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A Man They Called
Martin
By Nancy Rush
Many of you reading this – and hailing from the
small village of Union City – may remember my grandfather, William
Martin Elliott, who was affectionately called “Mart” by those who knew
him well. And while my memories of him will be vastly different from
yours, I can only give you my perspective of a man who seemed larger
than life to a small child.
My Grandpa Elliott was many things to many people.
He was a respected businessman in the community, having owned many
properties on the Ohio side of our small town. He was a railroad man,
having worked for the Big Four for many years. I remember so well those
days when he was a night watchman for the rail company. That memory is
probably so prominent because his “shack” – as it was called in those
days – sat across the tracks from our home on Division Street.
I can remember there being a small building (just a
bit bigger than our modern day Port-A-Potties) that he sat in when he
was working. We lived right next to the railroad tracks and his shack
was just a few feet from our house but on the opposite side of the
tracks. As the train approached, Grandpa would go out along the tracks
and swing his great big lantern.
You see, the purpose of a night watchman, which was
long before electronic flashers and crossing arms came into being, was
to warn people of an oncoming train. Grandpa’s job was to go out to the
base of the crossing and swing a lantern back and forth so cars and
those people who were walking would not cross the tracks until the
oncoming train had passed. Grandpa worked for the rail company for
twenty years and as a night watchman for another twelve years. Of
course most of this was before I was born, but, as a child, I still
remember how great it was to be able to look through the window and see
him out there swinging his lantern.
I imagine Grandpa wore the usual railroad “uniform”
of bib overalls and a railroad cap when he was working but I don’t
really remember him that way. Always a
well-dressed man, my favorite memories are of him walking down the
street with his cane while dressed in a three-piece suit, a snappy tie
and his favorite hat, even in the summertime when it was pretty hot.
Another of my very favorite memories is of Grandpa sitting on our front
porch in his special rocking chair that we had placed there for him
when he came to visit.
According to my mother, Grandpa Elliott was always a
hard worker from the time he was just a lad all the way through his
growing-up years. In 1889, at the age of twenty-three, he met and
married my grandmother, Laura Elizabeth Stephens. They homesteaded in
Palestine, Ohio where grandpa became a farmer who learned to live off
the land as a means of income and joined other farmers in learning to
thresh in order to harvest their crops. Farming in those days seemed to
be the most economical way to make a living and the grandpa I knew was
always one to put a lot of emphasis on the value of a dollar. From what
I understand, he did most of his farming in the Spartanburg and
Palestine areas.
My grandparents lived many years of their married
life in a few other small towns – all of which were located in the
Darke County area. During their marriage, they became the parents of
nine children; three of whom died in infancy. Other children included
Myrtle, Orville, my mother Sadie, Charles, Opal and Mildred. And, as
was the custom in those days, their marriage spanned over a fifty-year
period before Grandma Laura passed away in early July of 1942.
After my Grandmother Laura’s death, Grandpa rented out the downstairs
of his home to a widow and he moved into the upper part of the house.
Her duties included taking care of Grandpa by doing the daily cooking
and cleaning. There was an added bonus for me in this situation,
however. Lou, Grandpa’s housekeeper, had a young granddaughter who
lived with her. It just so happened that she was one of my best friends
from East Side. This was just great! It meant that I got to see my
grandpa and spend time with my best friend all at the same time.
Walking across the tracks from my house, I spent many an hour playing
in my Grandpa’s side yard on Ward Street. It was an easy trek that I
could have made with my eyes closed. Ward Street was just across the
tracks from our house on Division Street and through the alley by the
old Bailey’s factory. This was the home that Grandpa always lived in
while I was growing up.
By the time I was born, Grandpa was in his early 70’s. My fondest
memories of him are of a fine, white-haired gentleman who walked with a
cane and chewed tobacco. He always walked wherever he went and he
always seemed to be on the go. The only time he wasn’t busy tending his
garden or walking around the neighborhood was when he took a break from
his chores by sitting on our front porch reading the paper.
A survivor of the Great Depression, Grandpa was a very frugal man who
always put out a huge garden in order to ensure a well-stocked
cupboard. Grandpa’s garden boasted of some of the biggest beefsteak
tomatoes I’ve ever seen. There were many times when I would walk out
into his back yard, pick a fat, juicy tomato – with salt shaker in hand
– and eat to my heart’s content. I’m sure he grew many other vegetables
in his huge plot of land, but those tomatoes were what I remember most.
They were delicious!
I have so many wonderful memories of my Grandpa Elliott. I remember
standing on our front porch anxiously watching for him to come walking
across the railroad tracks heading for our house. Once there, he would
pull up his favorite chair on our front porch and just set a spell. I
always knew that Grandpa loved me in the only way that children know
they are loved. Somehow you just know! Maybe it was the little hugs or
the pat on the head he gave me when he thought I had done something
well. Or perhaps it was the scoldings I received from him when I had
done something he didn’t approve of. I only know that the feelings of
being loved by my grandpa were very real to me even as a child.
Sadly, my Grandpa Elliott died in July of 1956 when I was just a young
teenager. In my opinion, the world lost a great man that day. Not only
was he an accomplished individual, he left a wonderful legacy to his
family. He was a prosperous man who placed family before worldly goods.
He was a stickler for honesty, believing in the value of truthfulness
and using it as a measure of one’s integrity. He also believed that
respect is earned and worked hard in order to leave his mark on the
world.
Despite his penchant for always being so formally dressed, my Grandpa
Elliott was a down-to-earth man who found a great deal of enjoyment
from the simple things in life. He loved working in his garden and
spending quiet evenings in his favorite rocking chair. He was
well-known by the folks in our community, as it was his custom to call
out a “hello” to those who passed by our front porch where he was
comfortably seated in his easy chair with a bit of “chaw” tucked into
his cheek.
This is how I remember my Grandpa, a simple man at heart. He was the
best grandparent a child could ever wish for because he spent so much
time with me. I will always remember the many conversations we had and
the advice he gave quite freely. But most of all, I will remember a man
who loved me whole-heartedly just because I was his grandchild and a
member of his family.
Nancy Hampshire
Rush was born and raised in Darke County, Ohio. With a Masters Degree
in Education, she was the first person in her family to achieve a
degree in higher education. She recently published a journal that she
began in 2005, My Mother’s Child, in order to leave the legacy of the
wonderful history of her family to those coming after her. She
treasures the time she has spent with her children, both when they were
young and as adults, as well as the friends she has made along her
journey. Contact countynewsonline.org if you would like more
information on how to obtain a copy of this book.
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