Category Archives: Ed Haley

In Search of Ed Haley 182

15 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley, Timber

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Milt Haley, by all accounts, made his living as a timber man. He was probably lured “over the mountain” from the Tug River section by the timber industry that evolved in the Guyandotte Valley following the Civil War. It certainly played a role in his death. Really, for all practical purposes, logging was imbedded in the life fabric of every person living around Harts Creek in 1889…including little Ed Haley, who grew up in the era when timbering and steamboats gave way to coal and the railroad.

“Almost from the very beginning of history in this region, logs have been rafted on the Guyandotte and floated to Cincinnati and even to more distant markets,” according to Fred B. Lambert’s The Llorrac (1926). “In autumn, men with saws and axes went into the woods and cut down the trees. At first, the trees were so plentiful that they could be cut and rolled directly into the stream. In some cases, the bark was peeled from the logs and they were allowed to slide down the mountain side. But gradually the timber along the shore became scarce, and timbermen were compelled to go farther and farther into the hills or up the creeks, until now most of the virgin timber has been cut, and they are beginning on the second growth and, in some places, even on the third.”

The logging season began with the construction of logging camps “during the late winter and early spring months before the spring rains began to swell the creeks and rivers,” according to River Cities Monthly.

The men who came into these camps for work “were men in every sense of the word, and their beards of many days growth betrayed the fact that razors as well as some one to use them were quite scarce…,” Lambert wrote. They worked silently but would “yell like wild men” if something “unusual” happened. They were “master hands at swearing” and often fought amongst themselves, be it for sport or in fits of rage. Because of their wild nature, a foreman was often hired to regulate their activity. At night, they slept on bundles in crude log cabins. If the camp was large enough, a mess hall was constructed and a cook was hired to serve them bacon, beans, bread, coffee “or whatever may be brought into the camp from the surrounding country.”

According to Carol Caraco’s The Big Sandy (1979), loggers marked their timber by branding it with their initials. After branding their logs, they got them out of the hollow and to the river, usually by use of horse or oxen and cant hooks. Another often-used method involved splash dams. “When thousands of logs accumulated behind the timber and stone splash dam, a key wedge would be removed and the timber spewed forth,” Caraco wrote. As the logs made their way down the creek, many were jammed or land-locked along the bank.

At the mouth of creeks and rivers were “taker-ups” and booms. “The taker-ups were free-lance agents who caught and held unrafted logs until the owners appeared,” according to Caraco. “When their charge for this service proved excessive, the legislature standardized fees. Other times loose logs were stopped by a boom, a dam of huge poplar logs reinforced by a giant chain stretched across the stream.”

This boom concept, as well as questions about branding, were apparently at the heart of the 1889 troubles.

According to The Llorrac, “After the logs were all in the river, they were arranged into a raft and held in position by hickory pins driven through the small tiepoles. Later they were made more secure by the use of iron ‘chain dogs.’ Three men were required to build a raft; one to sight or place the logs, one to carry poles, and one to drive pins or chaindogs. They received a dollar a day each and it took about a day. The rafting was done in the fall and winter so as to be ready to go out on the first ‘log-tide’ of spring or early summer. An experienced raftsman always knew when it was safe to go. And well he did, for below him were the treacherous falls and shoals and eddies ready, without a moment’s notice, to hurl him to a terrible death. When the day came for the trip and the oarsmen decided that the river was at safe ‘log tide,’ the great ropes were loosened, the men took their places, the raft slowly moved into the current, and the wild ride was on.”

Based on Lambert’s notes, rafts moved at speeds of eight or nine miles per hour in convoys of fifty or more.

“There was an oarsmen at the bow’ and another behind, directing, with their strokes, every movement of the raft,” he wrote. “No one who has ever been near the river when rafts were passing, can fail to have heard the strange calls of the raftsmen to each other as they rounded the bends of the river or passed through dangerous chutes or rapids.”

“The man on the bow didn’t have to know much,” according to Lucian Mitchell, an old rafter who spoke with Lambert. “The man at the stern knew where to go, where the shoals were, and how to work up to the point on a hard bend and knew the Jordan sands at the mouth of Bear Creek. Sometimes a raft would cork the river by bowing and swing around in such a position as to get both ends afoul. If another raft came down it was rulable to hit this raft in the middle and cut it in two pieces.”

“This was a thrilling time,” The Llorrac claimed. “The front oar was often broken, leaving the raft unmanageable and, in the language of the raftsmen, it sometimes ‘swarped’ or turned completely around and even went to pieces. Let no one minimize the danger. If by accident, a man lost his balance and fell into the water, he was generally carried at once by the eddies to the bottom of the river; or, he drifted under the raft and was seen no more until his body was found, drifting far below, after many days or even months. In case they escaped these dangers they were still subject to sunken logs or great stones.”

Lucian Mitchell of Logan County downplayed the drowning aspect, saying, “Not many drowned. Most could swim.”

In Search of Ed Haley 181

14 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by in Big Sandy Valley, Big Ugly Creek, Ed Haley

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We next looked at Logan County census records, where Milt Haley appeared in 1870 as “T. Milton Haley,” aged 13, living with a Bill Duty on Rich Creek in the Tug Valley. Duty’s home in Hardee District was relatively far away from the Harts area. Ten years later, in 1880, there was no trace of Milt or Duty anywhere in West Virginia, indicating that they may have lived outside the state at that time.

Had they moved together across the Tug into Kentucky?

We got back in the Lambert Collection for help…and found a circa-1934 interview with Jeff Duty, Bill Duty’s son.

At the time of the interview, Jeff was living at Dollie, a now extinct post office on Big Ugly Creek just upriver and over Green Shoal Mountain from Harts. He didn’t mention Milt Haley but gave a great account of his family story:

Grandfathers both came from Russell County, Virginia. Grandfather Geo. Duty came to Pigeon Creek in what is now Mingo County, before the Civil War. Grandfather James Ferrell settled on Big Creek, Logan County before the Civil War. Grandmother Duty was a Jackson and Grandmother Ferrell was a Fields.

Father was born in what is now Mingo County, and volunteered in 1861 as a Confederate. My father, William Duty, was in Gettysburg and Fort Donelson battles. They fought here seven days and seven nights. He was twice wounded. Father Wm. Duty lived in Mingo until fifty-one years ago, when he moved to Big Ugly, Lincoln County [around 1883]. When we moved to Big Ugly there were only three houses from Broad Branch, which is about one-half the length of Big Ugly to the head of Big Ugly, and now there are about two hundred. Big Ugly is nineteen miles long. There were plenty of deer, wild cats, coons, &c. when my father came. Wolves were here for about fifteen years after we came. Tom Ferrell killed the last deer killed about here about forty-five years ago.

My father was a rather big farmer for this part of the country, raising 1,000 bushels of corn a year, and always raising wheat. He had the first “chaff Piler” threshing machine brought in. It took about twelve horses to pull it. When it came on the first trip, my mother had about twenty geese in the yard, and when they heard it they took to the woods and did not come back for three or four days. My father had six children: John lived on Broad Branch, Lincoln County; Jeff here at Dollie; Phidelia Vernatter-Chapman lives in Boone County; Annie Steele lives in Logan County; George lives within three miles of Hurricane, Putnam County; Martha lives in Logan; she married Queen. My father, Wm. Duty, was the man who rode a $150.00 horse to death to save Tom Ferrell, who was in jail, in Hamlin, about 1889, for killing a man named Butcher, from a mob of Butcher relatives. Tom Ferrell is my cousin.

I am sixty-seven. I have eleven children, of whom three are dead: Alva, Lula, Stonewall, Solomon, Vernonda, Thos. Jefferson, Lee, Musco, Ira, Doska, Maggie. Mrs. Duty was Betty Pauley; her people came from Virginia. “Tiger Bill” Pauley was her father.

In Search of Ed Haley 180

09 Wednesday Oct 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley

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Having satisfied my thirst for Brumfield family history, Brandon pulled out some great newspaper articles pertaining to the 1889 troubles. He began with one from the Ceredo Advance dated Wednesday, October 2, 1889, and titled “Disappointed Love Leads to a Desperate Double Crime in Lincoln County:”

HUNTINGTON, W.Va.  September 27 – Word has just reached here of a sensational crime on Big Hart’s creek, in Lincoln county, 90 miles up the Guyandotte River. Al Brumfield, a newly married man, and his bride had spent the day with his wife’s parents some distance up the creek. Just at dusk, on their return, and when near their home, they were fired upon by a man who sprang from the bushes by the road-side. Mrs. Brumfield was shot in the head and fell to the ground unconscious. Her husband was shot in the right lung but managed to crawl to a neighbor’s for assistance.

The nearest physician, twenty-five miles distant, was summoned, but arrived too late to render the woman any assistance and she died in a few hours. The latest information is that Brumfield is also dying. He claims he recognized the assassin, but refuses to say who it was. It is the belief of the neighborhood that a suitor of Mrs. Brumfield, who failed to win her, is the assassin.

The article was full of errors but its implication of a single “assassin” with a personal attachment to Hollena Brumfield was interesting.

On Wednesday, October 9, 1889, Ceredo Advance ran a letter from “WILD BILL,” written on September 27. Wild Bill gave his address as Warren, West Virginia — a now extinct post office on Harts Creek below the mouth of Smoke House Fork.

ED. ADVANCE: — As you have had no communication from this place for some time I will give you a few items. There have been several cases of flux in this vicinity and two or three deaths. Farmers are busy saving fodder and cutting up corn. Our neighborhood was thrown into a state of confusion last Sunday evening about 3 o’clock. One mile from this place some low down villain attempted to assassinate Mr. Brumfield and wife. They had been on a visit to Mrs. Brumfield’s father, Mr. Henderson Dingess, and as they returned home they were shot from the brush, one ball striking Mrs. Brumfield just in front of the right ear and ranging around the cheek bone and striking her nose producing a serious but not fatal wound, and one ball striking Mr. Brumfield in the right arm below the elbow producing only a flesh wound. They were cared for and dressed by Drs. Moss, of Cabell county, and Hudgins, of Logan county. They will recover. Mr. Brumfield is a prominent merchant living at Hart, W.Va., and is a good citizen, highly esteemed by his neighbors. His wife is a noble and kind-hearted lady and beloved by all her acquaintances. They have a large train of friends who sympathize with them in their distress. The object of the attempted murder is believed to be robbery. The good and law-abiding citizens should unite and rid the earth of such miserable miscreants.

Based on this September 27 letter, written a week after the ambush at Thompson Branch, there were two theories regarding the motive for the crime: one, it was done by a jealous suitor; two, it was an attempted robbery.  In either case, this second article again referred to the attacker in the singular sense…sort of.

By October 24, locals had deduced Haley and McCoy’s guilt, captured them in Kentucky and murdered them at Green Shoal. WILD BILL was apparently unaware about this latter act because on October 25 he again sent a letter to the Ceredo Advance (printed on November 6).

ED. ADVANCE – Mr. Allen Brumfield, who was shot in the arm near this place about a month ago, has got about well. His wife, who was shot at the same time, is improving very slowly, but she will get well. The perpetrators of the awful crime — Milton Haley and Green McCoy — have been arrested. Haley did the shooting and McCoy is accused of being an accomplice, but the latter will be released by turning state’s evidence against Haley. The law should be enforced against such persons to the utmost extent. Our neighborhood is in a state of intense excitement and may terminate in a deadly feud between two parties…

[Since the above was written a mob took Haley and McCoy from the officers and killed them. — ED]

God only knows what our country will come to, as the deadly Winchester is fast becoming the ruling factor in our land.

Well just who was this WILD BILL? He seems to have access to a lot of information regarding the growing feud on Harts Creek. Maybe it was “Detective Wild Bill,” who history records as a participant in the Hatfield-McCoy Feud in the nearby Tug Valley.

A story featured in the Ceredo Advance titled “A Visit to the Lincoln County Battle Field” and dated Wednesday, November 13, 1889, was most interesting:

Mr. J.V. Henderson, editor of the Charleston Nonpareil, was in this city today [Nov. 7], having just returned from the scene of the recent trouble in Lincoln county. He went to get a full description of the places and the causes which led to the trouble for the metropolitan dailies. Mr. Henderson went into the house where Green McCoy and Milton Haley were murdered, and made a map of the house and its surroundings. He also made a map of the Hart’s Creek country, giving the location of each faction — the Brumfields and the Runyons. While going up Hart’s Creek he was met by two men acting as pickets, armed with Winchester rifles, who asked him where he was going and what was his business. Mr. Henderson told them that he was a newspaper man and wanted to get information regarding the trouble in that vicinity. They told him that they would give him one hour to get off the creek and leave the country.

Mr. Henderson took the hint and left at once. He says he learns that both factions are heavily armed and are expecting an attack at any time. Each side has pickets out ready to give the alarm in the event of hostile movements by the other side. The road up Hart’s Creek is blockaded, and travelers through that region avoid the place.

Unfortunately, few issues of the aforementioned Charleston Nonpareil survive in libraries today. Brandon later located copies of the Nonpareil for February and May of 1889 and February and June of 1890 — the times just prior to and just after the trouble — but none for the fall of 1889, which would have maybe mapped the murder site and the location of the feudists’ homes. There was one interesting development: according to The Cabell County Record, Mr. J.V. Henderson, “one of the best known figures in West Virginia newspaper work,” died at the Spencer insane asylum in 1898 at the ripe age of 43.

In Search of Ed Haley 179

08 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley

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After about thirty minutes of talking with Brandon, I was convinced that he loved the families of Harts and was wrapped up in its history. He was not only serious business but he really — I mean really — knew his stuff.

Brandon flipped a few pages in his photo album, then pointed to a picture of a black-bearded, broad-shouldered giant of a man and said, “That’s Paris Brumfield.” I’d heard a lot about him from Bob Adkins and Lawrence Kirk — and never forgot what they said about him being killed by his own son. He was Brandon’s great-great-great-grandfather.

According to the Lambert Collection, Paris Brumfield was one of the most feared loggers in the Guyandotte Valley – a man who “gloried in shooting people.” He frequently stirred up trouble in the town of Guyandotte with his friends, Jerome Shelton of West Hamlin and Pete Dingess of Harts Creek. Shelton often got drunk and wandered through the streets of Guyandotte screaming “I am God!” and other obscenities. He climbed on ladders and pretended to make speeches to taunt officers and citizens. Wild cheering from loggers always followed his cry of “Millions bow down to me!” Wilburn Bias was the only marshal in Guyandotte who Paris and his gang feared, although others like a Mr. Fuller sometimes tried to arrest him. One marshal, J. “Doc” Suiter, once came to Brumfield’s hotel room to make an arrest, but a brawl ensued in which both men crashed through a window. At some point, while rafting on the Guyan River, Paris slammed his raft into Doc’s after seeing that it was fouled on some shoals.

Brumfield was a real rabble-rouser. Not only did he drink heavily and abuse his wife: in the late 1870s he took a mistress for himself. This woman, one Keziah Ramey, originally from the Kiah’s Creek area of Wayne County, moved near Paris at Harts and quickly produced him four children. Paris was a reported murderer as well, according to local history. There are rumors about him killing pack-peddlers and someone named Charlie Hibbits (whose body was put on the “Ha’nt Rock”). Reportedly, he also murdered a man who disturbed a fiddler playing his favorite song, “Golden Slippers”. These stories are likely untrue, as the only murder positively linked to him was his shooting of a local man named Boney Lucas.

Bob Adkins had told me about it. “They had a fight right there at the mouth of West Fork and Boney got loose and he run through the creek there,” Bob had said a few years earlier. “And Paris’ daughter Rat, she run and got the gun and brought it to Paris and, by george, he shot Lucas with a Winchester right across the creek. Lucas tried to get away.” Brandon’s grandfather Ray Kirk said the trouble was “over logs,” while Lawrence Kirk said it was brought on by arguments between their children at school. Either way, their fatal confrontation occurred at the Narrows of Harts Creek, where Al Brumfield later built his infamous log boom. Paris had gone to a store on the creek with his daughter when he noticed Lucas working there in a timber crew. He and Lucas “had words,” then Lucas attacked him, initially with the butt-end of his axe. In no time, one of Brumfield’s arms was almost completely severed from his shoulder — courtesy of Lucas’ axe. Paris hollered for his daughter to give him a pistol that he’d tucked into a grocery bag, then used it to shoot Boney in self-defense.

Life in the Brumfield home was difficult. At one point, during the fall of 1891, Ann Brumfield fled to her son Charley’s home for protection. I knew from Bob Adkins what had happened next.

On November 11, 1891, the Ceredo Advance reported: “The noted desperado of Lincoln county — Paris Brumfield — was shot five times by his son Charles, on Tuesday of last week [Nov. 3]. Paris was drinking and attempted to take the life of his wife, when the son interfered with the above result. The wounded man lived only a few hours after having been shot. Paris killed several men during his life and it is said that no man could get the drop on him, but finally one of his own flesh and blood ended his career. The son has not been arrested, and probably will not be.”

In 1892, The Logan County Banner reported: “We think the papers in the State have been a little harsh with Paris Brumfield. From what we have learned we do not blame his son for killing him in the defense of his mother, and we deeply sympathize with the young man in having to imbue his hands in the blood of his father. Paris Brumfield was an overbearing man and dangerous when in whisky, yet he was surrounded by a people not noted for angelic sweetness of temper, and he was driven to many an act of which he was ashamed. There was, however, a good side to the man. He was generous and brave, and no one was ever turned [away in] hunger from his door; and, remembering his kindness to the poor, we are willing to draw the curtain over his many grievous faults.”

Brandon said many old-timers around Harts heard that Paris’ ghost would jump up behind Charley every time he got on a horse to go anywhere.

In Search of Ed Haley 178

29 Sunday Sep 2013

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After a few hours of digesting this material, I met Brandon Kirk in the hall near the copier. Brandon, a neatly groomed young man wearing a tie, was freighted down with satchels. We introduced ourselves and were soon in the study room where Brandon started fishing through his bags and pulling out letters, notebooks, folders and photo albums. Within a few minutes, the table was covered. It was as if someone had walked up with a giant garbage bag full of papers and dumped it all out in front of me.

One of the first things Brandon showed me was a small account of Milt Haley’s murder titled “The Brumfield-McCoy Feud”, which was originally published in a 1926 edition of Lambert’s Llorrac.

The Brumfield-McCoy Feud took place in the month of September, about 1888, some three miles up Hart’s Creek. Hollena Brumfield and her husband, Allen Brumfield, had been visiting Henderson Dingess, father of Mrs. Brumfield, one Sunday and were about two miles below Mr. Dingess’ on their way home. Green McCoy and Milt Haley laid in wait for them. Mr. and Mrs. Brumfield were riding down the creek, Mrs. Brumfield being on the same horse behind her husband. McCoy and Haley began shooting at them, one bullet striking Mr. Brumfield in the arm, and the other tearing away a portion of Mrs. Brumfield’s face, disfiguring her for life. Mr. Brumfield jumped from his horse and ran, and in that way escaped further injury. McCoy afterwards told that they were bribed by John Runyons with a barrel of flour and a side of bacon to McCoy, and twenty-five dollars in money to [Haley]. The murderers escaped into Kentucky but were captured a little later and brought back. Allen Brumfield supplemented the reward offered by the state with one of his own.

It seems the cause of the trouble was bad feeling between John Runyons and Al Brumfield. Runyons had a store and saloon at the mouth of Hart’s Creek. Brumfield had a store on Guyan River about a fourth of a mile below Hart, on the south side of the Guyan and sold whiskey on a houseboat. John Dingess [Mrs. Brumfield’s brother] was a bartender.

McCoy and Haley were brought back and kept over night at the house of George Fry. The next morning a number of men, presumably Brumfield’s friends came in, and the two prisoners were shot and killed.

Along with the above article was another version of “The Lincoln County Crew”, which gave George (and not Tom) Ferrell as the author.

Come all young men and ladies, come fathers, mothers, too;

I’ll relate to you the history of the Lincoln County crew.

Concerning bloody rows, and many a thieving deed,

Dear friend, pray lend attention to these few lines I say.

It was in the month of August all on a very fine day;

Allen Brumfield he got wounded they say by Milt Haley.

But Brumfield couldn’t believe it, nor hardly thought it so;

He said it was McCoy who shot that fatal blow.

They shot and killed Boney Lucas, a sober and innocent man,

And left his wife and children, to do the best they can.

They wounded Rufus Stowers, although his life was saved;

And he seemed to shun the grog shop, since he stood so near his grave.

Allen Brumfield he recovered, some weeks and months had past;

It was at the house of George Fry, these men they met at last.

Green McCoy and Milt Haley, about the yard did walk;

They seemed to be uneasy and no one wished to talk.

And then they went into the house, and sat down by the fire,

And little did they think, dear friends, they had met their final hour.

The sting of death was near them, _________________________

A few words passed between them concerning a row before.

The people some got frightened, began to rush out of the room;

When a ball from some one’s pistol laid the prisoners in the tomb.

Their friends then gathered ’round them, their wives to weep and wail;

Tom Ferrell was arrested, and soon confined to jail.

The butchers talked of lynching him, but that was all the fear;

And when the day of trial came, Tom Ferrell he came clear.

And then poor Paris Brumfield, relation to the rest,

He got three balls shot through him, they went straight through his breast.

The death of these few men have caused great trouble in our land;

Men to leave their wives and children to do the best they can.

Lincoln County’s still at war, they never, never cease;

Oh, could I only, only see my land once more in peace.

I composed this as a warning, a warning to all men;

Your pistols will cause trouble, on that you may depend.

In the bottom of the whiskey glass, the lurking devil dwells;

It burns the hearts of those who drink, and sends their soul to hell.

In Search of Ed Haley 177

28 Saturday Sep 2013

Posted by in Ed Haley, Harts

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Aside from this great fiddling history, I located several wonderful passages that hinted at Civil War era life in the Guyandotte Valley.

“A family named Bailey ran a mill at Harts Creek,” Sam Bias told Lambert in 1942. “They had seven or eight children — all half-naked. This was during the Civil War. Such mills ground slowly and people got hungry waiting for their grists. Mr. Bailey furnished a skillet where folks could parch corn when hungry. Food, in those days, was either secured from the forests, or produced on the farms. It consisted of corn bread, potatoes, bacon, pickled pork, and a few vegetables produced in the gardens. Hogs were often kept before being killed till they weighed as much as five or six hundred pounds, or more. There were no canned goods. We often fished at night and had fish the next day fried in bacon grease. We used a hook and line. We had guns and often killed ducks. I killed a bald eagle just above the Falls. It measured seven feet from tip to tip of their wings. It had been catching Lewis Midkiff’s geese. Women were very modest, and wore long dresses. People were scarce. They often lived five or six miles apart. Comber Bias, from the Forks of Two Mile, bear hunted at Harts Creek. He got a bear shortly after the war and I ate some of it. We had spinning wheels and looms. I can remember when my mother made pants and knit socks for us.”

“I remember bear and deer were plentiful in my early days,” said Bill Peyton. “Panthers were gone. I have laid by trees with my brother Lewis where six coons were until daylight and my father would come and shoot them. He killed many deer, a few bear, a few wildcats, foxes, panthers, etc. Trapped foxes. Much flax and cotton was grown. I have helped pack cotton many times. Many people had stills and made brandy. The Major Adrian, Louisa, and Lindsey [were steamboats] that ran before the war. Sugar orchards were plentiful. We raised wheat during and after War. Soldiers of both sides passed at different times. About 1200 Yankees went down the Creek as from Boone to B’ville on one occasion. Did no harm. Rebels (about 1000) also passed on another occasion on way to Wayne. They did no harm. Later soldiers came and robbed us and took a horse — Rebels — took blankets, clothes, meat, etc. About 25 in party. On Guyan, Nick Messinger had a water mill at the Falls after the war ended. Two or three saloons were in Hamlin directly after the Civil War. Pomp Wentz and Morris Wentz ran the Hustler since the war. A steamboat called the Favorite ran from Huntington to Laurel Hill.”

In Search of Ed Haley 176

27 Friday Sep 2013

Posted by in African American History, Ed Haley, Music

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In a separate interview, one Mr. Miller told Fred B. Lambert, “Leander Fry used to come down from Lincoln on timber to play the fiddle. He was a great fiddler. Jack McComas was an old fiddler, as was also his brother. Mose Thornburg said that a man who wouldn’t fight to the music made by the musicians of the musters had no fight in him. Wm. Collins was a fifer. John Reece was a tenor drummer, Clarke Thurston a base drummer. On muster days, whiskey, ginger ales, cider, &c were plentiful. Hogs were fattened on the way East. That wore the valley out. Dishes were plain. Cups instead of glass. They were cheaper. No washboards. Lye soap. Used a board to beat clothes with. Later, washboards were made of soft wood and sold for 5 cents each. Old fiddlers: George Stephens and Wiley, — Joplin, Guyandotte (?). In later days Morris Wentz and Ben France.”

Amaziah Ross told Lambert about some of the other fiddlers.

“Old Charley Robison came from Alabama. Brought ‘Birdie.’ He was a colored man and a good fiddler. Bob Glenn lived up Ohio River about Mason Co., played at Guyandotte when I was a boy. A first class fiddler. His bro. Dave Glenn also was a good one. Jimmie Rodgers lived at Guyandotte. He was a bro. to Bascom Rogers who kept saloon at Guyandotte — The Logan Saloon when I was a boy.”

Ross gave Lambert the names of many old fiddle tunes, which I of course noted being an avid fan and collector of such things:

Shelvin’ Rock                                      played by Ben France

Natchez Under the Hill

Seven Mile Winder

Money Muss

Devil’s Dream

Mississippi Sawyer

Sixteen Days in Georgia

Little Sallie Waters

Marching Through Georgia

Whitefield, Georgia

Annie Adkins — By herself a fiddler when my father was a boy.

Ocean Wave

Over the Way

Grasshopper

Cabin Creek

Fisher’s Hornpipe

Sailor’s Hornpipe

Ladies’ Hornpipe

Gerang Hornpipe

Forked Deer

Third Day of July

Butterfly

Birdie

Lop Eared Mule

Billy in the Lowground

Wild Horse

Old Bill Keenan

Round Town Girls

SourwoodMountain

Old Joe Clark

Greasy String

Cross Keys

Bet My Money on Bobtail Horse

Blue Ridge Mountain Home

Someone told Lambert about the dances held after corn-shuckings.

“After a few weeks, it was ready to shuck. It was an opportunity for young and old to gather and spend a day at work in the name of play. Of course, the women and girls prepared the noon meal and sometimes even the supper. When night came on, the labors of the day were followed by a dance, which of all pioneer amusements was king. Shooting matches with rifles, wrestling matches, foot races, fist fights between neighborhood bullies, or to settle old scores. It was not uncommon for contestants to engage in ‘gouging’, as a natural sequence of a first fight. Weapons were banned, but many a man lost an eye by having it gouged out.”

Another person said, “Dances were very common at weddings, and on many other occasions.” Some of the tunes played were:

The Devil’s Dream

Old Zip Cook

Billie in the Low Ground

Virginia Reel

“I had a Dog And His Name was Rover,

When he Had Fleas, He had ‘Em All Over”

Irish Washerwoman

Mississippi Sawyer

Myron Drumond gave these tunes to Lambert: “Sugar in the Gourd”, “Chicken Reel”, “Fisher’s Hornpipe”, “Cincinnati Hornpipe” (the latter two tunes for “Jig dancing”) and “Irish Washerwoman”.

These tunes and fiddlers came from “a Barboursville man:”

Tunes

 Turkey In the Straw

Sourwood Mountain

“Hage ’em Along.”

The Lost Indian

Pharoah’s Dream

Hell up the Coal Hollow

The Devil’s Dream

Shady Grove

Arkansas Traveler

Little Bunch o’ Blues

New River Train

I Love Some Body

Hard Up

Fiddlers

Morris Wentz

Ben France

Percival Drown

Bob Claypool—Lincoln Co.

Staunton Ross—near Salt Rock

Burgess (“Coon”) Stewart — Lincoln Co.  Buffalo Cr.  Extra Good

Frank Jefferson — Nine Mile

Anse Blake — Nine Mile

A lot of Lambert’s research, particularly in regard to old-time music trailed off around the time of the War Between the States. He only mentioned Ed Haley twice — once in relation to Milt Haley and once in a list with Ben France, Blind Lish Adkins, Hezekiah Adkins of Wayne County, “Fiddler Cain” Adkins (a son of Jake Adkins), Gilbert Smith and Isom Johnson. His last letter on fiddling was from an uninterested Lucian W. Osbourne of East Lynn, Wayne County, who wrote in March of 1951: “Complying with your request, I send the names of a few old fiddlers, as follows: Champ Adkins, Kish Adkins, Ben Frances, George Crockett. All dead. For information about others write Mrs. Spicy Fry, Stiltner, and Harkins Fry, Kenova. Here are some of the old tunes: ‘Sourwood Mountain,’ ‘The Lone Prairie,’ ‘Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane,’ ‘Nelly Gray,’ &c. I know but little about the fiddling, as I am a Sunday School man, and interested in better things. I think it is better to say after one when he is dead that he is a Christian than to say he was a fiddler or baseball fan.”

In Search of Ed Haley 175

24 Tuesday Sep 2013

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In 1925, likely stirred by Pomp Wentz’s comment, Fred B. Lambert interviewed Blind Bill Peyton of One Mile Creek, near West Hamlin in Lincoln County. Initially, Mr. Peyton spoke a great deal of his father, Henry Peyton, a fiddler, farmer, and timber man in the Guyandotte Valley.

“My father was among the first settlers on this creek,” Peyton said. “He settled about a mile and a half up from the river and raised all his 13 children in the same house. He followed farming mostly, and timbered some and sold some timber. Raised all kinds of stock — sheep, cows, hogs, horses — one dog at a time. Raised chickens, turkeys, guineas, pea fowls, geese, ducks, etc. My father was a good canoe maker. He made them out of poplar trees by digging out and shaping them, at $12 to $25, according to size. I often went to Logan for rafts. Henry Peyton, my father, Walter Lewis, Bob Lewis, and Dick Cremeans took a big barge of lumber to Cincinnati. Lumber was sawed early by a whip saw.”

“My father was a fiddler — played many a night,” Peyton said. “Young folks had a good many parties. Had all night dances. Uncle John Spears was the oldest fiddler I knew. He lived on Nine Mile Creek of Lincoln up on creek toward head. He was a good one. Some of the old-time tunes were: Maysville, Rebel Raid, Dalton Raid, Sourwood Mountain, Getting Off the Raft, Shelvin’ Rock, Dover, The Coquette, Leather Breeches Full of Stitches, Betsy Walker, Frosty Morning, Rollin’ Down the Sheets, The Grand Spy, Daniel Boone, Capt. Johnson, Cincinnati Belle, Rose in the Mountain, Rocky Mountain, The Blue Rooster, The Morning Star, The Butterfly, Tinpot Alley, Bonaparte Crossing the Alps, Butcher’s Row, The Brush Creek, Peach Tree, Waynesburg, The Basket, Nancy Rowland, The Arkansaw Traveler, and Cumberland Gap.”

Peyton spoke of other Lincoln County fiddlers, some of whom lived in the Harts area during Milt Haley’s time.

“Johnny Dalton, a blacksmith, came from East Virginia, settled at Falls, was a fiddler. Did your work and then played you a tune. Went to Mud River and died. Jack McComas of 6 mi. and Jim Franklin from Upper Two Mile were also fiddlers. Tom Cooper lived on Mud River, in Lincoln, above Hamlin. Morris Wentz and Ben France, who lived in Cabell, often came to Lincoln. Tom Peyton, my brother, Mig Sturgeon, Don Lambert, Irvin Lucas, and Leander Fry were fiddlers. The latter was a good one. Henry Pauley came from Boone County; settled on Parsoner Creek, and removed to near Four Mile of Guyan. He was well liked. Mr. Billy McKendree told of Dangerfield Bryant being a good fiddler and teacher of singing and instrumental music. A shoemaker by trade. He was lame. A good man and perfect gentleman.”

In Search of Ed Haley 174

23 Monday Sep 2013

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By the time of the Civil War, Benjamin France of Cabell County was the chief fiddler in the lower Guyandotte Valley. One person interviewed by Fred B. Lambert referred to him as “the best of all” in a list of fiddlers that included even Ed Haley. Of course, I was immediately interested in him.

According to Lambert’s notes, France was born in 1844. He “learned on a gourd fiddle, and was able to play when he entered the army. He served as a Rebel soldier, throughout the Civil War, entering the army, at the age of 17 years. He was noted as one of the best fiddlers of his time. He won two or three times, in contests, but his medals do not show when, nor whether they were first rank. Henry France, his nephew, says he could play all the old fiddle tunes, and could play all night without repeating the same tunes even once.”

France was a resident of Long Branch, near the Lincoln County line and died in 1918.

“From Cabell County, the principal fiddlers were Morris Wentz, Ben France, William S. Rogers and Charley Dodd,” according to J.T. “Pomp” Wentz, a riverboat captain who spoke with Lambert. “Banjoes were not used so much, in those days, but later Rev. Billy Walker and others used to play them very well. As a fiddler, Ben France played with the most ease of any man I ever saw. Morris Wentz played with some difficulty compared with Mr. France, but he could play almost anything. Morris Wentz used to play: ‘The Cold Frosty Morning’, ‘Going Back to Dixie’, ‘The Arkansas Traveler’, ‘Bonaparte’s Retreat’ (this pleased Billy Bramblett, the Frenchman), ‘Ducks in the Pond’, ‘The Puncheon Floor’, ‘Hop Light Ladies’, ‘The Boatsman’, ‘The Cackling Hen’, ‘Sourwood Mountain’, ‘Soldiers Joy’, ‘Little Birdie’, ‘Old Dan Tucker’, ‘Granny Will Your Dog Bite?’, ‘Liza Jane’, ‘The Shelvin’ Rock’, ‘Knock Kneed Nannie’, ‘Chippy, Get Your Hair Cut’, ‘The Rebel Raid’, ‘Turkey in the Straw’, ‘Sugar In the Gourd’, ‘Ginny, the Gal With the Blue Dress On’, ‘Old Joe Clark’, ‘Birdie’, ‘Old Napper’, ‘The Forked Duck’. After dancing the ‘set’ down, they would close with the ‘winder’.”

Apparently, the popular tunes of the day were “Forked Deer” and “The Peach Tree”.

“Babe McCallister, ‘a darkey’ owned by a farmer named McCallister from upper Mud River, was a master of ‘Forked Deer’,” one fiddler raved. “He ‘played the fiddle with the ‘free arm movement,’ the wrist joint only working, the elbow joint still, while the wrist joint was in active movement. To hear the coon on ‘Forked Deer’, his favorite tune, and call the cotillion figure was a great treat. Could I have inherited such talent with my fondness of and for the violin, it would have been dead easy that I should tour the universe and earn a million playing only ‘Forked Deer’ and ‘Peach Tree’.”

Further up the Guyandotte River from the Cabell County towns, in present-day Lincoln County, were fiddlers of lesser note.

“Some of the best fiddlers I ever knew in Lincoln County, were Henry Peyton, father of ‘Blind’ Bill Peyton, and Jack McComas, both of whom played before the Civil War,” said Pomp Wentz.

In Search of Ed Haley 173

21 Saturday Sep 2013

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“There were other fiddlers of less note than those I have named,” Percival Drown continued. “Jim Peatt was a fiddler of fair attainments only as to the number of tunes. I only remember that he played ‘Pigeon on the Gate’, ‘Indian Eat the Woodcock’ (with words), and ‘Old Dan Tucker’ with words and chorous… Ike Handley and Jim Wilcot, who lived below Guyan seven or eight miles, were of the class with Jim Peatt, as I now regard them and recall their fiddling.”

Around 1846, a “dark-skinned” fiddler named Joplin with a “French-Italian look about him” appeared briefly in Cabell County. He was “an educated fiddler and dancing master.”

“It was charming to me, at least, to listen to Joplin’s refined music and I scarcely let the opportunity pass and not hear him,” Drown wrote.

While a master of the violin in the classical sense, Joplin didn’t impress many locals.

“The average native of Cabell County at the period of which I am writing,” one citizen said, “would be far more entertained listening to George Stephen’s ‘Possum Creek’ or ‘Soap Suds over the Fence’, or ‘Peach Tree’ as he played it by ear, than Joplin’s classics rendered from book Clythe Masters.”

These fiddlers made a great impression on young Percival Drown, who took up the fiddle himself as a teenager.

“As brief as I can make it, I will give an account of my own career as a fiddler, which is of little merit, yet would appear to be in order to detail here with other reminiscent memories,” he wrote.

Early in the 40s my father said to me: “Perl would you like to learn to play the fiddle?” I was in my thirteenth year, I think. “Yes sir, I certainly would,” was about my reply — I think my exact words. He went on at some length in extolling the virtues of the violin — how a fiddler could elevate himself socially, and even become a great and popular personage. I have no idea he had ever listened to Joplin or Turner at that time, and certainly not an Ole Bull, or other high class performers. “Bonaparte’s Retreat” and “Money Musk”, also the “Irish Washerwoman,” were his special tunes to listen to. He then said: “Take this $3.00 and get Vere or Gus Wolcott (who kept the wharfboat at Logan) to send to Cincinnati and get the best instrument the $3.00 will buy, and you can begin and try and learn”. I took the money. Wolcott sent and got the instrument, and I was not long “to try and learn to play on it.” The employment of a teacher was out of the question — not to be thought of. We lived far in the back country, too far from where an instructor of the violin ever came. I could never have paid the tuition of an instructor could one have been engaged, but the husband of a negro woman and two children my father had bought at a public sale of the property of Joe Gardner, dec’d at Guyan, was a fiddler. My father hired the husband [named Sam] every winter to work on the farm. Sam became my teacher. I watched his fingers as he played “Old Grimes”, and by timing the fingers and getting the tune effectively fixed in my mind, it was not long until I could actually play “Old Grimes” myself, by which time I could also “tune up” the instrument. The worst was over.

 [I learned] by listening to Geo. Stephens, and every other fiddler that came along the road, closely watching Sam’s fingers and hearing him play every rainy day that we wouldn’t work on the farm (and every night, rain or dry). In four to six months I could play any slow tune and the “Peach Tree” for a dance. For a cotillion I could play one tune, “Rose in the Mountain”. On an occasion, I think it was near 1846, a popular blacksmith and farmer named Stonebreaker who lived out on Beech Fork wanted to give the young people a party. So, he gathered his corn crop, hauled it into the barn, and appointed a day for the husking. “Corn shucking” it was called. The day for the corn shucking was Saturday. George Stephens was sought for, but was away and could not be got in time. Walcott lived twenty miles away, and was not known much anyway. Milstead lived in Ohio, fifteen miles or more. Joplin lived in Gallipolis, thirty miles up the Ohio, too. Hence, he was not available. I had no reputation as a fiddler, and Sam could not leave home — his wife was expecting to be sick of another kid — when it seemed that no fiddler of any known qualification could be engaged. A messenger was sent for me to ascertain if I would come, the time being short. I readily assented. Nothing said about the fiddler’s fee for the service. On the day set I done up the fiddle in my overcoat, and strapping it behind my saddle, mounted “Dave” a very comely animal and away to Stonebreaker’s. Afternoon I went nine or ten miles. Made the trip in good shape, arriving as big as life, fiddle and all. The husking of the corn concluded, the next order of business was to dance. The figures chiefly danced were “Virginia Reel”, “French Four”, and “Dan Tucker”. I could only play the “Peach Tree” in fairly good shape for dancing; and the “Peach Tree” it was for all night, except for supper. We adjourned for about an hour. Then on with the dance for the balance of the night. For this service I received all that was collected, 75 cents, fifteen times five cents in 5 cent pieces… but like George Stephens I felt that I, too, was a lilter. That was my very first playing for the dance. That was fully 68 years ago.

 In 1854 I obtained another and superior instrument that, figuring some time ago how many miles I had carried that violin, it amounted to some 38,000 miles.

In Search of Ed Haley 172

20 Friday Sep 2013

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The next morning, I went to see the Lambert Collection at the Morrow Library in Huntington, West Virginia. According to information at the library, the late Fred B. Lambert (1873-1967), a schoolteacher and administrator, had spent “at least sixty years of his life collecting information about West Virginia history” into a 500-notebook collection, mostly focusing on Cabell, Lincoln, Wayne, and Logan Counties. His notes on fiddling and old-time music were incredibly detailed. In some cases, he documented the first time a tune arrived in the Guyandotte Valley. Incredibly, none of his work was published outside of The Llorrac, an old high school yearbook from the 1920s.

As I flipped through his notebooks, it was difficult to keep my focus — there were stories about murders, genealogy, and life on the river. I took great interest in the stories about early fiddlers in the Guyan Valley. It helped put Ed — at least his early years — into a sort of regional context, the culmination of years of musical evolution. Any one of the mid-nineteenth century Guyan fiddlers may have actually known Ed Haley or, more likely, his father Milt.

In the 1830s and 1840s, according to Lambert’s research, George Stephens was a dominant fiddler in the Cabell County towns situated at or near the mouth of the Guyandotte River.

“George Stephens was a fiddler of wider reputation than most of those old time artists of the ‘fiddle and the bow,'” wrote one Percival S. Drown in a 1914 letter. “In his repertoire was ‘Bonaparte’s Retreat from Moscow,’ ‘Bonaparte Crossing the Rhine,’ ‘Cold, Frosty Morning,’ ‘Puncheon Floor,’ ‘Possum Creek,’ ‘Pop Goes the Weasel,’ ‘Pretty Betty Martin,’ ‘Carry Me Back to Old Virginia,’ ‘Hail Columbia,’ and ‘Star Spangled Banner.’ He had another tune and words ‘Big John, Little John, Big John Bailey.’ The tune Stephens seemed to throw himself away most on was the ‘Peach Tree.’ The meter and time governing this tune permitted its use and adaptation for dance music, and applying a long drawn bow with correct harmony and concord of sound, he carried the listener away in dreamy thought and recollection.

“When about midnight after the day of the ‘quilting,’ ‘Corn Husking,’ and ‘Log Rolling,’ when the ‘dance was on,’ Stephens, well-liquored up on Dexter Rectified, would have his face turned over his right shoulder apparently as much asleep as awake, but never missing a note of the ‘Peach Tree’, while the dancers would be ‘hoeing down’ for dear life. All at once he would order ‘Promenade to Seats’, cease playing, adjust himself in his seat and exclaim with energy ‘if I aint a lilter damme.’ Seemingly he was suddenly inspired with an exalter opinion of his greatness as a fiddler. As much as to say at the same time ‘and don’t you forget it.’ Then he might resen his bow and break out with a few stanzas of ‘Puncheon Floor’ or a tune he called ‘Soap Suds Over the Fence,’ to be followed by a slow tune so everyone could march to the supper table in the kitchen, across the yard (It was a common thing in those dear old times, for the kitchen to be detached from the ‘big house’).”

Samp Johnson was another top local fiddler, according to Percival Drown.

“‘Samp’ Johnson was the first fiddler I heard play ‘Arkansas Traveler’. One of his favorite places to play was at McKendree’s Tavern in Barboursville [on Main Street]. His favorite for playing was during Court days, when fiddler’s drinks were full and plentiful. The sun [was] full at 2 o’clock that day. Court day. The Town was full of visitors, chiefly ‘hayseed’, most of whom were fully equipped for home when they could tear themselves away from ‘Samp’ Johnson’s music. I well remember the day. McKendree’s second story porch was crowded with the audience. Roll Bias, who was a character in his day, lived far up Guyan River. He usually had business ‘at Court’. He was prosperous, in a way. I think he paid for all the drinks flowing from the attraction furnished by Johnson’s music in the street. While endowed with good common sense he could neither write his own or any other name. Poor ‘Samp’ Johnson came to his death at the Falls of Guyan when driving logs at high tide of the river, date not far from the time (1852) of my leaving the State.”

Another great fiddler in that era was Anthony Riggs.

“Anthony Riggs’ favorite tune that I more distinctly remember than others he played was called ‘Annie Hays,'” Drown wrote. “It was that fiddler’s favorite tune and one to suit the step and time for reels, and other ‘figures’ so called. Like all fiddlers of his class, he played ‘Nachez Under the Hill’, now known as ‘Turkey in the Straw.'”

Morton Milstead of Ohio “would come over to Cabell, stay around a few days, in the early 30s, I heard it said, and played the fiddle for drinks, mostly,” Drown wrote. “Milstead was rated as a high-class musician, as I recollect the talk of him. Never heard Milstead play but once, and I well remember now after a lapse of 65 or 70 years that his performance was much below that of George Stephens, Anthony Riggs, or ‘Samp’ Johnson, from my viewpoint at least.”

In Search of Ed Haley 171

18 Wednesday Sep 2013

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“So when Larry and I got there, my mother-in-law, she was the one opened the door. I fell in love with her right away. And I didn’t see Ed until the next day. He was in bed and he was also hard-of-hearing and he didn’t hear us come in. Mom led us inside and, of course, Jack’s wife Patsy had the house very clean.”

One of the first things they did after arriving was eat a meal.

“Mom asked Lawrence, she said, ‘’awrencey boy, are you hungry?’ He said, ‘We’re starving, Mom.’ Well, Mom called upstairs and told Pat and Jack that we was here and they came down and Mom told Patsy we were hungry and Pat said, ‘Well, we don’t have much ready to eat. Would you like sausage and eggs?’ Well, I thought that was fine. But when these little patties came up… There was an oilcloth on the table — everything was clean and nice but the silverware was in a Mason jar in the middle of the table. I was just amazed that nobody set the table like I had been used to. I’d never seen sausage fried black. After dinner, they told us they had the bedroom upstairs fixed up for us. My mother-in-law had bought a new bedspread and new doilies for the dresser and Patsy had bought a lamp and some doilies and a picture for the wall. She’d really tried to fix up the room and make it nice for us. Mom had bought a very nice wardrobe and a dresser. The bed was Mom’s. The other furniture had belonged to Patsy and Jack.”

The next morning, Pat first met Ed.

“He came into the dining room and I was in the dining room, me and Larry. Larry just said, ‘Pop, this is Patricia.’ He just, you know, said, ‘Howdy do.’ And I went up to him to shake his hand. Larry had told me that I would have to go to him. If you looked at Ed Haley, it looked as though he was looking right at you. When I got up to him, Larry put his hand on my head and told him I was as short as Mom. Larry had told me that Pop would put his hands on me and check my head and face and my arms to see what kind of woman I was. He took his fingers — that’s the way he checked your features. And he could tell how you was built. Then he patted me on the shoulder to see what sort of made woman I was. But he had the smoothest hands. They were not a bit rough. Larry took Pop’s hand and put it on my belly and said, ‘See here, Pop.'”

Pat said she met Mona later that day.

“Mona came over the next day after I got here — her and her husband and her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law. Sometime after that, Mona came over and was playing a mandolin and her and Mom was playing. Mom played me some English tunes. And I don’t know how come they played but they got Pop to play a tune or two and he wouldn’t play much because he had whittled on his fingers and made them raw. He always loved my salmon. Course he called them salmon cakes. I call them croquettes.”

In Search of Ed Haley 170

16 Monday Sep 2013

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Early in March 1995, I fired up the Cadillac and drove the familiar road toward Ashland, Kentucky. After several hours of travel, I entered Rowan County — the place of Ella’s birth — and took the Farmers exit off of I-64. I wanted to get a closer look at Farmers, it being a place where Ella had lived, where Ralph was supposedly conceived, and where Lawrence remembered Ed playing for a dance. At one time, Farmers was the county’s largest town with 1,000 people. At the time of my visit, it was a small settlement, easily eclipsed by nearby Morehead.

A little later, I made my way into Morehead, a small college town with a curvy downtown business district and with most of its historical buildings torn down. It was somewhat disappointing. Triplett Creek, the Trumbo section of town, was dull and uninspiring. Small modern apartments replaced Ella’s old home place. Scenes of the Martin-Tolliver feud were long gone, removed to make way for a new road. At the college library, I found some interesting local history but nothing really pertaining to Ed and Ella’s story.

That evening, I arrived at Pat Haley’s home in Ashland. Pat was really down about Lawrence’s death and the progression of her daughter’s cancer. It was sad to be there – especially in the kitchen where Lawrence and I had spent so much time hashing out Ed’s music. Pat’s grandchildren were around frequently – especially David’s three daughters – but there was a great void in the house. I imagine it was a hundred-fold for Pat.

“We met August 14th, 1948, and he came back to America on November 5th,” she said of Lawrence. “We wrote to each other and I never saw him again until he came back to England and we met on Valentine’s Day, 1949. We married ten days later. I was almost eighteen. He was 21. I was staying with my sister in Hertfordshire, which is just on the outskirts of London. Larry came back to America in May, when he got out of the service. That’s when he told his mother he was married. Although she was writing to me, she didn’t know we were married. And she told him, ‘I suppose there’s a baby on the way.’ And he told her yes.

“I left England September 28th, 1949 on a Danish ship with a Polish crew. I was seven and a half months pregnant. It was a terrible experience. I went into false labor on the way over. The doctor was Polish and I never did understand a word the man said except ‘Haley.’ Had Beverly been born on that ship she could have claimed nationality to any country because we were in international waters. I got in this country on October 6th after eight days of choppy water. Larry met me in New York. We come past Staten Island and Ellis Island. I couldn’t see Larry on the dock but bless his heart he didn’t know he had to get a docking pass. He was stuck up at the barrier and here were all these people getting off the ship. And there was Larry in civilian clothes. It was the first time I’d seen Larry in civilian clothes. And one of the immigration officers said, ‘Why, he’s just a little boy.’

“We spent ten days in New York. Part of my luggage was lost and we were having some problem with some papers Larry should have gotten done. I didn’t know his parents were blind until we were in New York. I asked Larry what his mother thought of the pictures that he had given her of him and I, and he said, ‘She hasn’t seen them.’ And I said, ‘Why not?’ and he said, ‘She can’t see them. She’s blind.’ And I said, ‘Well, what did your dad think of them?’ And he said, ‘He’s blind, too.’

“We stayed in New York till October 16th. Just before we left, we had enough to buy a Spam sandwich and two apples in the bus station. He gave me the sandwich. It took us 24 hours to get from New York to Ashland. I got deathly sick on that bus ride. It was twist and turn over those mountains. It was about midnight when we got into Ashland and we had three cents in our pocket. Jack thought we would be there in the afternoon so he and Jim Brown had gone to the bus station and looked for us. They were drinking. Well, when we didn’t show up — I think it was between six and eight o’clock — they went back to the house. The bus station was located at 13th Street between Winchester and Carter Avenue. His parents lived at 1040 Greenup Avenue. So we walked and carried our suitcases and I had high heels on. We walked about six blocks — three down and three across.”

In Search of Ed Haley 169

10 Tuesday Sep 2013

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Not long after talking with Patsy, while on a trip through Kentucky, I visited J.P. Fraley. I had Ed’s fiddle with me, which excited J.P. greatly. He fiddled Haley’s version of “Granny Will Your Dog Bite?” as best as he could remember it and said Ed used to sing:

Granny, will your dog bite, dog bite, dog bite?

Granny will your dog bite?  “No, child, no.”

Granny will your dog bite, dog bite, dog bite?

“Johnny cut his biter off a long time ago.”

He said Ed also used to play “Hunky Dory”.

Between tunes, J.P. talked about how Haley was the top fiddler in his section of Kentucky. “Daddy and Alva Greene and Doctor Sparks and Frank Clay, Drew Crockett — reputable fiddlers, I called them — ever chance they got, they’d go listen to Ed Haley. He was the yardstick of the fiddlers in this whole area.”

J.P. said, “I’ve kept something for years, buddy. I’ve got a fiddle bridge of Ed Haley’s. I don’t know what it’s made out of.”

Apparently, when he borrowed the Haley fiddle from the Holbrooks years ago, he had kept a little memento before returning it.

In the next couple of weeks, I finalized plans for another “Ed Haley trip.” Pat Haley said I could stay at her place in Ashland, while Lawrence Kirk said I was welcome to stay with him in West Virginia. I called Brandon Kirk, the Harts genealogist, and arranged to meet him at the Morrow Library in Huntington. There he said we would have a lot of genealogical material at our fingertips, as well as all the room we needed to sort through our books and old photographs. I was very interested in the Lambert Collection, which he said was full of local historical information.

In Search of Ed Haley 168

08 Sunday Sep 2013

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After getting familiar with the postcards, I called Patsy Haley to see if she could tell me any more about Ella’s young life with Ralph.

“Ralph was about five years old when Mom married Ed Haley,” Patsy said. “Ralph is not by Ed Haley. I figure that Mom and Pop must’ve got married about the end of the teens.”

I asked Patsy if Ed was very close to Allie Trumbo, who often wrote to Ella in her younger days.

“They weren’t really close or anything like that,” she said. “My husband and I moved to Cincinnati and that’s when I got acquainted with Allie and his wife. In fact, we lived right across the street from them. They really didn’t talk too much. Allie used to tell me about their father Mr. Trumbo auctioning off land and selling it for a dollar ’cause he owned quite a bit of land by that college. I think Mom had a falling out with him. Mom used to go and stay with them, like on weekends, when she’d go to Cincinnati to work. Allie had called her ‘Penny Ella’ ’cause when she paid them for staying with them she always paid them with change ’cause that’s what Mom got from selling her newspapers.”

Was Allie a musician?

“No, not that I know of,” Patsy said. “He was a fine pool player.”

Patsy didn’t remember Ralph making the records.

“No, that was just before I come in the family,” she said. “I don’t think he did any more recordings after I came into the family. You know, Mom had divorced when I come in the family and they never got remarried. But he lived in the house because the kids wanted him there. Now I can remember when I first came in the family and Mona and I talked, she was quite afraid of her father when she was a little girl because I guess he must’ve been mean. And he musta been abusive and mean to Mom or she wouldn’t a divorced him. But he was a sweet old guy when I knew him. I never ever saw Pop drunk or drinking. But I do remember one time — it was at the holidays — and Noah took his father and went up to Ferguson’s I believe for Pop to play music for them. Well, he kept them out all night ’cause I guess he got pretty loaded. But I never ever saw Pop drink. Now Pat said she had, but I never had.”

I updated Patsy on some of the things I’d found out about Ed’s past on Harts Creek and asked if she knew anything about his mother.

“He really didn’t talk about her too much,” she said. “Only thing that I understood — and he didn’t tell me this — Mom told me — that she was killed when the father was killed. There was never no bad feelings about his parents, either one.”

Patsy said she learned more about Ed’s parents on a trip to Harts in 1947.

“We went up to Harts Creek because Pop had gone up there and we went to get him back,” she said. “That was the first time I met Aunt Liza.”

Aunt Liza said Milt came from “the other side of the mountain,” and that he and his wife were buried up behind their old log cabin on Trace Fork.

“I can remember Aunt Liza pointing to where they were buried,” she said. “When she pointed up, she pointed over towards where the log cabin was.”

In Search of Ed Haley 167

07 Saturday Sep 2013

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On April 10, 1916, a postcard referenced Ralph for the first time. “Florence,” of Portsmouth, wrote to Ella, who had settled at 630 Curtis Avenue in Middletown, Ohio.

“Dear Friend,” she wrote. “I got your card. Was glad to hear from you. Kiss Ralph a dozen kisses for me. Ruth gave me Ralph’s picture and is awful sweet. Tell Mrs. Trumbo I said Hello. How do you like Middletown? Let me know how you and Ralph are.”

Ella was still in Middletown in December of 1916.

By November of 1917, Ella had settled at 913 10th Street in Portsmouth, Ohio. Today, this address (just around the corner from her former Portsmouth location) is an empty lot situated in a bad section of town. Ella’s brother Luther lived nearby on Gay Street, while brother Allie was away in the Army.

“Hello Sister,” Allie wrote. “I am now on my way to the training camp. Will arrive there Some time tomorrow. It is at San Antonio Texas Camp Travis.”

On January 10, 1918, “Miss Ella Trumbo” was living in Ashland, Kentucky. She remained unmarried, based on the usage of her maiden name in the postcard.

The next postcard is dated in the early 1930s. By this time, she had married Ed Haley.

On April 17, 1934, Ralph sent Ella a postcard from Fort Knox, Kentucky. It was addressed to “Mrs. J.E. Haley” at 1030 45th Street in Ashland.

“Having a fine time, leaving for Cal. Thursday,” Ralph wrote. “Wish you could go. Tell Allie, Jane, and the children hello.”

In another card from Ralph and postmarked from Fort Knox (April 19, 1934), he wrote: “Dear Mother. Rec. your letter yesterday. Glad to hear from U. I am leaving today for San Diego Cal. down on the mexican border. Am saving stamped envelope to write to U while on the train. do not try to answer till I send address. Your affecionate Son, Ralph.”

In May of 1934, there was a card from a sister in Cincinnati, Ohio (probably Sissy), which read, “Will be at your house a Bout noon Saturday. Will stay all night at Margaret’s. we will Leve circa in the morning.”

In April 1941, Clyde sent several postcards to the family at 337 37th Street from Washington, D.C. His message for “Monnie & Lawrence Haley” was: “Hello Kids! How is school now-a-days? Fine, I hope. Wish I could see you. I’ll be seeing you. Write soon.” To Jack: “How are you? Fine, I hope. I know I am. Wish you were here. It’s a great place.” To “Mrs. J.E. Haley”: “Am getting along Fine. Hope you’re O.K. Am Sight seeing in the mountains along Skyline Drive. Your affectionate Son.”

In May, Jack received this odd note from Louisville, Kentucky: “I thought may be I would write you a few lines to let you know I got in Louisville okay. Well Jack how are you getting along. Fine I hope. Jack how is the girls out in South Ashland getting along? Well you be a good boy honey and daddy will bring you a candy sucker. Well Jack I will have to close for now. It’s getting late. Jack it is Tuesday night. I am in Bed writing this card. Love James Brown.”

Clyde sent another card home from Cincinnati, Ohio, postmarked February 16, 1943: “Dear Mom: We are all well and hope you are the same. As soon as you send me my Birth Certificate I go to work. Get it tomorrow and send it. SALARY $33.50 a week. Go down town and get it and send it soon as possible.”

There was one final card dated April of 1943 from “Pvt. Ralph A. Payne” at Camp Crowder, Missouri. The Haley family was still at 337 37th Street.

In Search of Ed Haley 166

06 Friday Sep 2013

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Ella was in Morehead as late as June 1911, where she received a card from “C.E.G.” reading, “I am living high. I go riding every day with my friend, Mrs. Mell Washington.”

Later in the fall of 1911, Ella was once again at 115 Woodland Avenue in Lexington, Kentucky. While there, one card was sent to her reading, “Well Ella, I got your card. Was glad to hear you Was all Well. Luther is Still here. Will Stay till you come home.”

Ella was back in Morehead by July 1912, where she received a card from Mont and Jim Spaulding postmarked in Richmond, Virginia. I wondered, was this the Mont Spaulding who was blind and played the fiddle around Kermit, West Virginia? In September, Mont and Dora Spaulding wrote her from Charleston, West Virginia:  “hello Ella. Did you get the card I send you from Va?”

“M. Spaulding” wrote to her again in November (although in a totally different handwriting), this time from Norton, Virginia. “It might be possible that my Daughter and I will see you about the last of this month.” The Spauldings apparently made the trip because Dora wrote Ella early in December, again from Charleston: “certainly did enjoy my short stay in your town.”

Ella’s postcards for the first part of 1913 were primarily from her brother Luther and were postmarked from Asheville, Knoxville, and Indianapolis.

In May, some friends sent her a postcard that read: “We would like very much for you to come up Sat. night and play for us. Come to stay all night if you can. Let us know if you will come.” At that time, Ella’s address was Clearfield, Kentucky, but she was in Morehead briefly the next month.

In September, she was in Farmers, Kentucky — her location when she became pregnant with Ralph. While in Farmers, she received a card from “Sissie” postmarked in Hitchins, Kentucky, reading “I am so Lonesome.”

In May of 1914, Allie and Texana wrote her in care of C.D. Davis.

“We are keeping house here in West Morehead and want you to come up and See us at once So Bring your Harp and harp rack with you So we can have some music So let us know When you are coming and we will meet you.”

In August 1914 Allie wrote to her in care of R.A. Thomas from Loveland, Kentucky.

“Well, Ella, I am thinking about getting married Sometime. I think I will and then I change my mind.”

In the next several months, Ella moved from Farmers to 1124 Gay Street in Portsmouth, Ohio. At that location, which is now a DMV parking lot, she received frequent postcards from a mysterious “R.B.” in Plant City, Florida. Only two of the cards were postmarked. In June of 1915, R.B. wrote: “Well, the Sun is Getting hot as H. Down hear.” In August: “I am at Cincinnati to Night But Don’t know whear I will Be to morrow.”

None of the remaining cards from R.B. are postmarked, making it impossible to arrange them chronologically. Here are some of the more interesting ones:

“My Dear friend. You Do Eny Thing with The money you want to. I will Try and Send you Some more wedensday if nothing happens. Don’t forget your Florida friend.”

“This is Tuesday Eve, and no Letter yet. Don’t no what to think if you are mad Rite and tell me what you got mad about. I am going to Kentucky next week.”

“Dear friend, I am Disipointed this Evening By Not getting a Letter. Hoping you haven’t Forgotten me.”

“I will Rite you a few Lines as I promest you. I guess you wish I wood quit Riting So much. Yes, Ella I wood Bee more Then Pleased to get That Picture we was talking about. I am Sorrow you are not well. Say Ella if you can Rite to me three times a week as I am So Lonesom hear. you have no Idea what I have to put up with.”

“I am going to do the Best I can till I can get away But what Ever you Do Don’t change Bording houses. Now you may think I am crazy But I no what I am talking about. I will Rite a Point Letter the first chance I have hoping to hear from you again Soon.”

“Yes Ella I guess you are tard of hearing that word Some Day But Don’t get worried I am going to Do the Best I can.”

“I am so Proud you think of me as often as you Do for I am so Lonesom hear.”

“I think you ort to Rite oftener Then you Do. Please tell me why you Don’t. I am worrying my Life away Faster Then Eny one on Earth. So Rite and cheer me up all you can.”

“This Leaves me feeling Bad This Evening. I was Expectin a Letter But got Disipointed. I will Start you That money Saturday if Nothing happens.”

“Why Don’t you Rite oftener. this is Tuesday Evening and I haven’t had a Letter since Saturday. I guess you are about to Forget me.”

“Some one Swears Thay are going Back to Ky. and I wood Be glad to get Rid of Them So keep quite.”

“Yes, Ella I am going to come Back Soon. I want to get a way From hear By the 20th of July if I can. Ella I can’t tell you wheather or not Maudie and Vada Noes eny thing about what. Guess at the Rest.”

“Say Ella the theater is Right By the Post office hear and the Piano is Playing Silver threads among the Gold. you can guess how I feal. I get so nervous Some times I can’t hardly Liv.”