MEMORIES
I never knew my grandfather,
Russell Lee Plemons. He was killed in a
truck accident when he was only 30 years old, leaving behind my grandmother,
Ruby Louise Robinson, and two young sons:
my father, Randolph Lee (2) and Harry Gordon (9 mo.) It
was October 26, 1927. Grandpa worked for
Calloway-Fisher Construction Company and the truck had picked him up before
dawn to take him to the job site. He and
three other workers were riding in the bed of the truck when the accident
occurred on Eaton’s Crossroads Pike, two miles west of Lenoir City. At 4:30 a.m., blinded by the lights of an
oncoming car, the driver swerved and lost control. The truck rolled, and my grandfather was
pinned underneath.
My grandmother never remarried but raised the boys alone, with the help of her large family. When he was 18 years old, Daddy joined the Navy and served as a Machinists’ Mate until the war ended in 1945. This picture shows him at his job clerking for H.C. Evans Grocery in Lenoir City just before his enlistment. That’s him on the left, beneath the signs for 15-cent Windex and 25-cent Lux soap powder!
After his discharge, Daddy attended Tennessee Wesleyan College in Athens where he met my mother, Helen Williams, also from Lenoir City. They shared a dream of becoming teachers. Four years later, Daddy had a BS from the University of Tennessee, a teaching certificate from the Tennessee Department of Education, a wife and two small children. He landed his first teaching job in Iota, Tennessee, and later moved to Brunswick, Georgia, to teach high school Industrial Arts. His dream had become a reality, but it was short-lived.
When they were married, Daddy promised my mother that she would finish her degree as soon as he had his. So, to support his family and allow Mom to return to school, he took a job with Oak Ridge National Laboratories handling radioactive isotopes day in and day out. He returned home in the evenings looking as though he had been in the sun for hours.
I remember running to the door to meet him. He would take my hands, I’d step up on his feet and he’d walk me through the house that way. He called me his “little hitchhiker.” On weekends, he’d pile us all in the car and take us for long drives around the countryside. Daddy could always find a place to stop for ice cream. I remember we came home late one night, and I was sleeping on the back seat of the car. I woke up when we stopped and the motor was turned off, but I pretended to still be asleep so Daddy would carry me into the house. All my other memories of him involve hospital beds.
I was nearly eight and my brother was nine when Daddy died of lymphatic cancer. Mom finished her degree at the University of Tennessee and moved us to Murfreesboro, where she earned a Masters’ degree from Middle Tennessee State College, (now University.) Daddy’s teaching career was short, but Mom spent nearly 30 years in the classroom, fulfilling the dream for both of them.
Daddy named my brother Russell Lee Plemons for a father he had never known. My brother named his son Randolph Lee Plemons for a father we barely knew. I guess that’s why the stories are so important to me, and why I love to read everyone’s reminiscences on the pages of the Branches newsletter. My memories are few, so your stories are my link to the Plemons family. Please keep them coming!
Marti (Marsha Ann) Plemons
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