HARVE AND SYNTHIA ANN (WORKMAN) SMITH

Copyright 1998- all rights reserved

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Our Grandmother, Synthia Ann (Workman) Smith d/o Moses and Polly (Mullins) Workman.
Our Grandfather-Harve Smith, was s/o Tom and Ann Eliza (Steele) Smith

The above picture of Grandpa was contributed by my nephew, Dennis Patrick Williams. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Pat. I was afraid this picture was lost forever. I love you yery much, but you already knew that.

Harve Smith was born in Buchanan County, Virginia in May, 1874, the fourth son and sixth child of Thomas A. Smith and his wife Ann Eliza Steele. The family came to Logan County West Virginia in the summer of 1880, when Grandpa was six years old. They lived first at Island Creek, then moved to Harts Creek.(See chapter on Thomas A. Smith and Ann Eliza Steele for more details.)This is where Grandpa spent the rest of his life. His parents deeded him a farm which later was divided between my father, Paris Smith and his sister, Amanda (Smith) Carter. Dad sold his share to Denver and Lona (Workman) Smith about 1941. The other section was sold later, but Grandma (Synthia Ann) reserved a portion of it for a small family cemetery, now called the Smith Carter Cemetery. (Main Harts Creek.)

Grandpa married first to Hester Ann Collins in June 1893, right after his twentieth birthday. He had three children by this marriage, all girls. He did have two sons, but both died young. My father, Paris Smith knew that there was one boy who died young. He thought his name was Lawrence, but he was not sure. There was also a son, Jessie James Smith who died as an infant. The boys were probably born between 1895 and 1897. The girls were:

1. Anna Lee "Doskie" Smith, born August, 1894, married Bascom Sargent. They have many descendants living today. I remember some of their adult children from my childhood. They were /are: James Harold, Jessie, Clarence, Masel, and Vergie. there was at least one other child, a male, whose name is not known by me.

2. Augusta Smith, born Sept. 1898, On 17 Oct. 1916, Aunt "Gustie" married Albert Tomblin, s/o Allen and Sally(Hensley) Tomblin. Their adult children that I remember from my childhood were/are: Lacy, Loyd, Roxie and Lena. These were related to me on Mother’s side of the family as well as Dad’s side, making them double cousins to me. Sally Hensley Tomblin, the mother of Uncle Albert was my Mother’s grandmother. (see Hensley section of this work)

3. Oma Smith, born circa 1900. According to Lona (Workman) Smith (now deceased) Oma married Thurmond Nester. Lona said they had a daughter, Lula. I found Oma on the 1920 census, married to Alexander Hensley. They were living with her sister, Augusta (shown as Gusta on the 1920 census) and and Augusta's husband, Albert Tomblin. Alexander Hensley was the s/o George "Uncle Tucker" Hensley and the granson of Stephen and Polly (Runyon) Hensley. If Oma was married to Thurmond Nestor, it had to be at a later time, because she was definitely the wife of Alexander Hensley in 1920. I have no farther information on Oma (Smith) and Alex Hensley, nor their children.

Grandpa (Harve Smith) and his first wife were later divorced. On 13 March 1902, he married my grandmother, Synthia Ann Workman, who was also divorced. There were three children from this marriage:

4. Rhoda Jane Smith, born circa 1903-1904, married Peter Dalton.
5. Paris Smith (my father), born 27 November, 1908, married Shirley (Bryant) (divorced from Edward Conley). Dad died 28 May, 1981 in Wayne, Michigan. He is buried in the Smith Carter Cemetery, Harts West Virginia, next to his mother, Synthia Ann (Workman) Smith.

My Dad, Paris Smith

5(2) Then came Dorothy “Dottie” Smith, born 20 March, 1929, died 13 September, 1931 when she was two and a half years old. Neither of my parents ever got over her death. She had beautiful blonde hair, just like Aunt Rhoda Jane. She was born just two months after Aunt Rhoda Jane died and became very special to my grand parents, because it was like having Aunt Rhoda Jane back as a little girl. There had been a very large hand painted picture of Aunt Rhoda Jane that I remember as a little girl. It hung on the wall of my grand mother’s house until grandma’s house burned. I felt a great loss when I learned the picture burned, because every one said that I was just like her. There was also a very large hand painted picture of Dottie, that hung on the wall in my parent’s house. I always wondered why those were the only two hand painted pictures. They both must have been very special, because money was scarce during those days, when the entire country was suffering economic loss due to the "Great Depression." That was long before color film. Even black and white photos were few and far between, because not many families could afford "Kodaks." There were very few pictures in our family. I do remember both of those pictures well, even though both Aunt Rhoda Jane and Dottie died before I was born. Both had beautiful blonde hair and both were wearing light blue dresses. Dottie died when Helena was just a baby. Dottie is buried in the Moses Workman Cemetery on the Bulwark Fork of Harts Creek.

5 (3) Helena Smith, b. 23 December 1930, had jet black hair just like both our parents.She married Billiy Ray Williams, s/o Clarence and Eunice Williams. Helena died 3 September,1998.

5(4) Next was Gerald Smith, the boy Dad always wanted, but he was stillborn on 4 May, 1936. Gerald is buried in the Moses Workman Cemetery on the Bulwark Fork of Harts Creek, next to Dottie.

5(5) I, Dodie Elizabeth Smith was the "baby" of the family, born in 1937, married Ronald L. Browning, s/o Everette Browning & Berdie (Cook)

6. Amanda Smith was the youngest child of my grandparents, (Harve and Synthia Ann) born 8 March, 1912. She married Edward "Pie" Carter on 11 October, 1941 Uncle "Pie" was the s/o Edward and Effie (Mullins) Carter. Aunt Mandy and Uncle Pie had four boys:

6(1) Paul Dean Carter
6(2)Harvey Edward Carter
6(3)Dennis Carter
6(4)Cole Gene Carter
Cole was born 10 April, 1954 and died of a heart attack on 28 March, 1998.

Aunt "Mandy" was one of the most humble Christian women I have ever known. I don't recall ever seeing her when she wasn't wearing an apron when she was at home. She was also one of the best cooks ever! She always gave credit to my mother, who was her sister-in-law, for teaching her to cook. Everything she prepared from the most basic ingredients was always a feast fitting for royalty. I think my favorite of all was her fried pies!

Aunt Mandy died 28 Jan. 1984 and is buried in Smith Carter Cemetery, Harts, West Virginia, next to Uncle "Pie" who was born 2 March, 1921; died 27 September, 1982.

I did not give complete details on birth records above, to protect the privacy of family members who are still living, even though they are public records, I believe that we all have a right to privacy.

Amanda Smith Carter and Edward Carter, Jr. 1961
Photographer, Ron Browning

Each of my sisters and I have very special memories of our grandparents, some the same and some different, due to sibling position and age differences. Both of my sisters had already started school when I was born. I remember Grandpa coming to our house every day. He rode our old horse called "Frank." I don’t remember him ever using a saddle. What a treat it was when he would swoop me into his arms and give me a ride on “Old Frank”! No matter how often he came, he always had a “treat” for us. It might be a stick of candy, or a penny, or a whistle that he had “whittled” for us. I remember a very special time that was something most children have never experienced.

It was in the fall and it was harvest time. The entire community was full of excitement in anticipation of going to our neighbors (Tomblins) for a "Molasses Makin’." I was about three years old and had never been to a Molasses "mill" before. I just knew that I had this perfect tiny little paddle that Grandpa made for me. I don’t know what kind of wood it was, but it was very light in color and had been sanded until it was perfectly smooth. He gave it to me ahead of time and I remember Mother cautioning me that if I lost it, I wouldn’t get to eat molasses, because that was to be my spoon. I hated molasses, but was really excited about the prospect of being allowed to eat with this tiny perfect little paddle. It was extra special because Grandpa had made it for me. I must have asked a million questions when he was making it, wanting him to hurry so I could see what it was going to look like. Every thing that either of my grand parents or Aunt Mandy did for me was extra special. Next to my Dad, they were the most special people in the world. I did not learn to appreciate my Mother until later, because she was the disciplinarian. Mother was always there to hold me and to rock me to sleep, but I took her for granted. All of them called me "Baby".

The trip to the Molasses "makin" was the highlight of the fall season. There was always something going on that was made into a party. There were “quiltings,” (that I didn’t care for) apple “peelings,” bean “stringings, “ corn “shuckings” and anything else where neighbors and relatives took turns helping prepare the harvest for canning. There were “hog killings.” (I didn’t like those either.) There was always guitar music and singing at all of these events. I don’t recall Grandpa participating in any of these events except the “hog killings.” That was when hogs were butchered and cured so we would have meat to last through the winter. We had a "smokehouse" where the meat was kept. The molasses "thing" sounded like fun though, and it was!

I do know that the thick, dark “sticky stuff” was made from sugar cane. I did not see the beginning stages, but I recall a large wood fire, that was kept going under a very large vat. There was a horse or mule that kept walking in circles around the vat to keep the substance stirred. The thick delicious smelling syrup ran into troughs around the perimeter of the center vat. This is where we all gathered round to dip paddles or other wooden utensils into the sweet sticky substance. I do not recall if it was Grandpa or Dad who held me and let me dip my beautiful little paddle into the “trough”. Mine was the best paddle there and several other children wanted to trade theirs for mine. I let a few use it, but it was mine and I was so proud of it! This was definitely a community affair and everyone dipped into the same “trough”. The thick semi- liquid was boiling hot, so I assume that if anyone had any concern (which I doubt) about spreading germs, they were never expressed.

In the spring, Grandpa would help Mother with plowing and farming, because Dad was at work during the day. Dad worked on the “Tipple” at Whitman. A tipple was located outside the coal mines. The coal came through a chute and was washed and sorted by size before being loaded into box cars to be sent to all different parts of the country to provide fuel and electricity for most of the country. Mother ran a little country store that was in our yard, and she was the Post Mistress. The “post Office” was a corner of the store.

Grandpa would come riding up on "Old Frank" and I was always right under his feet while he hitched the plow to Old Frank. We would go to the garden and sometimes I would walk the rows with him as he gently guided Old Frank along the perfectly straight and even furrows. I can still remember the smell of the freshly plowed earth and the warm West Virginia sunshine and how the warm earth felt between my toes. He always let me take my shoes off, even though Mother told me to leave them on. When I got tired, he would put me on his shoulders and give me a ride while I "helped" him plow.

There was a thicket at the end of the garden and he cautioned me numerous times to not get near the drop off. There were briars and burrs and under brush in there. He cautioned me that if I got over in the thicket, that there were “chiggers” in there. Well, I didn’t know what a “chigger” was and I wanted to see one, so when I thought he wasn’t looking, down in the thicket I went! He couldn’t explain to my satisfaction what a "chigger" was, but once I found out, I sure didn’t want to be anywhere near a “chigger” again. I’m not sure to this day exactly what a “chigger” is, but it was something "alive" under my skin! I had a red looking rash all over me that itched and burned and was pretty miserable. I remember Mother wetting the areas and rubbing salt all over me to "kill the chiggers". Grandpa never said, "I told you so". He was just very sympathetic and took me for a ride on Old Frank after he was finished with the plowing.

Grandpa was a tall man, about six feet two inches. He was very lean, probably from all the hard work outdoors. Even though we saw him every day, it was always a special treat when he came into the yard. He always put “little” in front of our names. He always called to us as he came into the yard.

The last time any of us ever heard Grandpa’s voice was one evening when we were sitting at the supper table on March 16, 1941 and we heard him call, " Hey Little Ruth." Both my sisters and I quickly jumped up from the table and ran to the yard to meet him. There was no one there! We thought he was teasing and hiding from us, so we looked for him, but he was not to be found. Everyone in the family heard him call for “Little Ruth” None of us could figure out how we all heard him call when he was not there, and later learned that he had been no where near the house when we heard him call.

He didn’t come home and after the second day, Dad went out looking for him, asking everyone if they had seen him. Four days later, a Tomblin relative found him on a hill, lying under a tree with his hat over his face. He had been dead for several days. I didn’t fully understand what had happened, but I remember my Grandmother being grief stricken. That is a memory that has never left me. It was the day that we knew that Grandpa would never be back and it left a huge void in our lives. I remember the funeral. He was taken to the “home place” on Briar Branch, where his parents had lived and died. That is where the wake and the funeral were held.

The family cemetery is on top of a mountain, over looking the old home place. Dad told me that I could not go to the grave because it was too steep and that he had to help carry the casket, and there would be no one to carry me to the top of that mountain. I cried and begged to go, but Dad was very firm. I don’t recall where Mother was , but that is the only time I ever remember Dad not letting me have my way. He told me to stay at the house with Aunt "L". (his Uncle Shade’s wife.) Aunt "L" was a favorite of mine also.

I waited until everyone started up the hill, and I took a different way up the mountain. I could see them, but I was little and hid behind trees so they could not see me. They were moving slowly, because it was straight up the side of the mountain and there was no road. By the time the funeral procession got to the top of the hill, I was sitting there waiting for them. I remember Dad saying, “I thought I told you to stay at the house”. I reminded him that the reason he told me to stay was because he said I was too little to climb the mountain. Nothing else was said, and he carried me back down the mountain after Grandpa was buried.

My memories of Grandma were some of the most special of my childhood. She always sat in a rocking chair, wore dark glasses and an apron. She always wore a bonnet when she was outside. I spent many many hours sitting on her lap in front of an open fire. She told me stories about her deceased relatives and her childhood memories. She told me ghost stories that she made up. She was an excellent story teller. I remember one especially scary story that she would act out with her voice- As the story became intense; She would say in a scary voice, “Zourie, Bum, Bum, Bum.” I have no idea what that meant but it was scary! I always begged for her to tell the story again. I liked spending the night with them and sleeping on a feather bed. The mattresses were either made of corn shucks or feathers. I didn't like the corn shucks, but I loved sinking into the feather bed. I have to admit, I liked my bed at home better though. Our beds and pillows at home had more feathers, which was a matter of personal choice and I preferred the deep, soft ones that I could sink into.

My grand mother had no teeth and dentures were unheard of in those days. She taught me how to scrape the pulp from an apple with a spoon. It was almost like instant apple sauce. She chewed tobacco and I was fascinated that she could spit in the open fire and never miss. I loved it when she spit the tobacco juice in the fire and made the fire sizzle and turn colors! I could not understand how she could hit the mark every time even though she was blind! Most of the time she used a small pail for a spittoon, but she would spit in the fire to entertain me. I wanted to learn to do that! I was never allowed to spit at home, but Grandma made a game of it. She taught me how to save up my "spit" without swallowing, until there was enough to really make the fire sizzle. I don’t think Mother ever knew about this or I would have been in big trouble! Grandma and Aunt Mandy taught me how to bake potatoes in the hot coals and how to make popcorn over the open fire. To this day, sitting in front of an open fire is one of my favorite things to do.

We moved to town when I was five years old. We had a pretty house with modern conveniences, including electricity and running water and a bathroom. We had hardwood floors, a gas stove and a refrigerator. My life changed then. I missed Grandma and Aunt Mandy. We seldom saw our father, except when he came home for clean clothes and to beat up our mother if she said anything about him not supporting the family and his womanizing. I always went to visit Grandma and Aunt Mandy when I was not in school, but I liked it better when we lived close to them.

Grandma died when I was in ninth grade. She was in the hospital near where I went to school. I went to Logan Jr. High. I had to walk past the hospital on my way home from school. I always stopped by the hospital on my way home each day that she was there. I always saved something from my lunch to take to her. The last day, it was an orange. She was very weak, but she was conscious. Aunt Mandy was there, and she let me peel the orange for her. I ate most of it, but I held a slice for Grandma, and she was able to take some of the juice from the orange. I kissed her goodbye and told her I would see her the next day. She died just minutes after I left the hospital, on 10 October, 1951. It was always comforting to me to know that I had been there and shared something special with her in her last moments. That was only after everyone assured me that the orange juice had nothing to do with her death. I was so afraid that it had been my fault! I did not go to her funeral. I was afraid that Dad would be hurt if I didn’t go, but he gave me permission to stay home alone.

We had a fire place, but it had a gas insert, so it was not quite the same. I remember it was a chilly day and overcast, when every one left to travel the fourteen miles to the old home place where Grandma was being buried. I had some second thoughts for a little while and wished that I had gone with the rest of the family. I felt very lonely until I sat down in front of the fire and started to remember all the good times that I had with Grandma in front of the fire, when there was just the two of us. That was how I spent the rest of the day, sitting there remembering the good times. I did not realize it, but somewhere by the time I was fourteen years old, I had developed a pattern of withdrawal, needing to be alone in times of stress. Many people withdraw into drugs or alcohol when there is domestic violence in the home. Actually by by this time, I had also learned to celebrate life, rather than mourn my loss. That is what my sisters and I had been taught to do, by people with little or no formal education, but people who knew the true meaning of unconditional love.

My grandmother had divorced her first husband and went back to her maiden name. He had been physically abusive to her and to their son. She was back at home living with her parents and using her maiden name on the 1900 Census. She had been married because I found her marriage record. She married my grandfather in 1902. My grandfather cheated on my grandmother, even though he loved her very much. I wonder where the pattern started? Children learn what they are taught, but as adults, it is OUR RESPONSIBILITY to break and change destructive behavior patterns. Economics is a major factor in women living in abusive relationships.

Our Aunt Mandy was the kindest, most loving, most gentle, most humble person. I don’t recall her ever saying a bad thing about anyone. I think she could have been a saint.

Our Grandpa Smith was a tall man who always wore bib overalls and a jacket. He came every morning and walked Ruth and me to school. he called us “Little Ruth” and “Little Helena”. When school let out, he would be there to walk us home. Lots of evenings he would come and yell for us. We had a small grocery store and he would go in and sit by the stove, eating crackers and Vienna Sausage.

At his death, we never did know how he died. We always thought there was foul play. Anyway, my memories are sparse, but the love was the deepest."

"I miss Helena so much. I keep waiting to hear her voice when the phone rings, but it is always someone else. I know I didn't see her as much as I should, but I knew she was there if I decided to go see her.

I have many memories of grandpaw and grandmaw, but there are always special ones. I, along with my sisters spent a lot of time with them at their home which was very close to our house. Like most children, we enjoyed spending time there, because we always got special attention from them and also from our Aunt Mandy.

Grandmaw was blind, but she always did things for us, such as telling stories, most of which she made up as she went along. She cut apples in half, crossways and scraped the inside out, with a spoon. She always knew who got the last bite! That was one way that we learned to take turns and to share.

At night, before we went to bed, she would tell Aunt Mandy to get the brown sugar. She would put the sugar on a paper or a saucer, for us to lick. That was a treat for us!

She sat in her rocking chair with her bonnet on and always wore dark glasses. At one time she smoked a pipe with a long stem. The pipe was made of stone. She gave that up and took up chewing tobacco.

Grandpaw was a big man. He always wore farmer's overalls and a felt hat. He called me "little Ruth."

Grandpaw used to walk to town, Logan West Virginia, which was sixteen miles, I might add. There was a mountain called Harts Creek Mountain that he had to cross. There were paths that cut through the mountains that took less time. I don't know if it was any closer. When he came back home in the evening, there was always a little nickel bag of candy for each of us.

He was a hard working man and when his crops were ready to harvest, he had a sled that was pulled by mules. He would bring his corn down from the fields and store it in a building called a "crib". That was to feed his animals through the winter. He would always take us for a ride in the sled after he unloaded it.

Our mother and dad had a small country store and Grandpaw used to come to our house at night after all his work was done, and we would sit by an old pot bellied stove in the store and eat crackers and sardines.

I remember going to another country store with my Grandpaw to buy kerosene (lamp oil). That was our source of light. He would pull out a little black change purse and pay a nickel for the kerosene and a nickel for us a little bag of corn candy.

I remember thinking he was a giant of a man that wore a size fourteen shoe. He walked everywhere he went, because he never owned a car. The only transportation he had was riding horse back or a wagon pulled by a horse.

A few of our neighbors raised sugar cane for making molasses. Grandpaw would make little wooden paddles the size of spoons, for us to dip into the hot syrup and lick from the paddles.

I remember when my grandpaw would take my grandmother on his lap, and "trot" he like he would a child. I used to think how great it was for them to be so much in love at their age.

They used to take us to church at night and before we left, Grandpa would roll up rags on a stick and dip them in kerosene. When church was over, he would light the rags and that was our light to see how to walk home.

Granpaw loved to hunt. He always kept hunting hounds, and at night he would take the dogs hunting. We could hear the dogs running the hills and barking and chasing fox, raccoon and other animals. We could hear Grandpaw calling the dogs off their chase when he got ready to come home.

Grandpaw and Grandmaw, and also my Aunt Mandy were very caring people. They never turned anyone away from their door. They took people in and fed them: people that others wouldn't even speak to.

My Aunt Amanda took care of them both until they passed away. She was the sweetest and most humble person that I have ever known. I'm sure God had a special place beside him for her. She was truly an angel here on earth and I am sure she is one of God's special angels.

I have missed them all so much, but when I look up and see the bright stars, I know they are looking down at me and smiling. There are many more memories but time and space are factors, so I will just end this with: I love and miss them so much and hope we can have our family reunion in Heaven some day". (end of Ruth's letter)

Dodie, Helena, and Ruth

The coroner's report showed that Grandpa died of a heart attack, with no evidence of foul play. My Dad never accepted that because he said there was evidence that showed he had been smothered and carried to the spot where his body was found. It has been well over half a century since Grandpa died, but as late as 1995 when I was at a Smith reunion, the story of Grandpa’s death had been passed down for several generations and has become a large part of “folklore” or family tradition. My own opinion is that Grandpa was on his way home just before supper. He nearly always went through the woods/mountains on his way home, perhaps lay down under a tree to rest, placing his own hat over his face to block the evening sun. I do believe that when the entire family heard him call, "Hey Little Ruth" is when he died and that it was God’s way of telling us that was when God called him home. There are supernatural happenings or surreal experiences that cannot be explained by science. Grandpa’s death record shows that he died on 20 March, 1941. That is incorrect. That is the day that his body was found. The family knows that he was on his way home for supper and died on 16 March, 1941.

Dodie and Dad-Easter Sunday, circa 1944

Below is a picture of Dad, taken on the "new" road between Charleston and Logan. This was taken about 1978. Dad spent his last Thanksgiving at my home in Plymouth, Michigan in 1980. We celebrated his Birthday as well as Thanksgiving. This was to be his last Birthday and his last Thanksgiving. We all had a lot to be thankful for that year, as well as every other year.

I love you Dad, and Families of Steel(e) and Families of Fannin(g) were written for you. I finally learned the true meaning of forgiveness and unconditional love.

For now we see through a glass darkly; But then face to face; Now I know in part, But then shall I know as even also I am known. And now abideth faith hope and charity, (LOVE) These three; But the greatest of these is charity
(LOVE) (I Corinthians 13: 12-13)

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