Here’s the second part of Eric’s family stories, the one about his mother, and about her ancestry. By the time I met her, she had become an empty nester, since Eric was the youngest of the family. I don’t think Rejonnah and I knew what to think of each other, since I was really not used to the quiet life of Midwest empty nesters. (I know – that’s me now!)
As they worked at the antiques store together, Rejonnah and Eric’s father Leonard made a good team. She was budget conscious, and he had a knack for what might sell. But it seemed all they could talk about were those antiques and what had sold at the shop today, which I knew zero about. Or, there was the discussion of how well their steak, cooked to perfection year-round on Leonard’s ingenious basement grill, had turned out.
But Eric was the only one of his siblings to settle down in Indiana, and as the years went by, we raised a passel of kids, who were curious and messy enough to cause a bit of consternation to Rejonnah, as she tried to keep a tidy house. After a while, she must have decided we were just crazy, and after she settled in her mind that her son was going to keep me barefoot and pregnant, she took to removing everything on low shelves when we came over. Still, she was a staunch defender of our homeschooling project and was proud of how smart and cute her descendants were.
Emily came in handy! She was hired to help her move furniture and do deep cleaning in her apartment once a week. And when it just became too much work for her to invite our whole family over and cook a Thanksgiving meal, we brought Grandma to our house for the occasion.
But now, let’s let Eric tell the stories he has found out about his mom:
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REJONNAH JANETT PATMORE
Rejonnah (Patmore) Haley,
“stuck” behind another picture in the family scrapbook.
If you could ask my mother, she would tell you she was named after her drunken father. She was the daughter of John Franklin Patmore and Audra Electa Oxley. Her middle name is not on any of her official records, and she was known as “Jonnie” to most of her friends, but my father always called her Rejonnah for as long as I can remember.
My mother’s father John was in and out of their home. She told me that he was mean when he was sober. “He would give us money when he was drunk, but when he was sober, he’d take it back.” She had little respect for him and was mostly raised by her maternal grandparents during the Great Depression, as her mother traveled to find work.
My mother spent some time living in Cincinnati, near or with distant relatives while her mother worked, but most, or should I say the better part of her childhood was spent on the small farm of her grandparents, Sam and Pauline Oxley. They raised her well, gave her a good education, modeled a good work ethic and made certain that she attended church. She was born in Chrisny, Indiana in 1924 and was baptized into the Christian Church at age 6 in Birdseye, Indiana. She graduated from Birdseye High School and sometime afterward took a job at the Sunbeam Electric Plant around 1943. Sunbeam had been converted over to wartime production. This is where she met my father, Leonard E. Haley. Connected to the Sunbeam complex was the Republic Aviation Company which produced the P47 aircraft. Just before or just after they were married (25 Sept. 1944), she began working as a riveter on the production of this war plane.
After the war was over and production ceased, she moved to Lafayette Indiana, where she became a part of the Haley family until Leonard came home from Japan in 1946.
Rejonnah with her oldest child, Gayle, at 3 mos. old
From that time on, she had a closer relationship with my father’s family than with her own.
Growing up, we occasionally visited her mother, or she came to visit us.
Thanksgiving around the kitchen table,
with Grandma (Audra) and Bryant (her second husband), 1966.
Eric is on the left – that’s his back.
More often, we might visit her younger brother Sam. But my mother found the real warmth of family and friendship with Dad’s brothers and sisters. My Aunt Eva became her special friend and was so until Rejonnah’s dying day.
Rejonnah and Leonard raised four children, sometimes on a meager income. We mostly wore hand-me-down clothes, but never felt poor. We often ate white beans and cornbread, but I had no idea that we were not living in the lap of luxury. That was my favorite meal.
The Haley siblings, with Eric in his mother’s arms.
Standing, L to R: Greg, Elaine, and Gayle
My father became ill at the age of 38 and had to go to the Cleveland Clinic for a heart surgery, so my mother started working again, using her wartime production skills. She continued to work until my father got back on his feet again. A few years later, they started their own business, Leonard’s Antiques and Used Furniture, first with weekend hours only, and then after a few years, full time. They worked together, turning it into a profitable venture as well as a hobby.
When my father died in 1988, she sold the store to me and retired. At that time in her life she started going to church again, renewing that relationship with God that she had sort of put on the back burner. Every Sunday, Rejonnah and Eva would go to church together.
My mother had her own heart issues and finally had to get a valve replacement. I was there afterwards when she asked the doctor how long the heart valve would work.
His response was, “The rest of your life.” He was correct.
A few months before my mother’s death, I mentioned that I expected that one day I would make my daily visit and find her dead. She said she was okay with that, as long as she was in her bed and not on the floor. “So what difference is it?” I asked.
“About two feet! I want to die comfortably.”
I got a visit from the County Sheriff just one day after her 75th birthday to tell me that my mother, Rejonnah Haley, had passed away. She had died in her car on a cool morning, with the keys in the ignition, but with the car not running. Afterwards I went to pick up her car, and I sat for a while in the front seat and leaned my head back. “Yep!” I thought. “This is what she asked for.” My mother finished well, and she died comfortably.
JOHN FRANKLIN PATMORE, JOHN LEWIS PATMORE, ANDREW PATMORE
All I remember about my grandfather is the shadow of a figure in a rocking chair. Slowly, the rockers creaked on the wooden floor of an upstairs room as I pretended to be asleep, and when the rocking stopped, I watched as the figure got up and went out the door. I remember asking about him in the morning, and I was told that the shadowy figure was my grandfather. I didn’t even know I had a grandfather. That was the only time I ever saw him.
John Franklin Patmore was born in 1902 in Spencer Co., Indiana. He died in 1976 and is buried at Little Pigeon Cemetery in Spencer Co., near the gravesite of his parents, John Lewis Patmore and Sybilla Frances (Pierce) Patmore. His youngest son, James D. Patmore, is buried next to him, dying in obscurity from the ravages of alcohol abuse like his father.
There were 4 children born of John F. Patmore and Audra Oxley. My mother was the oldest. Those 4 children gave him 15 grandchildren. This is according to his obituary, though I count only 11. There stands his one achievement in life: nothing more and nothing less.
John Franklin Patmore and Audra Oxley
John Lewis Patmore was born in 1866. He was the son of Andrew Patmore and Sarah Jane Pierson. John married Sybilla Frances Pierce, a girl from his hometown in Spencer Co. Indiana.
John Lewis Patmore and Sybilla (Pierce) Patmore
Together they had 5 children, two of whom died in infancy. I remember my mother speaking fondly of her Aunt Sadie and I was able to take her to visit her Aunt Ada sometime in the 1970’s. It’s nice to know that my mom had a good relationship with her aunts as well as her grandfather before he died in 1952.
Andrew Patmore was born in 1825 in Hamilton County, Ohio. He was the son of Mathias Felter Patmore and Elizabeth Felter (a first cousin). In 1850, Andrew married Sarah Jane Pierson, just a couple of years after his brother Jacob married her sister Margaret. The sisters’ father was Lewis Pierson, a wealthy Ohio merchant, and it is said that he gave each couple 1,000 acres of land in Indiana. They traveled to the Little Pigeon Creek area of Indiana along the Ohio River. Along the way, there was a tragedy and one of those on the raft fell off and drowned. I remember that her name was Elizabeth, and she may have been another sister. (Much of this information was told to me by a descendant of Jacob Patmore.)
When the Civil War began, Andrew and Jacob drew straws to see who would go fight and who would stay home and tend the land, and take care of the families. Jacob drew the short straw and went off to war. He was killed in battle at Hatchie River, TN in 1862 with his last words being, “Oh my poor family.” Jacob’s widow, Margaret, remarried and sold her 1000 acres of land to Andrew.
This caused contention in the family with suggestions that Andrew stole the land. The land was no doubt divided up at least among Andrew’s 14 and Jacob’s 10 children upon Andrew's death in 1888, which may account for the fact that there are currently no large Patmore land holdings in Spencer County.
This family is always easy to identify in public records, as one of Andrew’s children was named Andrew Sweat Patmore (never a popular name that I am aware of). My mother says she remembered her Great Uncle Sweat, and that he always seemed to have honey in his beard when he hugged the children. (Maybe they should have named him Sweet.)
From here on, in this line, is an incredibly rich American colonial heritage that must be discussed in greater detail, so I shall come back to it next week.
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We’ve re-done our family tree poster that had faded in the sunshine, but some lines would have gone far past the edge of the paper, and some still lack enough information to fill out the blanks. What’s interesting is that some of the lines of our ancestors are the ones we’d like to forget about because of their memorable sins, but far beyond them are actually important and respectable people. Likewise, some of the most disrespected of them have begotten respectable descendants.
Therefore, it is so important to avoid being obsessed with disrespect and shame over a particular ancestor, and see beyond it. Well over a year ago, I had a dream, that God spoke into my mind, saying, “I am the God of your fathers.” Those were clearly mine … but which ones? Answer: they are the ones from whom I can draw inspiration. I hope that these stories that Eric and I are finding have served to do that for you. Even if your own parents have failed to inspire, how about your grandparents? Their parents? A different side? A different line?
I can always go back to someone from the very distant past, since so many of us hook up somewhere to British royalty. But what if my inspiration is better served, not by a coat of arms from one of the lines, but by the understanding and conviction that an ancestor loved God and that I will see them in Heaven?
To my children and my children’s children: Grab hold of a few of these stories. Keep a picture of one of these ancestors on your wall if you want. Strive to make them proud of you. Someday, they will be waiting at the finish line, and they will want to give you a bear hug.
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