CONCORD HOMECOMING - OCT. 12. 1996

PRECIOUS MEMORIES

A few weeks ago I sat in the pavilion just a few feet from here thinking about this program. I looked at the church and looked at the cemetery and then my mind was flooded with memories and I began to think

Precious memories, unseen angels,
Sent from somewhere to my soul
How they linger, ever near me
And the sacred past unfolds.
Precious memories, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold.

I began to wonder what some of the precious memories were that the early settlers had. Our great grandfather, William Adkins Fitzgerald and his wife, Joicey Hanks, arrived in the county as early as 1846 along with her brother G. W. (better known as Buckhorn) and his family, her brother Cris who was not married, and William A’s brother Michael R. and his family. Were her precious memories of Tennessee and her childhood... .maybe her family, her parents whom she had possibly not seen since leaving Tennessee in 1839 when she was but 15 years old. Was it of her wedding when she was 15 years old? Were her precious memories of Shelby County where their first child that we know about, James Christopher, was born in 1842? Or was it of San Augustine where another son, John, was born in 1844?

What about William A.’s precious memories. Maybe they consisted of the excitement of getting together a wagon and team

Of oxen, outfitting the wagon with all the provisions they would need for the two to three month trip to Texas. Maybe it was receiving a land grant in Van Zandt County in this exciting, faraway place called Texas. Maybe it was leaving Tennessee in the same wagon train as his father, Jackson, and his mother, Sarah. Or maybe his most precious memory was finally being able to purchase the property he wanted in Anderson County in 1850 where he and his brother Michael R. and brother-in-law, Buckhorn, all bought property that joined. Maybe his precious memory was the feeling that now he could start putting his life in order and providing for his family the way he really wanted to.

Maybe one of those precious memories for Joicy was the building of a school house and the coming of a schoolteacher because now her children would have an opportunity to learn to read and write, a privilege that she never had. The 1860 census shows Wood Chambers, schoolteacher, living with the William A. Fitzgerald family.

Maybe part of their precious memories included the coming of more people into the area where they would have more neighbors. The Gaines family in 1856 and were located east of the Fitzgeralds. The Hathcocks arrived in 1859.

I’m sure that William A.’s precious memories do not include the hard work of farming with perhaps wooden, home—made plows as was so often used or using the oxen to break the ground but instead were of than4fulness for health and the ability to provide for his family. I'm just as sure that Joicy’s precious memories did not consist of the hard work of keeping a growing family clothed, of spinning and weaving.

Maybe their precious memories consisted of the first house they lived in while maybe building their dream home on what we know and have called their old home place. Maybe for Joicy her precious memories centered around the children she bore——12 that we know of. Or did her precious memories consist of those three children that she lost in 1856 and 1857. Mary Matilda, born in 1853 and died in 1856, Roberson Bluford, born in 1854 and died in November of 1857, and Nancy Kirby who died in December of 1857 and who was about 11 years of age. Where did they bury them? Where did Joicy go to weep? Maybe a little corner of their property was dedicated for a family cemetery. We know of others in the community who also died during that period of time——Narcissa Maccaskel who lived with the Holiday family died in 1852. Her birth and death is entered into William A.’s family Bible. We don’t know if there was some relation. Was she maybe also buried in the same area as the Fitzgerald children? There was also the wife of William (better known as Billie Cupe) Fitzgerald who died in 1867. They were living on property sold to them by Michael R. in 1862. Did her body also lie in the same plot? Did Joicy feel that her children were not alone? We don’t know but I am sure the memories of those children remained precious to Joicy throughout her life and could never be erased. Even after the terrible losses of those two years, she bore five more children.

Times were changing and with it new memories.........some good, some bad. Joicy had the memory of son, William Jackson, marrying Julia Redwine and daughter, Sarah, marrying James Hathcock. But with it also came the Civil War and son, John, was lost early in the war in 1862. I’m sure her heart wept with other mothers whose sons also left to fight.
For the Fitzgeralds, times were changing. New families were arriving in the area. The Hardings, the Funderburks, the Kelleys, and a little further away, the Lunsfords. There may have been memories of house or barn raisings. There may have been memories of special times together with the new neighbors.
When they arrived in Anderson County, neighbors were few and far between. I have often wondered where they went to church. The nearest known places might have been Beaver, several miles toward the West. Did they only attend church at Camp meeting times when they could go and stay for a couple of weeks for a protracted meeting? Of one thing we are sure——religion was not forgotten for either William A. or Joyce. They both came from families connected to the church from the very earliest knowledge we have. Joyce came from the Hanks family with several preachers.

In the stillness of the midnight,
echoes from the past I hear
Old time singing, gladness bringing
From that lovely land somewhere.
Precious memories, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold.

So for them and others who had arrived in the community, I know it must have been indeed a precious memory when on November 11, 1871, J. W. Daves, Albert B. Dawson, M P. Gaines, H. G. Garloop,
M. L. Taylor, M. A. Corder, Sarah A. Funderburk, G. E. Hardin, Julia Fitzgerald, Nancy Kelley, Dicy Lunsford, Sarah Lunsford, Jane Mitchel, L. A. McCain and M. I. Taylor met with Bro. L. R. Gore, Bro. R. R. Morrow and Bro. U. W. Lunsford in the Fitzgerald School House to organize a Baptist Church. As soon as the church was constituted, William A. Fitzgerald was received by letter and Joyce along with daughter, Sarah, sons, James Cris, and Richard B. were received by experience as well as Mary Daves. I’m sure this was a precious memory for all because now there was a church in the community. No longer would they have to travel a distance to hear that “old time singing or that old time preaching’.

Precious father, loving mother,
Fly across the lonely years,
And old home scenes of my childhood
In fond memory appear.
Precious memories, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold.

That afternoon after I had sat in the pavilion, I wandered through the cemetery and some of those precious scenes began to unfold. As I stood before the tombstone of my mother and father, scenes of my childhood began to flash before my eyes. Our mother died when my twin sister and I were 9 years old and our older sister 14 so naturally the memories I have are childhood memories.

I remembered my mother sometimes rocking me to sleep in the afternoon (not, I’m sure, for my sake, but probably so she could sit down for a few minutes) and whether it was going about her daily work or rocking me to sleep, I can still hear her voice singing

Does Jesus care. . .O yes, He cares, I know He cares
When the days are weary the long night dreary
I know my Savior cares.

and then when I awakened, trying not to move or Stir around because I felt so secure in her arms.

I stood before the tombstones of my grandparents and realized that I had never known my grandmother. I remember my grandfather.. .me, a child, him an old man and how in the springtime we hunted poke for him because he loved poke salad. But my grandmother—— I only know the year she was born, the year she died, that she bore 14 children and saw 5 of them die in infancy. Her epitaph reads “She was a kind and affectionate wife, A fond mother and a friend to all. So in my mind I can imagine scenes as they must have been.

Then as I stood before the tombstones of William A. and Joicy I remembered how it must have been——riding in a covered wagon, by horseback or walking——water brought from a spring——growing their food——drying and preserving what they could for the winter. Not the way of life we would choose today but scenes that are important to me because they had courage, stick ability, determination and willingness to work and the scenes I imagined as I stood there are precious to me because it is from this stock I come. This is my heritage.           

I realized that the history of any community and its church and cemetery are intertwined. The cemetery is the resting place of many of our family members, neighbors, friends, in—laws and others with whom we’ve shared our lives. It is one thing that binds us all together with the past, the present and the future. We cannot but have emotional connections to the plot of ground on which Concord Baptist church and cemetery are located because of our close ties to it. It becomes a visible part of our heritage and through what we learn here we “learn the joys and heartaches of those who went before.. .They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept.. .and now for you and me.. .They lives again in spirit around the Family Tree.
As I walked through the cemetery that afternoon names began to catch my eye——familiar names, unfamiliar names, names representing old families of the community, names of people who had chosen to live in the community but only more recently——names that appear to be foreign but as we look at family trees we realize they are descendants of original families and years from now someone will probably look at the name Schochler  on a tombstone and wonder “How did that foreigner get buried here. Hopefully someone will care enough to discover that my roots go deep here and I hope they will take time to discover some ‘Precious Memories”.

As I travel on life’s pathway
Know not what the years may hold
As I ponder, hope grows fonder
Precious memories flood my soul.

Precious memories, how they linger
How they ever flood my soul
In the stillness of the midnight
Precious sacred scenes unfold.