Sylvia: From Whence Cometh My Help

By A. Elliott Archer

This is the inspiring true story of Sylvia Catheryn Folger Archer, a descendant of the famous Clark brothers William and George Rogers, pioneer explorers and Revolutionary War heroes, and Betty Zane, heroine of the Fort Henry siege of 1782. A widowed mother of nine in rural West Virginia in the early 1900s, redheaded Sylvia was the very embodiment of womanly strength, perseverance, and courage.

Born one of ten children in 1906 on Pursley Hollow, a narrow mud road four miles south of Sistersville, West Virginia, Sylvia's loving family provided her with a happy childhood. But after her marriage at the age of nineteen to Arthur Daniel Archer, Sylvia experienced countless trials, including her own near-death experience, the loss of her husband to a brain tumor, the stroke of a daughter, the tragic death of a daughter and grandson and her own battle with cancer. A true survivor, Sylvia lived to see each of her children graduate from high school and happily marry.

Drawing upon meticulous research into family records, Sylvia's son Elliott Archer pays tribute to his mother in this triumphant portrait of one American woman's unwavering morals, exemplary work ethic, absolute pride in motherhood, and selfless sacrifice for her beloved family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 12, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595907557

A. Elliott Archer

Sylvia's youngest son, Elliott Archer, has a chemistry degree from Marshall University and an MBA from Stanford University. He lives in Carmel, Indiana.

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Sylvia

From Whence Cometh My Help

A. Elliott Archer

Sylvia’s Youngest Son

SYLVIA

FROM WHENCE COMETH MY HELP

Copyright © 2007, 2008 A. Elliott Archer.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-0-5954-6457-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-0-5957-0228-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-0-5959-0755-7 (e)

iUniverse rev. date:  04/16/2024

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord.… Psalm 121:1,2a

Contents

Introduction

CHAPTER 1

Sylvia—Early Years, Happy Years

CHAPTER 2

Arthur Daniel Archer Meets Sylvia Catheryn Folger

CHAPTER 3

Barefoot and Pregnant

CHAPTER 4

Lots of Pride and Determination, but No Income

CHAPTER 5

There Must Be More to Life than Milking Five Cows

CHAPTER 6

Sometimes the Needs of Others Should Come First

CHAPTER 7

Tragedy Strikes Again

CHAPTER 8

College Life

CHAPTER 9

The Needs of Others Must Still Come First

Epilogue

Bibliography

Introduction

The lady for whom the book Sylvia is titled, Sylvia Folger Archer, is four generations removed from the earliest stories contained in this biography. She was by no means famous, at least by the popular definition of the word, but her life describes perfectly the values of faith, hard work, and perseverance. It could well be that her strength came from genes inherited from yesteryear, but telling the story of her roots and her life is more than worthy of a book.

In writing Sylvia, I didn’t have sufficient family records further back than 1888. I therefore chose to write Sylvia based on the family records I had and on stories about her that can be supported. The dialogue between the characters is fictional, but hopefully does not overpower the historic events being described.

There is only one historical error in Sylvia I feel obligated to point out. The Folger and Carpenter families have always talked about her relationship to the famous Clark brothers, George Rogers and William. According to the family tree, her great grandfather was Joseph Clark, born in 1798. Neither I, nor hired genealogists, could uncover the exact connection between Joseph and these two famous American figures. Joseph’s birth, however, coincides perfectly with William’s marriage in 1791, perhaps making him a son of William, after seven years of marriage, or a nephew. Genealogists generally agree the relationship had to be close: either Joseph was a son of William or nephew to these two famous American heroes. Also, two of Joseph’s sons were named George Rogers and William. This adds to our feeling there was a close relationship. But I had to improvise in Sylvia to make the connection.

Besides the two famous Clark brothers, the family has always talked about a relationship between Sylvia’s family and Betty Zane, the heroine at the Fort Henry siege of 1782. Family records indicate that Betty Zane’s second husband was John Jacob Clark, but as far as history goes, we do not know if she had a son by the name of Joseph.

Sylvia was born one of ten children in the hills of West Virginia; the daughter of Alex Folger, a lowly carpenter and hillside farmer, and Florence Carpenter. Many buildings constructed by her father still stand among those hills today. Most of them are barns and farmhouses, but they have withstood the weather’s elements for more than 150 years.

Her family was poor, even by the standards of the late 1800s, yet she and all of her siblings took great pride in knowing they were related to famous people in U.S. history.

Until the generation after Sylvia, few in her family had more than an eighth grade education, and Sylvia was not one of the fortunate ones. Yet her generation was well educated in economics, personal financial planning, and in handling the trials of life. Each of the Alex Folger children took great pride in being independent and being born in a country where they had the right to worship as their faith dictated, to own their own property, and to earn their own living. Her family did not believe in government aid and were embarrassed when they had to take money to help support themselves.

As a result, Sylvia would not allow the state of West Virginia to help her in her years of hardship after her husband’s death, when she was left a single parent of nine children. She also would not allow the state to interfere with her family, and she refused an offer of adoption for some of her children as a solution to her situation.

Her fiery red hair was probably the best physical symbol of her character. But she was not a confrontational person. She instinctively knew what was right, and when there was no other alternative—when she had to be heard—Sylvia would dig her heels in. From that point forward, she was not to be fooled with.

I was Sylvia’s ninth child and fourth son. I have had a desire for many years to write a book about my mother, our family, and our ancestors. When my daughter Kara chose writing and editing as a career, she and I decided it was time. Ultimately, the book we produced covered events as far back as 1782 and as recently as 1984.Hopefully this brief introduction will set the stage as you take a journey as far back as 1782 going forward all the way to 1984.

Chapter one covers Sylvia’s life before marriage and her famous ancestors. Beginning in chapter two, the book covers Sylvia’s married life and her courage and perseverance through twenty years of raising nine children alone. It describes her own near death experience, the anguish caused by some of her children’s bad decisions, and the tragic death of her husband, one daughter, and a grandson. The book concludes with her battle with cancer, which she fought for fourteen years, before it finally defeated her in 1984.

Ultimately, the book covers seventy-eight years in the life of one woman who was as much a heroine as Betty Zane, her great-great grandmother. Yet it wasn’t Sylvia’s admirable life that made her unique—many have faced extremely difficult odds and have endured. Nor is it the fact that she faced these difficulties alone—so very, very alone; others have done as much.

Sylvia is distinguished because she represents something this great nation is in danger of losing: fighting, pioneering, American motherhood. Sylvia demonstrated the pride of being female and a mother and the importance of both in our American society.

1

Sylvia—Early Years, Happy Years

Pursley Hollow … what a name.

That was the name given to the little mud road going from Route 18—four miles south of Sistersville, West Virginia, and less than a mile south of the little community called Pursley—that led to the home of Alexander Folger. There was no post office in the little hamlet of Pursley, so Alex, as everyone knew him, always gave his address as Sistersville. Pursley had a country store, a school, a church, seven houses, and hills on both sides of Route 18. The road ran between the town’s few buildings, making the school, church, and all seven houses look like they were nestled in the bottom of a horseshoe. It wasn’t an attractive community, and maybe that is why Alex decided to build his house away from the others, up the mud road called Pursley Hollow.

Alex was the son of a Union soldier who had lost his arm in the Great Civil War and had become a carpenter by trade. He had built his home himself, in 1888 at the age of thirty-three, when he and Florence Carpenter were married. The land he had purchased for their home was beautiful with deep woods bordering the surrounding meadows. The rail fences going around the meadows and barns made the land look like a picture on a greeting card. Alex had built an attractive and spacious farm house that was quite acceptable for Florence, who was a descendant of the famous Clark brothers, William and George Rogers of pioneer exploration and Revolutionary War fame, and of Betty Zane the heroine of Fort Henry.

But, oh, this road in January, Florence would moan to whoever would listen. A horse would be in mud to his belly gittin’ home in this muck.

The road started from Route 18, which wasn’t a whole lot better than Pursley Hollow, but it did have a stone base and therefore mud was less of a problem. The Pursley Hollow road immediately crossed a creek and then wandered another mile along the south base of the same hills that formed Pursley before ascending to the top of those hills to end at Alex’s house.

Alex, you must do something about that road. Here it is January, I’m eight months pregnant with our ninth child, we’ve lived here for eighteen years, and you have never found time to fix that road. You always find time to build someone else’s barn or house or whatever, but you never find time to get that road fixed. Now you can’t do anything about it until spring, and by that time you’ll say it is drying out, and then you won’t do anything to fix it all summer, Florence was upset.

Florence was a large woman by the time her ninth child was to be born. She had the typical Clark and Carpenter features: large bones and a round face. When younger, she was attractive, but she would never have been called beautiful. Alex was attracted to her personality and strength of character. She seemed to have inherited all the right genes from her famous ancestors; she was strong and able to stand when a lesser woman would have failed.

Now, even when she was upset about the road, her firm arguments and feelings were still gentle enough that Alex, who was a kind and loveable man, could tell he wasn’t in any serious trouble.

Yes, dear, yes, dear, I’ll take care of it. Just mind my word. I’ll get it fixed just as soon as the weather gets better, Alex replied.

And what are we gonna do if this baby requires a doctor? That road’s in so bad a shape, with mud to the horse’s butt, why we couldn’t get a mule over it, let alone a wagon with me and the baby, Florence retorted.

Yes, dear, if it’ll make you happy again, and I can see a little grin, I’ll see what I can do about it, at least in the bad spots, okay? Alex was really no different with Florence than with his customers. He was far more interested in keeping peace and tranquility than winning an argument. His honest desire was to make everyone he knew happy, almost seeking their approval.

Florence, on the other hand, was much more confrontational. If things didn’t go the way she thought best, she had no trouble telling you—but with Alex she couldn’t help giving him the little grin he asked for, because she knew Alex, and she knew she had taken her case as far as she could. Florence knew Alex had good intentions, but he was just too nice to everyone. All the people he had built things for over many years now expected him to drop whatever he was doing to come and help them, which meant he didn’t always get the work done at home.

They had been married eighteen years by the time they were expecting their ninth child, and Floyd, their oldest boy, had already left home for Oklahoma, to get involved with what he said was going to be the next big thing: oil and gasoline for cars. Florence didn’t hold out a lot of hope for such a venture—cars powered by gasoline. Whoever heard of such a thing? Horses are far more reliable, and besides that, even if he did get work out there, he wouldn’t send any money back to fix this mud road. All she knew was that she was going to have another baby in less than a month, and that road wouldn’t get fixed this year or next year or ever.

Sure enough, just one month after the big discussion with Alex about the road, Florence gave birth to number nine, a little red-haired girl. No one knows where she got this little girl’s first name, Sylvia. The second name, Catheryn, was pretty easy to understand because that was the name of her great aunt and daughter of Betty Zane Clark, but no one in the family had ever been named Sylvia. Alex didn’t argue much about her choice though. He knew a little concession about the name would buy him more time on fixing the road. He did have to make it sound like he cared, though, and that he was giving in to Florence’s choice, otherwise she wouldn’t give up on the road. He pulled it off masterfully.

Sylvia Catheryn Folger was born on February 7, 1906. With four older sisters—Alice, Fonda, Eva, and Helen, three of them still at home—Florence didn’t have to do a whole lot toward taking care of the baby except to feed her. Sylvia’s oldest sister Alice had gone west about the same time as Floyd to become a teacher, and she had married an oilfield worker by the name of Earl Wells. Alice never returned to West Virginia except for short visits, so she missed the excitement of having a new baby in the Folger family. (picture – page 110)

Sylvia’s early years were happy. Although Alex never earned a lot of money and collected even less, the family never went hungry because they had the farm. Many a meal was prepared from the garden, using only fresh vegetables, and served with homemade bread, homemade butter, and jam made from the many raspberry and blackberry vines that grew under the fences. But it was a happy family.

In 1910, life as good for most families in rural West Virginia, but not easy. Men and women alike worked hard, but they slept well, knowing they were safe and that tomorrow could be counted on as another day to enjoy the fresh air and provision each family laid in store for winter, from their own land, made with their own hands. They had their own cows and chickens and their own horses.

As Sylvia grew into a little girl, Florence could not bear cutting her beautiful red hair. By the time she was ten years old, her hair was so long she had to move it when she sat down. Sylvia didn’t like her long hair, and she didn’t like her red hair either. Why do I have to have red hair? I hate it! I hate it! Sylvia would yell. She particularly hated it when anyone would call her carrot top, and if they weren’t a lot bigger than she was, she would tear into them like a little redheaded tiger. Many a time, she had to face Florence after fighting with a sibling who had called her a name that had words like carrot or red or freckles in it.

Sylvia, you’ve just got to quit this fighting, Florence would say. People don’t mean anything bad when they call you carrot-top or redhead. I want you to stop getting so angry over something so silly. Your hair is beautiful. Now go pick a mess of beans for supper and forget this silliness.

After Sylvia, the tenth Folger born to Alex and Florence was a little boy, who Alex got the privilege of naming. Because it was their last child, she and Alex may have made an agreement that, for the first time, Alex had the right to choose the name. He picked Layman Loren.

It was not considered a beautiful name in many circles, but nevertheless, Layman was the last Folger to be born to Alex and Florence. As he grew, Layman and his sister Sylvia became inseparable. She was a tomboy, and Layman, who grew to be the tallest of the family at six feet, three inches and was more than ten years younger than his next brother, enjoyed playing with Sylvia. It seemed all of the games they played were boy games in those early years, which was easy to understand because Layman was a boy and Sylvia was not happy being a sissy girl, so the two of them developed a close relationship catching frogs and playing cowboys and Indians.

On Saturday afternoons, Alex and Florence often took the buggy and went into Sistersville for groceries or farm supplies. On one of those Saturdays, twelveyear-old Sylvia decided she had had enough of her long red hair. Only she and Layman were at home. Sylvia was complaining about her long hair as usual, but knowing that her mom and dad were both gone, she was also setting the stage for things to change. I hate it, I hate it, she said. I hate how long it is. I know it would look better if I could get it cut.

Ten-year-old Layman said, You want your hair cut? I’ll cut your hair. You will? You really will? Sylvia was delighted.

Yeah, if you want it cut, I’ll cut it. Layman wasn’t going to back down.

Let me get the scissors, Sylvia shouted as she ran into her mother’s bedroom. How long ya want it? Layman asked.

Aw, I don’t care if ya cut it all off, Sylvia quickly answered as she handed him the scissors from her mother’s sewing basket.

Layman couldn’t believe what was happening. He wished he hadn’t said anything, but he was too involved in being a beautician to turn back now. Sylvia was just delighted that she had found a barber as well as someone who could share in the blame when her mom found out.

Here, I want it up away from my face, Sylvia said, and she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. Layman grabbed the ponytail, and with kind of a sawing motion, he cut through the ponytail where his hands were holding it. Sylvia’s hair soon lay in one large pile at his feet. With that one cut, Layman fully realized what he had done. Sylvia, his friend and his sister, looked awful. As the hair on her head fell back into place, it was longer in the front and shorter in the back; she looked like she had her hair on backwards. Layman had not realized what the consequences of their joint barbering venture would be.

Mom is gonna be mad, Sylvy, as Layman always called her. She’s gonna kill you and me both. But even knowing that, he couldn’t hold his laughter any longer. He turned his head and burst out with an ill-concealed snort.

Here, I’m done, Layman giggled, handing the scissors back to Sylvia. Sylvia grabbed them and ran to her mother’s bedroom to see her new look.

Oh, what have I done? Sylvia thought as she tried to move her hair into some position that might make it not look so hideous. The tears began to flow as she set there in front of her mother’s mirror, her head in her hands. She cried and cried, but the long red hair that her mother had told her was beautiful now took on a new meaning. My life is ruined. It wasn’t me that was beautiful, it was my hair, and now it’s gone, Sylvia sobbed out loud, thinking no one was there to hear her but Layman.

What she didn’t know was that one of her older sisters, Eva, had come into the house from outside and had heard Sylvia crying. Just as she entered the bedroom where Sylvia was sitting, she heard Sylvia say, My life is ruined, and she couldn’t help but feel bad for this little twelve-year-old girl, who was normally quite feisty but now seemed so distressed. Besides that, she had to agree: right then, Sylvia wasn’t beautiful.

Come here, Sylvia, Eva said. Let me hold you, and you tell me what happened.

Oh, Eva, what have I done? Mom was right; I shouldn’t have cut my hair.

Just then, Layman walked in. She didn’t do it; I did, and I think she looks better. I like it that way, he said, with a little smile on his face. Eva couldn’t tell whether his smile was a smirk or just a way to lighten Sylvia’s feelings.

Come on in here, Eva said, and let me see what I can do to straighten it up a little bit before Mom gets home.

With that, she sat Sylvia down in the same place where her ten-year-old brother had worked on her and began to snip here and snip there. Then, standing back to look, she again snipped here and snipped there. After about an hour, she put the scissors down and said, There, that doesn’t look so bad … and it’s about all I can do with it, anyway.

Just then, they heard the buggy pull up in front of the house. Florence got out while Alex held the horses steady, and she began walking toward the house.

Uh oh, Layman said softly, then added, I think I’ll go out to the barn. Sylvia noticed that Eva too had suddenly vanished, leaving her to face her mother all alone.

Florence walked in and saw Sylvia standing straight in front of her. She kind of