made by Mr. Clendinen or any porsoti else, from the Yankees. That I was arrested by the Yankees and lield as a prisoner until they left the Beach, and so far as not delaining my teams and wagons, so far ad my kuowledgo extonds, at that time they did disturb any persons works hut Bir.

Clendiuen's. Every person that is acquainted with sue knows that my interest is identified frith the South. Ian the owner of several slaves, I Was a strong secessionist, and my mind remains unchanged, for I am still one, so I hope the Banner will do me justice to publish the above statement. ALFRED BROXSON. Near Geneva, Coffee Co., Ala..

RICHMOND, Jan. 24, 1863. A. HOBBIE-Dear Sir: I arrived here two day's ago on, a special mission in referonce to the defenses of Southeastern Alabama.. I have.succeeded in obtaining an order from the President allowing all conscripts in Barbour, Dale, Coffee; Covington and •Pile counties, to join Gol. Clanton's Regiment of Cavalry for six months service. Authority is also granted to Col. Clanton to raiso two companies of Infantry and one of Artillery--all to be employed in defense of our section of the State, and the protection of the Salt Works on the Florida coast. I hope that all of our able bodied men in the countics above.

designated, will ayail themselves of this fuvorable opportunity to. serve their country--while at the samatime they will be nicar their own homes and in a pleasant wintor climate. The exemption Jaw will •be • greatly modified, if rot wholly repealed. From the best information I can• gather here from those in authority, I am, gatisfied that our prospects.are now brighter than they have ever been since the commencement of the Revolutiou. * Our army is stronger, and in-better condition, than it has been at any previous period- -while that of the Yankees is greatly demoralized and is lust- melting away.

Lincoln can never raise another urmy 'to serve against us. My opiniou is that we shall have a suspension of hostilities withhn the noxt three or four months, and peace and independence shortly thereafter. In haste, yours. truly, ELI S. SHORTER.

discovered condemuable played coneidcrable committed allowing extend she propositions of proposed but.

 To the Public. I hare seen 10 the Clayton Banner the fullowing statement, to-wit: "Woaro reliably informed that IL man by the name of' James Hightower, who resides near "Troy, Pike county, hawled with his wagon and team the cannon with which the enemy attacked Mr. Clendinen's gull works in their recent raid on the coast, from the point where it was landed to Mr.

C.'g Furunecs, a distance of some 25 miles, and that the Yankees did not interfere with his person 01° property. Also, that one Broston, of Coffee county, purchased of the Yankees, ufter they had taken possession of Mr. C.'s works aud all the salt that he had on hand, at a low price, several bushels of the sult, and that Brotton and his teams and wagous were not in any way molested hey the eneI As Ivas on the coast at that time making salt, I,presume the above was jutended to refer to mè, and I here avail myself of tho opportunity of stating that the charge is cit• tirely false so far as it refers to me. I further state I never purchased. nor received one particle of salt that was made by Mr.

Clendinen or any porsoti else, from the Yankees. That I was arrested by the Yankees and lield as a prisoner until they left the Beach, and so far as not delaining my teams and wagons, so far ad my kuowledgo extonds, at that time they did disturb any persons works hut Bir. Clendiuen's. Every person that is acquainted with sue knows that my interest is identified frith the South. Ian the owner of several slaves, I Was a strong secessionist, and my mind remains unchanged, for I am still one, so I hope the Banner will do me justice to publish the above statement.

ALFRED BROXSON. Near Geneva, Coffee Co., Ala..

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 from the October 22, 1964 GENEVA COUNTY REAPER

Henry B. Register

 Rev. Henry B. Register was born in Coffee County, Alabama on November 27, 1850, the son of John Y. and Margaret Register and married Effie Carter, a member of a noted family in Geneva. She was an ideal minister's wife. His father was a local Methodist minister and did much work in the early pioneer church in Alabama and reared a wonderful group of preachers. Among the prominent early Wiregrass ministers was the famous Register family made up of Henry and his sons, Young, John and Sidney.

Three of them were Methodists while the fourth was an early Baptist. All helped to organize pioneer churches and went far and near without script or price in the service of the Lord. Among many others in this noble service were Elders, W. T. Albritton, J.N. Purvis, J. W. Collins and H. A. Smith and the Spivey and Dowling families with Rev. David Sellers.

 Henry began early and served his entire life in the ministry, knowing well the hardships of the reconstruction era and the terrible days of the panic of 1893. He labored well in the Masters Vineyard and had the glorious help of his beloved companion who bore him seven children t to fill places well and wisely in the development of the young county of Geneva. One son, D. Y. Register, followed in his footsteps and was a shining light in Zion.

He recently went home to be with the Lord. The father fully believed the Bible Doctrine and preached fundamental facts. He had rich experimental evidences of the life eternal. He set a heavenly example for all to follow. His varied life lives on in the experiences of his flock wherever he preached.

He was active in the Alabama Conference and served the following appointments: Geneva, LaFayette St., Dothan, Taylor, Daleville, Wicksburg, Ashford, Cypress, Florida, Smith's Station and many other churches. People still remember his able spiritual preaching. During his early years he would walk many miles to his appointments and lived a noble life in the Master's cause. He was called to his eternal home on December 20, 1923 and his remains with his beloved Effie rest in Wesley Chapel Cemetery, one of the earliest Methodist Churches in the Wiregrass. Miss Willie Bryant of Geneva, a wonderful secretary, furnished the notes for this article.

"Servant of God, well done; rest from thy loved employ; the battle fought, the victory won; Enter thy Master's Joy.".

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