BRUCE REMEMBERS
December 7, 2002 - Letter to 5-Branches: - From: Bruce L. Plemmons Westland, MI
On this date, Pearl Harbor Day, I decided to just check and see if, possibly, Cousin Warren had published the winter edition of 5-Branches early. What luck? He had. I was quite pleased to see the article by Karen Plemons, of Collinsville, IL/Hartselle, Al, followed by the interesting questions and answers from Ronnie, and the memories of Claude, of Farragut, IA. Then I was stunned to read Warren's proposed note to Joe. I know what Warren means when he feels frustrated and disheartened at what appears to be a lack of interest among the vast number of our 5-Branches family. I have written and submitted a few articles for the Newsletter, and was more than pleased that they were actually published, from what I had only assumed were many such articles submitted. My little sister, Mary Jane's, article prompted Warren to write a wonderful piece pertaining to his upbringing, followed by that of Karen Plemons', of Illinois/Alabama. I know of Warren's frustration because of two golf leagues that I run, each of which manages to bring forth complaints and griping from relatively few people. But those complaints and griping are what stay with you, more than anyone knows. I truly wish that sometime, someone would step forward and actually "volunteer" to take this burden off my shoulders. But then I would have nothing to do, and would probably look for reasons to assure myself that I would still have done this better than my replacement. I truly hope that Warren withdraws his proposed note.
I was raised in the northern climes of Michigan, and have lived all of my life in the metropolitan area of Detroit, although I have traveled a great deal because of the work I did for the John Hancock Life Insurance Co, where I was employed for almost 35 fruitful years. One of the nicest, warm-heartening compliments I have ever received was from a man and his wife who lived somewhere in the Johnson City area of Tennessee. "You are not like the regular Yankee who comes down here," they said. To say I was flattered is a total understatement. I almost always felt like I belonged in the South, and I genuinely felt better every time I returned home from the South. This requires an explanation.
Prior to my birth in Michigan, in September 1938, my entire family had been born in North Carolina. Dad was born at Spring Greek, in the Smokey Mountains, and Mom in Rutherfordton, south of Asheville. All of their kin up through my older sister, Anne, came from North Carolina. I was the first born away from the motherland and, unfortunately, because of my dad's work, we were separated from aunts and uncles and cousins, and grand parents by some 500 to 600 miles, so we saw each other very infrequently. As a result I grew up without them. Anne, and then my younger brother, Dan Jr., and then baby sister Mary Jane, were all born seven or eight years apart, so mom and dad actually raised four different families, in a manner of speaking, and we were the only kin we had. We did see our Southern family occasionally, usually at the funerals of grandparents. I recall the funeral of my dad's parents in 1955 when "Granny" died, and 1958 when "Pop' Plemmons died. Granny Williams, mom's mother, died in 1954, and Grandpa Williams died in early 1945. Then only thing I actually remember about him was that he ate his peas with a table knife, and he had a full head of totally white hair, much as my own is becoming.
In the year of 1950, at age eleven, I was fortunate to spend the six to eight weeks of that summer with my Granny and Pop Plemmons. They lived on Barnard Street, in Asheville, NC, and next door lived my Aunt Christine, who has always been my favorite aunt (I think because she took no guff from me or anyone else). She lived there with Uncle Jack, and their daughters Edna and Kay, who had absolutely the most southern accent of anyone I ever heard in my entire life. A son, Ross, was born later. Further up the street (or down, perhaps), lived my Uncle Seth and Aunt Essie, with their kids Becky and Bobby. Becky is my sister Anne's age, and Bob is a year older than me. We share the same middle name, Laxton, after our Grandfather. This was the year that I first began to question my heritage, and to wonder who I was, where I came from, and why we lived so far from our relatives.
My southern relatives have always been so laid back and comfortable, and easy to get along with, and I found in my later, traveling years, that the South is generally that way. I like that. As I think back to my summer of 1950, I was probably not the most pleasant guest to have around. I believe I may have been a bit of a foul-mouthed brat, and not worthy of my more tolerant relative’s generosity, attention and affection. I have tried to amend that side of my personal character as I grow older.
Dad was a hard driving, hard working, no nonsense kind of person, who wanted to succeed at whatever he undertook. He was a sign painter by trade, and a business agent for his local union here in Detroit when he was drafted into the U S Navy in 1943, at the ripe old age of 36 years. He remained in the service till his discharge after World War II, in 1945. They wanted him to re-enlist, but he told them those famous words that I would use some seventeen years later when I was discharged from the same Navy, "Sir, the only thing I want out of the Navy is me." He was the radioman aboard the USS Freestone, during the War, and served in the Pacific Theater, along with his brother Ross (Bud), and my Uncle Kenneth Williams (Moms kid brother), who served on the famous aircraft carrier Yorktown. Because of his age, everyone who knew him called Dad "Pops", during his Navy years.
He became a General Organizer for his union in 1949, and his travels began, in a serious way. He covered every state east of the Mississippi, and he was home infrequently, and this took a toll on the home life. He retired in 1969 or thereabouts, and as he grew older, he became mean of spirit, and an unhappy, unsmiling person who mostly shut us, and people in general, out of his life. He died alone in 1990, in his apartment in Adrian, Michigan. Mom died in early 1984, and her remains were donated to the University of Michigan School Of Medicine. This had been her wish, and I was totally devastated, for I had never been made aware. Her remains were returned to us, and two years later when my younger brother Dan, Jr., died, her ashes were placed in his casket with him. That would have pleased her, because if ever we had a problem child in the family, it was Dan, and she mothered him the most, of necessity. He was born in November 1946, and he was the recipient of Dad's fears and anxieties the result of WWII. He was a very skinny kid in his early years and we couldn't get him to eat. His stomach was always bothering him, and I teased him most of the time. Later, we couldn't get him to stop eating, and he became a very large man in his adult years. He and I didn't become close until we were both grown and married and had kids of our own. I cannot accurately say how much I miss him today, even 16 years after his death due to pancreatic cancer. He was a truly fine man, and I was/am proud to call him Brother.
As our kids grew up, Dan introduced me to the camping life, and outdoor campfire cooking. We would take his two boys, Steve and Brad, and my son Scott, and go camping and fishing every year after school let out for the summer. The boys got to know each other, and Dan and I would sit up till all hours of the night, beside the campfire, and talk, and talk, and talk. This is when we became so close. I miss him dearly, and I am glad he is with mom. Dad is right beside them, in graves near Adrian, Michigan. He received a VFW burial, with a seven-gun salute. I was very proud that day, and I have his burial flag in my home.
There is a trilogy of books written by a southern gentleman named Ferrol Sams, MD, entitled: "Run with the Horsemen," "The Whisper of the River,' and "When all the World was Young". I discovered Dr. Sams while on business in Atlanta, GA, on a television talk show, during which he discussed "Run with the Horsemen." This conversation caused me to find and buy the book, which then led me to the others. I mention this because it reminds me of my heritage, and my Southern roots, and why I have always felt like I belong "Of the South." These books are most interesting reading, and they will make you laugh out loud, and cry huge tears. They are autobiographical of Dr. Sam's life, and they seem to correlate to my own in various ways. He reminded me of my all-time favorite Uncle, Bud, and his gentle way of life. Uncle Bud lived his entire life in the South, mostly in the Greenville, SC area. I have read Dr. Sams' books twice now, and will probably read them again.
Having mentioned before that I first became interested in my heritage in 1950, I never really had time to seek information about my past till after my retirement in 1968, when lo and behold, I received my first copy of "Branches,” I can't relate how exciting that was, because their were actually people out there who questioned the same things I had, and had done something about it. Through Branches, and Warren and Joe Plemons, and Janet Webb (whose husband, Francis, it turns out, is the son of my grandfathers sister), I have discovered where I came from, and have found some ten generations of the Plemmons family (including myself, who preceded me in this life, all the way back to the early 1700's. Most of us were farmers. Some of us fought in the Civil War (or the War Between the States). Actually, if I read Janet Webb's book correctly, My G-G grandfather, Bailey Bruce Plemmons, and his brother Andrew Henry Plemmons, fought on opposite sides of that War, Bailey for the Confederate Army, and Andrew for the Union Army. Not much is known of Andrew Henry after the War, but we have photographs of Bailey Bruce, and information about his life until his death in 1911 at age 72.
It has always pleased me to see the letters to Warren from new found members of the extended family who, much like me, have sort of fallen into the knowledge that someone out there cares enough to seek into OUR past, and to publish things that make us all realize from whence we came. It has always pleased me even more that Warren and Joe, and Janet have been generous enough with their time to answer our questions with information that transcends time. My thanks to you all and I congratulate your humanity in being so generous with us. And, Warren, please withdraw your proposed note regarding withdrawal. While all I have done is write some boring details of my life, and sent a few funds along to buy you off for a while, you cannot know how much your endeavors have enriched my life and that of my children, because I can show them who we are, and from where we all came.
Oh,
my. This has gone on longer than I would
ever have anticipated. Sometime, I will
talk about my loving mother, then my wife and kids. I can do things like that to bore all to
death. What I would like is to see
letters and information from others of us of this extended family, thereby
making life easier and more productive for Warren, and Joe, and Janet. Until then, I remain - Bruce L. Plemmons -
Westland, Ml - Email: <madsman@email.com>