The Life and Times of William Henry Mayo: A True Florida Cracker

By Travis M. Mayo

The setting and time period was late 1800 , in the rugged sand hills of the Panhandle to the mid 1960s in the lush green rolling hills of Central Florida. The book is an extraordinary story of my Grandfather William Henry Mayo. His life struggles to survive and provide the bare necessities for his family were tested by killer hurricanes and family tragedies. The stories told to young Travis, sitting in front of a roaring fire at the old farmplace, by his Grandfather were confirmed as being true by the children( Travis' Aunts and uncles) .

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780578130385

Book preview

humor.

CHAPTER 1

FIRST SON

William Henry Mayo, my grandfather, usually called Henry but known by younger members of the family as Gran, was the son of Robert and Susan P. Mayo. He was born September 6, 1891, on the old Mayo farm in southwest Jackson County. Robert and Susan had lived on the farm, which dated back to 1829, since their marriage in December, 1888. Though not Robert and Susan’s first child, he was preceded by his sister Ethel in 1887, Henry was the first son. Like Ethel, he was delivered by his grandmother, Charlotte McCormick. Charlotte lived a few miles away near McCormick Lake and was the area midwife.

Rarely did anyone call him William. He grew up answering to Henry. Being one of seven children, three boys and four girls, he grew up with plenty of company. Listed in order by age the children were: Ethel, William Henry, John Joseph, Francis, Robert Virce, Florence and Jessie. All seven children were delivered by Susan’s mother, Charlotte.

Raised in a time of turmoil and poverty, Henry grew up tough. He could take a hit and bounce right back. Because of this, when he was four years old, his uncle Britton nick-named him Lightered Knot. A lightered knot is the hard resin-rich pieces of a pine tree heart wood that remains after the rest of the tree has decayed. They are used for kindling because the hard resin burns easily and is very hot.

The method of farming had changed very little since his pa was born in 1862. Farm life was a real struggle. The whole area was still recovering from the devastation of the Civil War twenty-six years earlier. Much of the equipment and tools that were destroyed had not been replaced. Families had to get by the best way they could with what they had.

The one-room school Henry attended was three miles away. That was a long walk for a young boy, especially a boy that had no shoes. In the winter during freezing conditions he would wrap his feet in rags. This offered some protection from the cold, but made it very difficult to walk. After completing the second grade and with no encouragement from his parents to continue his education, Henry dropped out of school.

Henry’s pa did not abuse his children, unless you consider it abusive to use a leather razor strap or a switch from a peach tree, as a training aid. Henry, as well as his brothers and sisters, were introduced to those items numerous times as they grew up. Laughing, he told me once that a damn peach tree switch would make you dance a jig and it’ll leave welts on your bottom end and legs for days.

Life as we live today was not the norm. On the farm it was work all day, early to bed, and early to rise. Henry after deciding not to go to school spent all day helping his pa with farm chores.

A birthday on the farm was just another day. If you were lucky and your ma and pa remembered they might mention that you were another year older and that would be it. It was Henry’s ninth birthday when his pa bought him his first pair of shoes. A new pair of leather work shoes, though much too big, was an exciting gift for Henry. His pa, seeing that Henry looked puzzled over their size said, I bought them too large, Henry. I want them to last. All you need to do is pack a little cotton in the toes. They’ll do just fine. Christmas wasn’t much different. You might get a new pair of socks if you had shoes, or a piece or two of peppermint candy; nothing more.

Some things Gran told me about his early farm life were amazing. For instance, when he was nine years old he was plowing ox and mules, helping his pa castrate young pigs and bulls, and driving a horse and wagon by himself five miles to Round Lake to fetch lamp oil.

On one of our many wintry night fireside chats, Gran told me one of the fondest memories he had as a young boy was to go to the grist mill with his pa when the early autumn corn harvest was completed. The wagon was loaded with white and yellow corn then driven to the mill at Shores Mill Pond. The white corn was ground into grits, the yellow corn ground into corn meal. Half was taken back to the farm where it was stored in wooden barrels for future use. The other half was taken to Marianna and used to barter for supplies.

Leisure time was very scarce around the farm. On rare occasions, if the weather was good and all farm chores completed, Henry’s pa might say, Boy, you wanna go fishing? Then get the poles. Henry didn’t hesitate. He and his pa would walk down to the wash spring to dig worms then take the twenty minute walk to Sand Pond. Gran told me he thoroughly enjoyed fishing with his pa.

On Sunday afternoons in late spring and early summer you would find the Mayo family out looking for wild berries near the edge of the woods. Wild birds would flock to the berries. This would attract snakes, some poisonous, making this a dangerous place. It was the norm each year to kill two to three rattlesnakes around the berry patches.

I asked Gran about the play time he had with his sisters and brothers. He replied, Trink (his nickname for me), I had very little. Occasionally, late in the evening before sunset we’d go out and play in the dirt yard. We had an old hog’s bladder ball stuffed with cotton we’d throw and kick around a bit. At times we’d chase each other around the yard pretending we had a snake. Other times we’d get a stick and mess with the toad frogs that had crept out from under the house to fill their bellies with mosquitoes. We lived about a mile and half east of Vickory Swamp. If we had a westerly breeze after the sun went down we’d hear a buzzing noise. About ten seconds later enormous swarms of damn mosquitoes would swoop down. We didn’t need to think twice. We cut a trail into the house before they had a chance to suck all the blood out of us.

Not ever hearing Gran mention his grandfathers or grandmothers, I was curious to find out about them. He told me his grandparents, John P. and Nancy Mayo, lived with them for a short while when he was four or five years old then moved in with his uncle Britton a few miles away. He didn’t see much of them after that. He did attend their funeral service at Vickery cemetery. John died in 1899, Nancy in 1912. Gran said John P. was very bitter and upset about the Civil War to the day he died.

Gran told me his grandpa James McCormick, fought in the Civil War with the 11th Florida Infantry Company L CSA. He was shot in the hip during the war. The lead bullet was still in his hip when he died from complications in 1882, seventeen years after the war. His grandma Charlotte, who delivered him at birth, lived a couple miles away near McCormick Lake. He didn’t see her very often. They both were buried in a small cemetery known as McCormick Cemetery located approximately fifty yards east of Highway 167 on the east- southeast (ESE) side of McCormick Lake. Today it is hard to find, but still there.

CHAPTER 2

HENRY GROWS UP

Farm life in Florida’s panhandle in the eighteen nineties and early nineteen hundreds was tough. They were continuously faced with challenges and difficulties. Life threatening diseases ran rampant, food was in short supply, children went to bed hungry and poverty was beyond what most people today can imagine. The Mayos were no exception. They experienced it all.

Gran said, Trink, life was hard when I was a boy. It was a tough row to hoe. You always went to bed hoping tomorrow would be better. It never was. By the time Gran was twelve years old his Ma had learned midwifery and herbal medicine from her mother and was known in the local area as the herb doctor. She frequently went into the open fields and woods to collect wild herbs and dig different kinds of roots. After hours of collecting she would return, her cloth bag full of disease prevention and healing herbs. She would cook up a wicked brew and serve it to the family. It was said the herbal remedies that were taught to her, were learned by her ancestors from the Chatot Indians who lived throughout the area in the late seventeen and early eighteen hundreds.

Farm life varied very little year to year. It was all work and no play. Henry, being the eldest son, was a lot of help. Getting up before daylight he and his pa would feed and water the livestock and milk the cow. After breakfast and at first light together they headed to the fields. This was the norm six days a week and at times, seven. Henry was eager and quick to learn the skills needed to become a farmer. His pa was proud.

Occasionally, on Sunday afternoons, his uncle Britton or Elijah Mayo would ride over by horseback for a brief visit. Gran told me he was always excited to see his uncle Britton who had ridden with the U.S. Cavalry, out west in the 1870’s. While serving with the Cavalry, Britton was in several skirmished with the Indians. He had the reputation of being a cracker-jack marksman while riding a horse at full gallop. On these visits Gran knew he could usually pry a good war story out of his uncle which he thoroughly enjoyed.

In early winter Britton and friend, Paul Carter, deer hunted the area around McCormick Lake and Mayo Farm on horseback. If a kill was made near the farm, they brought the deer by for butchering, never failing to leave a hind quarter behind. Robert and Sun (Susan’s nickname) greatly appreciated the fresh venison. Some was used for roast and the rest went in the stew pot.

Henry’s pa surprised him early one autumn afternoon. They had just finished dinner when his pa said, Henry, would you like to go with me over to the Chipola River? I hear the large rock fish are running. Without hesitation Henry answered, I would love to go, Pa. Well, go and hitch the horses to the wagon and get feed for an overnight stay while I get some supplies. We’ll leave shortly.

Henry noticed his pa loading a long pole with a gig attached to one end. He recognized it as the 4 prong hand forged steel gig that his grandpa John had given his pa several years earlier. Henry, just turning thirteen, didn’t know anything about gigging fish but figured it would be exciting. The plan was to camp over night east of Marianna near the bridge and return back to the farm by noon the next day. After two and a half hours they arrived at the bridge just before sundown. Henry was told to water and feed the horses while his pa went into the nearby woods to cut fire wood. Hurrying he had the horses watered and fed in no time. Still hearing his pa chopping wood, he decided to take a quick walk on to the bridge and check things out. Looking down some ten feet into the mass of clear blue-green swirling water astonished him. Henry didn’t expect this. He was used to the dark waters of the swamps and creeks.

After hearing his pa call a second time and knowing he was needed to carry fire wood, Henry high-tailed it to where his pa was waiting. Later in the evening while sitting around the fire eating sweet potatoes and hoe-cake, Henry’s pa told him that his pa, John P. Mayo, used to gig rock fish here in the 1870s, saying some weighed more than fifty pounds. That’s a big fish Henry said. Yes it is his pa replied. Laughing, his pa said, They’re not very good to eat when that big, but when you’re hungry you’ll eat most anything.

Seeing a couple of lanterns hanging from the fore end of the bridge, from other fishermen, Henry’s pa said, Boy, I think it is time to gig a fish. It was a cool moonless night with very few stars visible. Looking at Henry his pa said, I hope this light breeze keeps the skeeters away. Bending over his pa picked up a small piece of kindling from the fire and lit the oil lantern. Henry was sent to fetch the gig pole. Together they walked to midway of the bridge span then stopped. Fastening a rope to the lantern his pa lowered it over the side to within three feet of the water. Taking the gig-pole from Henry, his pa said, Boy, now we must wait and watch. An hour must have passed when suddenly a dark shadowy outline of a large fish appeared beneath the lantern. Talking in a low voice, his pa said, I think it’s a rock fish. It’s too big to be anything else. Excitement began to build as Henry watched his pa take the rope that was attached to the gig pole and loop the other end around his wrist. Leaning over the railing and with one motion he raised and thrust the pole downward into the shadow. I missed! his pa hollered. Oh well, maybe next time.

Less than twenty minutes had passed when another shadow appeared near the lantern. This time the large fish was near the surface. Henry couldn’t believe his eyes. The fish must be five feet long. Again he watched as his pa raised the pole, then with a mighty downward thrust he made contact. The fish was thrashing about violently sending water onto the bridge. With a loud crack it was over. The fish broke the pole just above the gig and was gone with the gig still embedded. Henry’s pa, looking at him said, It’s over boy. It’s just as well, a fish that big ain’t got much taste, and ain’t fittin to eat. Returning to the wagon they unrolled a piece of tarpaulin and spread it underneath the wagon. This is where they spent the night talking about the big one that got away.

At times over the next few years Henry was farmed out to some of the local farms. He did not like this. Though it paid fifty cents a day he never saw any of it. His pa received it all.

By the time Henry was seventeen he had mastered everything his pa could teach him bout farm life including the difficult, hand-me-down, methods of smoking, curing and preserving meats from previous generations of ancestors.

CHAPTER 3

GLASS SCHOOL HOUSE

The sun was just rising on a misty Saturday morning in May 1912. The birds were nesting and singing. The shrill whistling of quail could be heard in the distance. Bees were working the honeysuckle vine on the backyard fence. Henry was twenty years old and his priorities were changing. He couldn’t keep his mind on farming. All he could think about was what his sister Ethel had told him about the frolic held on Saturday nights at the glass community school house, saying this would be a good place for him to meet some young women.

Henry knew it would be an overnight trip. All he needed now was courage to ask his pa for permission to take the horse drawn buggy. Seeing his pa coming from the barn he figured it was now or never. When asked, without batting an eye his pa said, It’s ok with me, boy. Henry was ecstatic. It was hard to believe what he had just heard. Knowing it was some twenty miles to the northwest he figured it best he leave shortly after dinner. Having eaten, shaved, taken a bath and changed into the best overalls and shirt he had, it was time to go. The whole family was in the yard to see him off. Henry was excited. Henry had just crossed Shores Mill Creek Bridge, Damn Henry muttered. In his excitement to leave he had forgotten the horse feed and had to go back.

Some two and one-half hours later nearing Cottondale, Henry heard a roaring sound as the horse reacted to it. He turned, looked over his shoulder, What the hell? Henry said. It resembled a four wheel buggy. The difference being, there was no horse. A man was sitting in the front holding a wheel in his hands and smoke was coming out the back of the contraption. Henry figured it must be one of those motor cars his Pa had told him about. With the horse reacting wildly Henry decided to stop and let the horseless buggy go by. In no time flat it had vanished down the road in a cloud of smoke.

After leaving Cottondale Henry, had to stop twice for directions to the school. Finally, after driving through dense woods and down a narrow, deep rutted, sand road for quite some time an opening appeared up ahead. Henry could see a small cemetery on the left and just beyond the cemetery was the school. Parked in front of the school were many wagons, buggies, carriages and a couple of those motor car buggies. As he neared the school, sounds of music and laughter could be heard as it flowed from the open windows. Henry was excited and nervous.

After taking care of the horse and dusting himself off, he squared his hat and wiped the tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth. He strolled nervously toward the open door. A tall, thin, sophisticated looking man with white hair and a large handlebar mustache was leaning against the door frame eye-balling Henry as he walked up. Looking at Henry he said, You from around these parts? No Henry answered I’m from down McCormick Lake way. Then the man asked, You got any shine on you? I ain’t got nary a drop Henry said All I got on me is a twist of tobacco. The door-keeper said, Well then give me ten cent and go on in.

It was larger than he expected. There were four men in one corner of the room playing something called The Cotton Eye Joe. The one hollering with his hands cupped around his mouth would stop from time to time and play some do-hickey that hung from his neck. The other three were playing a fiddle, a banjo and a Jew’s harp. In the center of the room twelve to fourteen people were in a circle, going round and round. Some were strutting like a tom turkey in mating season while others were scuttling around like they had ants in their pants. One couple was just stumbling around. Henry didn’t know what to think. He’d never seen anything like this.

Henry, noticing glares from some of the people, felt uncomfortable. Knowing he wasn’t dressed for the occasion figured what the heck, I’m here. Seeing a group of men standing by an open window spitting tobacco juice reminded Henry he had a plug in his pocket and he could use a chew about now. Approaching the group Henry couldn’t help but notice a heavy set red faced man staring him down. Henry watched as the man side-stepped his way around the group to where he was. Giving Henry a cockeyed look said, You must be from the sticks. Henry answered saying I’m from down McCormick Lake way. The fellow bellowed out, saying, We’re all local people and all of the women are spoken for and I think it’s time you think about leaving. Looking at the fellow, Henry said, I’ll leave when I’m a mind to. I didn’t come here looking for a fight and I ain’t walking away from one. The big fellow said, You’ll regret it then turned and walked away. Henry turned to see a young man holding his hand out saying, "I’m Joe Shoupe. Don’t you worry about that big fellow; he’s full of horse shit and lies too

Pointing across the room he said, See that girl in the long yellow dress. That’s my sister, Mary Esther, and she’s not spoken for. Fact of the matter is, she’s looking. Henry couldn’t believe his eyes. She was so beautiful. Shaking with excitement he could hardly wait to meet her. He didn’t wait long. After a brief talk with Joe, Henry was introduced to the beautiful young lady.

At first, Henry was nervous. But after a lengthy talk about each other and their families, he seemed more relaxed. She told Henry he could drop the Mary and call her Esther. That is what most people called her. Henry found out Esther’s father, Casper Callie Shoupe, lived on a farm about five miles away near Graceville. Esther was one of thirteen children, with two being deceased. Esther was helping raise the younger children due to their mother, Bridget Mittie Shoupe, having died 3 years earlier. Quite a family, he thought.

The dance was the beginning of a six month friendship between Henry and Esther that included many visits to each other’s family farms. William Henry Mayo and Mary Esther Shoupe were married on November 10, 1912 in Jackson County, Florida.

Figure 2 - Esther and Henry Mayo- The Newlyweds

CHAPTER 4

NORTH BAY OYSTERS

The newlyweds, Henry and Esther, put down roots on the Mayo farm. Though not a romantic place by far, it was the best Henry could provide. An agreement was worked out between Henry and his ma and pa that he and Esther would live on the farm until they could find lodging elsewhere. In return Henry would work part-time for his pa, and share-crop on the local farms. Esther was to help with all household chores. Other than the living arrangement, very little information was passed down to this writer about Henry and Esther’s first two years of marriage.

Henry’s ma, Susan, inherited a large tract of land on the north and east side of McCormick Lake in 1910. She started selling parcels of it off in 1912. Some of Henry’s part-time work consisted of helping his ma measure the parcels she intended to sell. Measurements were taken by using existing survey mile markers. After completing the measurements, Susan would draw up a map describing the township, section and measurements, then date and sign the map. It was then considered a legal document.

After many hours of helping his ma, Henry acquired a considerable knowledge about surveying. He would use this knowledge later in life. The writer is lacking in memory on how Susan Mayo acquired her knowledge of surveying.

Henry and Esther’s first child, James Travis Mayo (my father) was born September 20, 1913 and was delivered by Henry’s ma, Susan.

A couple of weeks later, Henry’s pa, while on a business trip to Marianna, met a Mr. Ellis who was opening up a seafood market and was looking for someone to supply him with fresh oysters. Knowing Henry was dissatisfied with his share-cropping job his pa thought this might be just what he needed. Henry’s pa asked Mr. Ellis what he would be willing to pay for the oysters, he replied, I’ll pay one dollar and fifty cent per bushel, delivered. That sounds reasonable, Henry’s pa answered, I’ve got a son that may be interested. I’d like to talk with him and get back with you in a few days. That’ll be just fine, Mr. Mayo, Mr. Ellis responded.

Robert (Bob) Mayo arrived home late and decided to wait until morning to talk with Henry about the job offer. The next morning after breakfast, Henry’s pa said, Henry, let’s go out on the porch and talk a bit. I’ve got a job offer I need to talk with you about. Henry was excited and all ears. After his pa discussed the job offer with him, Henry, acting confused said, I like the idea, but where do I get oysters and how do I deliver them? His pa said, Henry, first things first. I hear tell North Bay has the best oysters in the state. If you’re interested I’d suggest we take the wagon at first light tomorrow and go down to North Bay and see what we can find out. Henry was interested and overjoyed. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Early the next morning, after having coffee and biscuits, they left on what was to be a two day trip one day down and another back. After some 20 miles and four hours later they were riding through the town of Fountain when Henry’s pa said he needed to stop and get some tobacco. They pulled up reins in front of a shanty looking store. Henry followed his pa inside. His pa inquired about North Bay oysters. He was told you could purchase oysters at Bayhead or Southport. Bayhead was about 18 miles and the nearest of the two. As they were leaving, an old scar faced man in the store said, If you go to Bayhead look up Jake the peg-legged man. When it comes to oysters he’ll take care of you.

Around mid afternoon they turned off the old clay beaten road onto a deep-rutted sugar sand road. After some 3 miles they came to a cluster of weathered, wind-blown shacks elevated on poles. Henry and his pa had never seen anything like this. The only signs of life were two dogs standing in the middle of the road barking. As they pulled up reins a shirtless, barefooted man appeared in an open door. Henry’s pa hollered asking, Is this Bayhead? The man answered, Yes, what, can I do for you? We’re looking for Jake. Pointing he said, He be down that shell road.

The road was narrow with a low lying marsh on each side. The crunch, crunch sound of metal wagon wheel rims rolling on the shells was extremely loud. A shanty on poles some ten feet above the water with a bird doo (sic) stained roof was at the end of the road. That must be Jake’s place, said Henry. We’ll know in a minute said his pa.

They pulled up and stopped between a large pile of oyster shells and the bird doo shanty. Looking around they noticed a rickety wooden dock securing a couple of boats. Off to one side, two partly submerged wooden boats looked like they had been there forever. A deep baritone voice from above said, You looking for oysters? Looking up, not more than twenty feet away, stood peg-legged Jake. They saw a slim, white bearded, leathery skinned man, a pipe in one side of his mouth with smoke drifting out the other corner, staring them down. Henry’s pa said, I’m Robert Mayo, most people call me Bob. My son, Henry, has been offered a job supplying a business in Marianna with oysters. We’d like to talk with you about it. I’ll be down in a minute, said Jake.