I received and read this book this past week.
I discovered its existence last week.
As I’ve been blogging, I’ve been working on my Mitchell line. Mary Mitchell was the wife of John B. Cooper and they were the parents of George C. and Rebekah Ann Cooper. Both of these children were orphaned by shortly after the Civil War. I am descended from George C. Cooper–he was my great-grandfather. The author of From Flour Sacks to Satin is the granddaughter of Rebekah Ann, or “Annie” as she was known. I did not know my great-grandfather–he died almost 20 years before I was born. But one of the chapters in this book is entitled “Grandma Hall,”–Annie, my ggrandfather George’s sister. She knew her grandmother.
Some pages of this book were difficult to read. It is illustrative of the point that we don’t all grow up in the same family. My youngest brother remembers events in our family much differently than do I, for example. He wasn’t there for some of them, and I wasn’t there for others–his being 6 years younger and having siblings who essentially left home when he was 12, leaving him to be a type of only child, means we were reared in families essentially different in many ways.
That is the case with the story told in this book. Her story is no less true or valuable or compelling for having been the descendant of Annie. The bones of the story are the same–the children left Johnson County with their widowed mother after the War, were orphaned, were rescued from Fayette County, Texas from living with a Mr. Burns after the death of their mother, and were returned to Johnson County to live with their grandparents, Job and Elizabeth Landrum Cooper.
Other details and events vary. According to Flour Sacks, George was offered opportunities to continue his education. Annie was allowed to only attend school through the third grade, despite her thirst for more knowledge and formal education. I do know that George was a school teacher–that’s how he met Sallie Duval, his wife. Annie and her now-blind husband and children were “invited” to leave the Hall’s place. The subtitle of the book tells the tale: The Story of a Sharecropper Family. These are events of which I have no knowledge–either from firsthand experience or from family lore. And the author herself says in opening remarks,
“The purpose of this books is not to embarrass or slander anyone in recording the events of my early life, which I believe were unique in the circumstances I experienced. Through the years I have come to dearly love all of my relatives and appreciate the people with whom I was associated, both living and deceased….”
I am indebted to her for writing this story. It is on the shelf next to one of her books of poetry she gave me nearly 20 years ago–a collection that includes the thoughts of a young John B. as he looked out over his plowed fields, as the clouds of War approached. They are treasures. I wrote her a letter before I received the book, asking her if she wanted to know more about our Mitchell line. Unfortunately, it was returned–putting it out on the mailbox for the postman to pick up evidently resulted in part of her address washing off the envelope. I must revise and send it along again–none of us are getting any younger.
And I must express to her directly how grateful I am to her for putting down her story, which is, of course, part of my story.