A piece of history…

By Ken Welborn

Record Publisher

 

Rarely have I had such a good time as when I spent about half an hour with Dennis Huggins, executive director of the Wilkes County Heritage Museum, perusing items for sale from the old Wilkes County Courthouse. And, you may not believe me, but I was happiest about what they wouldn’t sell — because they are preserving as much as possible of the history of that grand old building for everyone — and that’s a good thing.

But, back to the sale.

It was billed as an event where you could “own a piece of history” and clearly that was true. I could write a book about what I saw but, today, I will just mention a few items I considered special, and was allowed to purchase.

The first thing I saw was a table in the vault room at the register of deeds office. It was six feet long and 38 inches wide, with a two-inch wide trough for pens and pencils, and ranged from 42 to 44 inches tall. It was the table lawyers or employees of the register of deeds office used to lay books or maps on while searching out information. Both sides of the top were scratched and worn, and dozens of phone numbers had been scribbled onto the wooden table. I can just see attorney Clyde Hayes standing at that table years ago, searching the deed for the first house I bought in Wilkes County or, many years later, perhaps it was Richard Doughton, searching through my property to aid in what is laughingly called “equitable distribution.”

At any rate, it is a cool table. It must have been built inside that vault, because no amount of turning and twisting would let us get through the door with that table until my brother T. A. had completely disassembled it.

Speaking of tables, I got another one from the old courthouse, too. It was the table in the jury room, about four by eight feet, and with legs like small tree trunks. It is not nearly as neat a table to look at as the one from the register of deeds vault, since it has a Formica top, but it has a great history. As you may or may not remember, I have been called for jury duty an unusual number of times through my adult life, but I have never served on but one jury, continually being bumped for knowing one person or another. I was serving on that one jury when I actually sat at the jury table, albeit for a very short deliberation. The case in question was an appeal from district traffic court of a fairly minor infraction. It was clear the boy was guilty and hoping the officer couldn’t be in court that day or something. When we were instructed to “…retire and deliberate,” we were escorted into the jury room.

I’ll never forget what followed.

Mr. Lincoln (Linc) Spainhour, a wonderful merchant and a mentor of mine, was also on jury duty and serving on this same panel. No sooner than the door closed, Mr. Linc took charge in his inimitable, no-nonsense way, stating “Well, there’s no point in wasting any time. It’s plain to anyone here that boy is guilty.” He went on, “Kenny, you be the foreman. Now, everyone that knows he’s guilty, raise your hand.”

Whew.

That table didn’t suffer much wear and tear that day, because clearly, justice was swift and sure.

I bought some other assorted items from the old courthouse sale, including a couple of desks and an adding machine, but my favorite treasure from the sale goes to the heart of my penchant for old plumbing. As I looked over the items up for grabs, you’ll never believe what was sitting at the top of the steps at the third floor mezzanine — an old urinal.

Now, stay with me.

This was not just any urinal. It was four feet tall, two feet wide, a foot thick, and weighed about five hundred pounds. And what was it doing at the top of the third floor stairs — who knows. Burl Lankford said that type of urinal hasn’t been installed anywhere for seventy or eighty years, so we figured someone saved it after one of the bathroom remodeling projects that went on sometime at the courthouse.

And it’s a beauty.

Three other men and I, whom I will do the favor of letting remain nameless, spent about four hours cleaning that porcelain monster. There were five layers of paint that had been slopped against it, and who knows what else, but today, it is cleaner than a hound’s tooth.

Part of the deal at the courthouse sale was the items would be removed to the outside grounds for loading. Three men and a hand truck drew the hard lot of getting that thing down all those flights of steps — including the ones on the front of the courthouse. Dennis Huggins said, “Ken, I couldn’t even look. I just knew that thing was going to get loose and come tumbling down the steps.”

I couldn’t think how that day at the courthouse in Wilkesboro could get any better, until I took a shortcut by Culler’s to stay off the torn up roads on Main Street. I, like everyone else who has ever met them, love Clegg and Dessie Culler, and am sad they have closed their store. As I rode by, I thought about Culler’s being another piece of Wilkesboro history that shouldn’t be forgotten. To that end, I called Linda Bumgarner at The Record and put her to work. In an hour’s time, Linda had talked with the Cullers about the old sign on their building that reads, “Culler’s Specialties,” with Coca-Cola signs on each end. Dessie, bless her, told Linda that “…Clegg and I can’t think of anyone we would rather have that sign.”

My love of old things is well documented. Sometimes, however, I seem to forget the best place to find them. This past weekend, I spent a day wandering through literally thousands of vendors in Hillsville, Virginia at the annual Labor Day Antique and Gun Show. It was interesting, even fun, but I didn’t see a thing for which I would trade my treasures from the old courthouse or Clegg and Dessie Culler's sign.

Dorothy was right.

There’s no place like home.

 

 

 

Night of Terror

 

Casey’s story, this week, touches my heart and should awaken the consciousness of all Americans. Do we really want God’s law excluded from our day-to-day lives? As Americans, how much more lenient can we allow our lawmakers to be with the criminals, and restrictive to the victims? Proud of you, Casey. . . . .Linda Bumgarner

About two years ago around midnight, I was online playing cards with my son, Joe, and some friends. Joe lived in an apartment in Ft. Worth, TX at the time. He had a really lovely neighbor across the breezeway; a lady my age who had taken pity on a young man living alone and had befriended him. Her name was Elizabeth and I will always be grateful to her for her kindness to him.

Suddenly, in the middle of our card game, Joe told us he heard gun shots and would be back after investigating. He didn't come back and the time stretched into an eternity for me. I was so nervous and imagining all kinds of horrible things. Naturally the play stopped and we were all just waiting for him to come back and tell us what had happened. The other friends at the table did not leave me even though it grew later and later.

Finally, around 1 a.m., I could take it no longer. Knowing that Joe kept his cell phone clipped to his belt at all times, I called him. He only said, "Can't talk right now, will call you later."

The time just kept creeping by. My friends were trying so hard to distract me and to keep me from getting in the car and driving the 5 hours to see for myself (shows how stupid you can be at times like that).

Eventually, Joe called and related this story to me.

Elizabeth had decided to do some late shopping at the all-night Wal‑Mart. After she had finished her shopping and headed back to her car, two men observed her getting into the car in the parking lot and her followed home. When she arrived home, she gathered her packages and started walking to her door. One of the men came up behind her, grabbed the packages, shot her twice and ran to his waiting car, where his accomplice was revving the motor.

As a nurse and a paramedic, I had taught my children lots of first and second aide. Joe started applying his limited knowledge and called the ambulance and police from his cell phone. Then he kept talking to Elizabeth until they arrived to take her to the hospital.

Elizabeth survived, although she had a four-month stay in the hospital, because Joe had kept her from bleeding to death. Naturally when she was released she no longer wanted to live in her little apartment that had been home to her. Also, she was maimed physically and mentally. No longer was she a healthy lady, friendly, outgoing and ready to help anyone. Elizabeth now had limitations and was withdrawn and suspicious. Who could blame her?

The police did catch the two men who had done this horrid thing. The gunman came to trial this last month. The legal machine went into motion and the potential killer could have gotten the death penalty if Elizabeth had died. But, because she struggled through this vicious attack and survived, if they had prosecuted this criminal for attempted murder, the law allows for a maximum of 30 years, of which he would have had to serve only 10. For assault, he would get 20 years and that meant he would actually be in jail longer. That is the verdict the jury decided upon and the sentence, which he was given.

After the trial was over, the District Attorney sent Joe, and other witnesses, copies of the pictures of the man’s tattoos and deciphered their meanings for them. It seems he had joined the Aryan nation and had all their tattoos. One requirement to the join group was that he was to kill someone. Hence he had a teardrop tattooed near his eye (members get one for each murder they do). He had a swastika on his back and, as he accomplished more and more of the initiations, he got more detail added to that one. He was covered with tattoos that meant lots of different things in this "club" but those were the main ones.

The jury was allowed to be presented these facts, only after the trial. The criminal’s lawyer persuaded the court to ban the information from the jury. He also prevented Elizabeth from being there for more than her testimony. According to him, seeing her sitting there would influence the jury. Shouldn’t the jury be influenced by the truth? I surely know it would have affected me, if I had been on the panel.

So, please pray for Elizabeth and her family. She is a wonderful lady who needs to know that we all understand and have great feelings for what she has gone through in these past years. I just pray that she got closure for all of this with the trial. To her credit, she was extremely concerned about this young man and what negative influence prison would have upon him. Would it make him even worse than the life he had already chosen?

Where is the justice in all the games played by lawyers and allowed by our legal system?

Do our courts really think that the founding fathers had this in mind when they allowed freedom of thought and religion? Do they really think that banning the Ten Commandments from our courthouses will prevent us, who are called to jury duty, from using them to decide our verdicts? Somehow, I have more faith in my fellow Americans than our courts seem to have. Do we allow the court to circumvent the law to prevent 9‑11 from recurring, but not for individual people? Are we not a nation of individuals? What is good for a 1,000 people, is not good for one little old lady who never harmed a soul intentionally. Let me know your feelings, please. I would be interested in what you think about it . . . Caseyannie