Dear Friends,
I'd like to tell you about Henry "Pete" Epps and his wife Stella. They are grandparents to a family who is very dear to me. Unlike Ancestry dot com, my genealogy work is more, how do I say, uncorroborated. I'm more like Ancestry-dot-con.
Look, my tales of people have a pinch of facts, a heaping helping of fiction, and a whole lotta magic. That being said, I kinda hit the nail on the head more times than not. It's true, sometimes I have a knowing.
Back to the Epps. They lived in a mill village in Gastonia, North Carolina in the roaring twenties. Except for them the roaring wasn't dance halls, cocktails and excitement. Their roar came from hard times, chaos, and turmoil.
During this time Bootleggers, mountain people and farmers of this region were forced from their lives and rerouted to Gastonia to work the cotton mill. It was not a good time. No matter which mill you worked at it there were long hours, high productivity demands, and low wages. But folks needed the money.
The window up top, that's the Epps house. When they moved in it was a fake sunshine color, provided by the mill. A two room box if you will. This was the mills attempt at making them think it was a good life.
Both Stella and Pete worked at the mill. Long, long hours for a pittance. There was no labor union, yet. Behind the scenes there was talk and organizing. It was only a matter of time before the workers collectively snap.
"Home is a refuge from the world, a place where we can be ourselves." -unknown
Everything outside their house was unstable and daunting. Inside, was different. Every night after work, Stella would do something to make the house special. Every night bone tired she was doing something.
After dinner, she would sew curtains, keep house, bake if they had the ingredients, and decorate with whatever she could. While she would sew Pete would whittle, or play the harmonica. This time of day was their respite from the drain, drudgery, and everything that comes along with a life of poverty. She took pride in home making. The good Lord blessed her because of it.
Family and close friends would fight, drink to oblivion, sometimes death to escape the life of destitution, and really just the all around ugliness that comes with a life like that.
If you allow it.
Yet, Pete and Stella were the glue. Now mind you they would partake in spirits from time to time, and Stella was even known to sneak snuff the powdery kind that is.
Then....
April 1, 1929, the first ever strike at the Loray Mill headed up by Ella May Wiggens occured. Now, Pete and Stella worked at the Osceola Mill, but of course this was a news maker and would have consequences for them too
Not long after that strike, Pete and Stella were standing in the rain at Ella May Wiggins funeral. They did not know her personally, but she was their people. They were there to show respect.
She was killed, shot in the chest while pregnant. Assassinated by the mill thugs. It was payment for her and others leading an uprising. The mill retaliated by kicking folks out of their homes. They did everything in their power to make life hell, more hell if that's possible than it already was.
At the funeral, their was a young worker who broke out in song. It was one of Ella May's songs. Not only was she a unionizer, but a balladeer.
She was killed, shot in the chest while pregnant. Assassinated by the mill thugs. It was payment for her and others leading an uprising. The mill retaliated by kicking folks out of their homes. They did everything in their power to make life hell, more hell if that's possible than it already was.
At the funeral, their was a young worker who broke out in song. It was one of Ella May's songs. Not only was she a unionizer, but a balladeer.
"We leave our home in the morning
We kiss our children goodbye,
While we slave for the bosses,
Our children scream and cry.
And when we draw our money.
Our grocery bills to pay,
Not a cent for clothing,
Not a cent to lay away...
Now listen to me, workers,
Both women and men,
We are sure to win our union,
if all would enter in.
I hope this will be a warning,
I hope you understand,
And help us win our victory,
And lend us a hand.
It is for our little children,
That seem to us so dear,
But for us nor them, dear workers,
The bosses do not care.
But understand, all workers,
our union they do fear,
Let's stand together workers,
And have a union here.
We kiss our children goodbye,
While we slave for the bosses,
Our children scream and cry.
And when we draw our money.
Our grocery bills to pay,
Not a cent for clothing,
Not a cent to lay away...
Now listen to me, workers,
Both women and men,
We are sure to win our union,
if all would enter in.
I hope this will be a warning,
I hope you understand,
And help us win our victory,
And lend us a hand.
It is for our little children,
That seem to us so dear,
But for us nor them, dear workers,
The bosses do not care.
But understand, all workers,
our union they do fear,
Let's stand together workers,
And have a union here.
Pete and Stella walked hand in hand in silence after the funeral. As strong as they were, have been, it was starting to chink, no chunk, away at their faith. They walked slower than usual home, even as it poured cats and dogs. Somehow, the rain was comforting, perhaps cleansing.
As they approached their home, Stella noticed the yellow of their house had deepened. There was a warmth about it. Pete didn't notice, but he felt it. They stood outside before heading in.
Pete took a deep breath then stood a bit taller. He was home.
Stella stared at her curtain, the one she spent days agonizing over the design. And the painstaking work that came with it. Yes, it was worth it. Her faith deepened just like the yellow of their home. This too shall pass, as life is wont to do. It did.
Wages were better, children were raised and as always the Epps navigated the ups and downs in their home.
"The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on Earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of truer metal and bear the stamp of heaven." -Charles Dickens
As they approached their home, Stella noticed the yellow of their house had deepened. There was a warmth about it. Pete didn't notice, but he felt it. They stood outside before heading in.
Pete took a deep breath then stood a bit taller. He was home.
Stella stared at her curtain, the one she spent days agonizing over the design. And the painstaking work that came with it. Yes, it was worth it. Her faith deepened just like the yellow of their home. This too shall pass, as life is wont to do. It did.
Wages were better, children were raised and as always the Epps navigated the ups and downs in their home.
"The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on Earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of truer metal and bear the stamp of heaven." -Charles Dickens