In Her Own Words

 In Her Own Words… 

The words you’re about to read came from a small journal my mother began near the end of her life. She wanted—no, she needed—to leave something behind so her children could better understand who she was and where she came from.

I’ve kept her words just as she wrote them.

Where I’ve added anything, I’ve done so quietly, using brackets and parentheses, just to help the story along without getting in her way.

Because this… this is her story.

 My Journey In Life,  Lynette Stone Howard

My journey in life began on November 13, 1933, when my mother was taken to Bessemer General Hospital, not knowing that was two of us. Birth certificate was supposed to have Ola Lynette Stone but only had Lenett Stone. Twin sister should have been Oliver Jeanette but had Jenett Stone, my dad’s doing. Jeanette died at six months. Dad was a coal miner, worked at night. A very bad tornado happened. At night Mama said the only thing she knew to do was put the children on the bed and stretch out her arms over them. We were not harmed and our house was still standing. A lot of people were killed.

We moved away when I was four to Acmar. Dad liked to take us back to Helena where he knew a lot of people and drove us around the city, telling us a story about each place. We were in our Model T Ford, which we had to push a lot. The sidewalks were wood. We stopped in a store to visit a Mr. Naish. A family named Kirkland moved from there to Markeeta, They had two sons, Roland and Denver, and two daughters, Thelma and Louise (say what?!). A third daughter was killed in the tornado.

My sister, nephew, and I went back to Helena (probably 2005) and walked up a hill to where our house was. I fell down, my nephew fell down, and my sister, who is seven years older than me, went right on up that hill (and laughed, of course). The house was right on the side of a railroad track and trestle where Mama said that hobos got off the train. She gave them food because she was a kind person who liked to help people if she could. Her first job was a telephone operator at 18 years old. I think that building has been renovated and is still there, although I’m not sure (story heard from my mom).

The next phase of my life was my new home in Acmar, another mining community. You may think that a four year old couldn’t possibly remember. I can (remember) a lot better than some grownups. It (Acmar) was a wonderful place. There was a school, where I attended kindergarten, a community center, a post office, a dance hall, and a huge store with a park and creek to fish in. (There was also) picnic places beside the store, a boy scout building (small), and a filling station built out of coal. There was a doctor’s home, he was named Stewart. His wife was a doctor also and kept her maiden name Black. Doctor Stewart was still here in the 1960’s. He was Ronald’s doctor, along with Dr, Caldwell, at “Caldwell and Stewart Pediatrics”. They used Children’s Hospital. They had an office on southside Birmingham,

Back to Acmar…

Acmar was made up of hills and valleys, as I recall it. We lived on a hill and our outhouse was across the road. You could go down behind it on a trail that lead us to the school, which was on a fork in the road. Right took you to Annie Lee Road, into White’s Chapel. Left road took you to Acton Road where (my brother) Hugh lived and Minnie Lee’s Store (was there). There was maybe five houses on the hill where we lived, but down the in the valley, I called it, I can only remember one house, the Bosworth’s. My friend there was Charles Huey. Our mother must have been great friends because we had a lot of pictures together. Strange, but I can’t remember us talking to each other. I bet he always thought to himself, “here comes that old girls again”. He has a tall, handsome brother, who my second sister had a crush on. He went into the Army. Our family was always hoping that they would become sweethearts and marry but my oldest sister had her eye on a tall guy named Jack Taul. She was seventeen and he was twenty-three. They did marry and there seemed to be some trouble from then on because of drinking. They had a son born within the house that we lived in (while living) in Markeeta. They divorced a few years later.

I was in a play at the community center. I remember standing in a dark place on some steps waiting my turn to go in with a paper dress on. I don’t (remember) what it was about except some moo cows at Christmas. There was a Christmas program for miners and their families. The Army band was there one time. Each family received a a basket with fruit, candy, nuts, a toy for small children babies.

My sister Mavis and Jack lived in an old store. We had to go up a trail, there was no road, to get there from the commissary. Jack worked in the mines. When he came in from work he would put his arms behind his back and say “I got my girls something. Guess what it is”. Of course we would say candy. What else could be back there? Hershey Bars?  He didn’t like working in the mines because his dad was killed there when [the a young boy from the bridge by the community center was], the road leading to our house. The Smith’s lived on that road. You could see in their windows, so close to the road. I can only remember two siblings there. Elizabeth (Theo’s friend). Son Clifford, I think, a little guy. Many years later he became Mark Martin’s (Janet’s friend) stepfather.

There wasn’t much going on in Acmar. Charles Huey was my only friend. I was only four or five and stayed under the house most of the time. Mama dressed me in all white to have my picture taken, then she had to get me out from under the house and wash me off a few times because the man was late. (In the picture) I am sitting on an old chest with a finger in my shoe that was bothering me. I maybe have this mixed up with my daughter Lida. Her shoes were bother her too, on the steps of our house on President Street in Leeds.

I started kindergarten and had to walk to school with Nell and other kids. Then (we moved) on down the road to our new home in Markeeta. Still had no car but I guess it was a shorter walk work for dad……

 Where Her Words Grow Quiet

The journal trails off from there.

Not because she ran out of stories—but because time simply caught up with her.

She was in and out of the hospital, spending more days in recovery than at home, and it became too difficult for her to keep writing. That part still sits heavy with me. Not because she didn’t finish—but because I know how much more she had to say.

You see, my mom didn’t just tell stories… she performed them.

When she talked about Acmar or Markeeta, you could almost see it—the hills, the dusty roads, the little houses tucked into places most folks would drive right past today. She’d laugh mid-sentence, add sound effects, wave her hands like she was directing a play only she could see.

And me?

I didn’t always have the good sense to hit the record button when she started.

So what I have now are pieces… fragments… the tail ends of stories that started long before I thought to preserve them. I still go back and listen to those recordings from time to time. Not for the facts—but for her. The way she laughed. The way she brought those memories to life like they were happening all over again.

One More Conversation

I find myself thinking about her more these days. Not in a sad way… well, maybe a little of that… but mostly in a grateful way. Grateful that she tried to leave us something. Grateful that I still have her voice, even if only in pieces. And grateful for the stories—both the ones she wrote down… and the many she carried with her. I look forward to the day—somewhere beyond all this—when I can sit with her again. No rush. No interruptions. Just me, listening… while she smiles, laughs, and picks right back up where she left off.