Friends of the Restoration
Chronicling the lives of those who have impacted the Restoration Movement
Recent Finds
Benjamin F. Taylor - 1878-1987
December/14/2009 12:05
I was doing research on the men who spoke on the Annual Bible Lectureship at Freed-Hardeman College. I have memorials for 31 speakers posted at www.findagrave.com. I came across a speaker named Ben Taylor who spoke at the FHC lectures in January 1942. After some research I found a wealth of information about this gospel preacher who lived for almost 109 years. What touched me most were his writings and poems. For those of us who would rather visit a cemetery more than anything else, I think we can identify with what he wrote in 1955 after a visit to the cemetery.
A PICTURE IN A TOMBSTONE
Alone I wandered through the village church yard and looked upon row after row of ancient stones. The destructive hand of time has made much of the carving unreadable. Gravestones are like the clothes we wear and the houses we build. They change their shapes and styles with the change of generations. Hence I could well trace the boundaries of the first Silent City, and too, I could trace additional areas added as death made its grim demands. Now the population of this well kept green-sward is far greater than those living in the village.
That day I wandered alone. I had been there many times before, but not alone. I had been there again and again amid flowers when subdued sobs could be heard and staining tears could be seen; when caskets were lowered and graves were filled; when companions went home alone; when children went away orphans and when parenthood suffered the bitter toll of humanity. These solemn adieus leave scars on human hearts.
I left the original Platt to visit silently among the dust of those of my own generation and the generation before me. I walked slowly and stepped softly upon the green sod, pausing oft to read a name and dates, then to carefully remove the dust of the years from picture after picture in memory's gallery. I could not, neither did I try, resist silent meditation. These had lived and our lives had touched. Our mutual love for Christ; our mutual interest in the simplicity that is in Christ; our mutual devotion in worship linked our hearts in edifying fellowship and we enjoyed the nectar of brotherly love. These have met the challenge of life and have gone the way of all the earth. These have gone, we trust, into a brighter clime where the spirits of just men are made perfect. My heart was filled with happy anticipation of the reunion of the redeemed in Christ.
Again I was to pass through the area of pioneer dust. I stood silently before the grave of Bro JL Martin, a southern Indiana pioneer preacher, well known and much beloved. They made his grave while the spring flowers were blooming in 1871. No one now lives who wept at his casket.
I was attracted by and to a lone grave stone protected from all intruders by a fence of iron leaded in stone. This grave stone marks the resting place of a girl who closed her eyes when but thirteen years of age. They hollowed her bed of clay in the trying days of 1862. It was not the name, nor the age, neither the date of the year that held me spellbound for a moment. Above the name is a well carved niche in which Elizabeth's picture is sealed. After ninety and more years of heat and cold; of rain and sleet; of night and day, I looked upon the likeness of a fair maiden. Her dust has not felt the cold touch of kindred ashes. Elizabeth sleeps alone. How very dearly she must have been loved at home for parenthood to do all within their power to protect and to keep alive the memory of their daughter. Her parents' generation and that of her own have felt the chilly waters of that Jordan which have unceasingly flowed from Abel across the generations of Adam's race and shall continue until time shall be no more. No visitors come to her grave except, perchance some stranger, as I, stop a moment out of curiosity.
It may be that now and then a bird finds perch on the cold iron fence and warbles a song of cheer or some trailing arbutus creeps in to blossom an assurance of the coming resurrection. Such is the fate of humanity. We live, we endeavor, we sleep and new generations know us not. Let us turn from memories of the pleasurable past; from thoughts of tears and farewells; to that future day when death shall be vanquished; when mortality shall be swallowed up of life; when the grave shall present it's harvest. In that day the bodies of the redeemed in Christ shall be replicas of His own glorious body. All of the redeemed in Christ shall be crowned and all tongues will be tuned to sing of Moses and of the Lamb. What unspeakable riches await the Redeemed in Christ.
Ben F Taylor
Martinsburg Cemetery
Here is a link to Ben Taylor's memorial on www.findagrave.com.
Here is a link to J. L. Martin's grave at www.findagrave.com.
A PICTURE IN A TOMBSTONE
Alone I wandered through the village church yard and looked upon row after row of ancient stones. The destructive hand of time has made much of the carving unreadable. Gravestones are like the clothes we wear and the houses we build. They change their shapes and styles with the change of generations. Hence I could well trace the boundaries of the first Silent City, and too, I could trace additional areas added as death made its grim demands. Now the population of this well kept green-sward is far greater than those living in the village.
That day I wandered alone. I had been there many times before, but not alone. I had been there again and again amid flowers when subdued sobs could be heard and staining tears could be seen; when caskets were lowered and graves were filled; when companions went home alone; when children went away orphans and when parenthood suffered the bitter toll of humanity. These solemn adieus leave scars on human hearts.
I left the original Platt to visit silently among the dust of those of my own generation and the generation before me. I walked slowly and stepped softly upon the green sod, pausing oft to read a name and dates, then to carefully remove the dust of the years from picture after picture in memory's gallery. I could not, neither did I try, resist silent meditation. These had lived and our lives had touched. Our mutual love for Christ; our mutual interest in the simplicity that is in Christ; our mutual devotion in worship linked our hearts in edifying fellowship and we enjoyed the nectar of brotherly love. These have met the challenge of life and have gone the way of all the earth. These have gone, we trust, into a brighter clime where the spirits of just men are made perfect. My heart was filled with happy anticipation of the reunion of the redeemed in Christ.
Again I was to pass through the area of pioneer dust. I stood silently before the grave of Bro JL Martin, a southern Indiana pioneer preacher, well known and much beloved. They made his grave while the spring flowers were blooming in 1871. No one now lives who wept at his casket.
I was attracted by and to a lone grave stone protected from all intruders by a fence of iron leaded in stone. This grave stone marks the resting place of a girl who closed her eyes when but thirteen years of age. They hollowed her bed of clay in the trying days of 1862. It was not the name, nor the age, neither the date of the year that held me spellbound for a moment. Above the name is a well carved niche in which Elizabeth's picture is sealed. After ninety and more years of heat and cold; of rain and sleet; of night and day, I looked upon the likeness of a fair maiden. Her dust has not felt the cold touch of kindred ashes. Elizabeth sleeps alone. How very dearly she must have been loved at home for parenthood to do all within their power to protect and to keep alive the memory of their daughter. Her parents' generation and that of her own have felt the chilly waters of that Jordan which have unceasingly flowed from Abel across the generations of Adam's race and shall continue until time shall be no more. No visitors come to her grave except, perchance some stranger, as I, stop a moment out of curiosity.
It may be that now and then a bird finds perch on the cold iron fence and warbles a song of cheer or some trailing arbutus creeps in to blossom an assurance of the coming resurrection. Such is the fate of humanity. We live, we endeavor, we sleep and new generations know us not. Let us turn from memories of the pleasurable past; from thoughts of tears and farewells; to that future day when death shall be vanquished; when mortality shall be swallowed up of life; when the grave shall present it's harvest. In that day the bodies of the redeemed in Christ shall be replicas of His own glorious body. All of the redeemed in Christ shall be crowned and all tongues will be tuned to sing of Moses and of the Lamb. What unspeakable riches await the Redeemed in Christ.
Ben F Taylor
Martinsburg Cemetery
Here is a link to Ben Taylor's memorial on www.findagrave.com.
Here is a link to J. L. Martin's grave at www.findagrave.com.
E. C. McDougle
August/08/2009 12:34
E. C. McDougle served for five years at Georgia Robertson Christian College as Co-President with A. G. Freed and later as President. When the school closed in 1907, he reportedly moved all the contents to Kentucky. He was born in Meigs County, Ohio, on the 16 March, 1867 and he died 11 Feb 1958 in Richmond, Madison Co., KY. He is buried in Richmond Cemetery, Richmond, Madison County, Kentucky, USA. The grave is located in Section O Lot 33. There is an extended bio at http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GSln=mcdougle&GSfn=earnest&GSmn=c&GSbyrel=in&GSdyrel=in&GSob=n&GRid=40286506& along with credit for the photos.
Poor Mississippi Preacher
July/31/2009 12:37
The photo shows Al Price next to the grave of Mary Fuqua, mother of E. C. Fuqua. Birth: March 3, 1838; Death: November 26, 1900. Inscription: Wife of Nathan Fuqua & mother of Edward C. Fuqua. For more info, go to http://freed-hardeman.com/buriedinms/page177/page177.html The following letter was written to Walter Howell of Middleton, TN. His daughter, Mrs. Gerald (Gail) Mills, gave me a copy of the letter.
E. C. Fuqua, 5404 Dartmouth, Fort Worth, Texas
Dear Brother Howell:
Your interesting letter and check for $5.00 just received, with sincere thanks for both. Especially my remembrance to Bro. Gus Dunn and his one visit to my Negro Cabin Home in Mississippi. Bro. Dunn and I were both preaching the Gospel around Water Valley, Miss and so far as I knew I was alone--until Gus knocked on my cabin door.
A typical Negro cabin had just one small room, one door, no window, and a "stick and dirt" chimney that we could never warm by--it would catch fire easily. My mother and my Wife tried to live in such a cabin. We had only one bed and Mother had to have that. Wife and I slept on the floor. Mother died a short time before Bro. Dunn visited us.
The cemetery was about 200 yards from my cabin door. I had no horse and no buggy. I preached at Hatton, Miss. 6 months, to the small bunch that attended. From my cabin it was 11 miles to Hatton. I walked the distance (22) miles never failing to show up for services. Some times it was raining. One time I remember I became so sleepy that I pulled high broom sage and made me a bed and never waked up until the sun was up (my Wife was frantic when I did not get home as I never failed before). So far as I can now remember I never received one penny for that 6 months preaching, but a Bro. Hughes came to see me and brought a dozen eggs; and I was given credit at a store to the extent of a small "side of bacon." The eggs and bacon were assembled just a few hours before Gus Dunn knocked on my door. (Was that Providential?) Anyhow, that is how Gus got dinner that day! Bro. Dunn stayed till most night, and we counted our blessings and went to bed (and the floor). The bacon left from supper we put away carefully. But that night, while we were sleeping a mountain Lion came in and tried to carry our bacon to his lair. He got the piece but could not get it through the half-door; the rest he left for us, A couple of neighborhood boys the next day went hunting for that Lion and treed it in a tall sweet-gum. From head to tail that Lion measured 9 feet. In my walks 6 months I feared contact with other beasts but was never actually attacked.
In "sticability" it cost a lot to hold a meeting under such circumstances. No money was exchanged, for there wasn't any; it was dire suffering most of the time. Before moving to this Negro cabin we rented (?) another Negro cabin, at Paris, Miss. It was, to be accurate, a cow shed.
Mother was then living but in very poor health. She was given our only bed and Wife and I slept on the floor, or shreds of corn stalks for a Mattress. Hunger again stalked us until I remembered a Sister some 10 miles away had asked if we needed any food. I kissed my Wife and Mother and marched into the darkness. It was raining. After midnight I reached that Sister home and knocked on the door. When she and her husband heard my voice they dressed and came out. I told my story and they took me to the smokehouse and took down a small sideĀ of bacon to take home to a hungry wife and mother in the cow-shed, But when I got home with the bacon there was nothing in the way of food to go with it. So we three ate bacon (minus). I was preaching every night, some 5 or 6 miles from my cow-shed home, and walking as usual.
This account of some of my struggles haunted me for 3 whole years; and I suspect that Bro. Dunn had like success-- if that word truly expresses the situation. I baptized many people and I am quite sure it was not without suffering that attended those baptisms. God knows.
Brother Howell. I'm thankful that you are not suffering so much, and that you will soon be well again. Your checks are deeply appreciated; and while I am not preaching any more, I am all the more appreciate the spirit of your letter. I would like to hear from Br. Dunn.
Yours in Christ Jesus.
E. C. Fuqua
P. S.-I may miss in figures to a small extent, but of facts I am sure and I daily pray for those who, in face of adversity, have sacrificed for Christ and His wonderful Gospel. Utterly unworthy of praise or even thanks, I look forward in love. E. C. F.
Bro Dunn, please return this as I would like to keep it. Thank you. W. H.
Let us be faithful to the end. G. A. D.
Charts by Charles Coil
July/22/2009 14:32
Chris Coil loaned me 17 of his dad's sermon charts. I have photographed them and they will be available on a CD which contains over 1,000 photos of sermon charts. A special thanks to Chris for sharing the charts.
Photos from W. H. Bloomingburg
November/05/2008 14:51
Wendell Bloomingburg taught for many years at Freed-Hardeman. I had him for Bible Geography in 1966. My class went on a Restoration Tour in 1978 and he was the tour guide. He recently lost his wife, Mary, and has since moved into an assisted living facility in Henderson. His son recently allowed me to have some of his restoration notes and photos. He had framed a photo of brother and sister Larimore. They are photos I have never seen before. Comment from FJ: "The photo of the sixteen (16) young men was taken at Thorp Spring Christian College. The 2nd man standing (looking from the left) is Foy E. Wallace, Jr. This photo was used in the Wallace biography and all sixteen young men are identified."
V. P. Black
March/12/2007 15:40
V. P. Black is buried at Greenwood Cemetery in Montgomery, AL. His grave is in the Garden of Christus, section 8A, Lot 154. As you enter the cemetery, go to the top of the hill and turn right at the towers. Go to the bottom of the hill and the grave is on the left about ten deep from the road.
V. P. Black - Senior at Freed-Hardeman College - 1942
Campbellite Cemtery
September/08/2005 15:20
CAMPBELLITE CHURCH CEMETERY
Located in northwest corner of Getwell and Byhalia Roads. Rge 7W.TWp 25, Sect 33.Southeast corner of Sect. 33. Surrounded by a steel fence.
CRAWFORD Oliver Lee 1898-1913
s/o Oliver and Sarah
VAIDEN Virginia H 1835-1913
w/o P F 1833-1883
(Name on stone sp VADEN)
JONES J T 1841-1928
George 1877-1896
Mary S Robertson 1843-1914
w/o J F Jones
POUNDERS L J 1841-1906
w/o J T
The old Campbellite Church has long since disappeared but the little iron fence still protects memory of this pioneer family. Peter F. Vaden and his wife Virginia Hester Jones brought their seven children as they left Nottoway County, Virginia to come to DeSoto Co., Miss at the close of the Civil War. They build a two story log dog-trot type house 1/2 miles south of the site of the cemetery. Peter and his family were early members of the Campbellite Church which was named for a Mr. Campbell, the pastor. Peter served as church treasurer for many years. Peter and Virginia were blessed with the birth of two additional children after they moved to Mississippi. The Jones family buried here were Virginia Hester Jones brother, his wife, and his son. DeSoto Cemetery Incriptions, Bell and Scott, ed., 59, Copied by Roland I. Lyons March 1983. The cemetery is located north-east of Hernando, and south-west of Olive Branch, Miss. on Highway 304. It is on my list of cemeteries to visit when gasoline gets a little more reasonable. TLC
Located in northwest corner of Getwell and Byhalia Roads. Rge 7W.TWp 25, Sect 33.Southeast corner of Sect. 33. Surrounded by a steel fence.
CRAWFORD Oliver Lee 1898-1913
s/o Oliver and Sarah
VAIDEN Virginia H 1835-1913
w/o P F 1833-1883
(Name on stone sp VADEN)
JONES J T 1841-1928
George 1877-1896
Mary S Robertson 1843-1914
w/o J F Jones
POUNDERS L J 1841-1906
w/o J T
The old Campbellite Church has long since disappeared but the little iron fence still protects memory of this pioneer family. Peter F. Vaden and his wife Virginia Hester Jones brought their seven children as they left Nottoway County, Virginia to come to DeSoto Co., Miss at the close of the Civil War. They build a two story log dog-trot type house 1/2 miles south of the site of the cemetery. Peter and his family were early members of the Campbellite Church which was named for a Mr. Campbell, the pastor. Peter served as church treasurer for many years. Peter and Virginia were blessed with the birth of two additional children after they moved to Mississippi. The Jones family buried here were Virginia Hester Jones brother, his wife, and his son. DeSoto Cemetery Incriptions, Bell and Scott, ed., 59, Copied by Roland I. Lyons March 1983. The cemetery is located north-east of Hernando, and south-west of Olive Branch, Miss. on Highway 304. It is on my list of cemeteries to visit when gasoline gets a little more reasonable. TLC
Mrs. Gus Nichols
August/12/2005 15:17
The World Evangelist -- 1972-2004
Basil Overton published The World Evangelist from August 1972 until May 2004. A one time, it was one the largest circulated publications among churches of Christ. It was with sadness, we learned that it would not longer be available.
Through the kindness of brother Overton, he is making it possible for the paper to be preserved and made even more useful. He has agreed to allow the paper to be scanned and put into PDF format. A special scanner was purchased to accommodate the 11x17 format. Five years of the paper has already been scanned. James Farris delivered the remaining issues to Henderson on Friday, August 12. In a few weeks, all the issues should be scanned and formatted in PDF format. We hope to have it available to the public in less than a month. The CD / DVD will sell for $25. The Freed-Hardeman Bible Bookstore will handle the sales and all profits will go to Freed-Hardeman. The generosity of the Overtons in their support of Christian education is commendable.
While I am pleased with the possibility of using the World Evangelist as a research source, I am very excited that brother Overton has also made available hundreds of photographs that he used in the publication of The World Evangelist. The photo on this page of sister Matilda Nichols, wife of brother Gus Nichols, is only one of the precious photos in the Overton collection. While it will be longer and slower process to scan and catalogue the photos, we are excited about the preservation and wider circulation of these valuable materials.
--- Tom L. Childers
www.freed-hardeman.com
Cat Corner
July/05/2005 15:14
William Boyd of Greensboro, NC recently wrote in an email:
"While preaching in Rives, Tennessee I remember hearing that "Cat Corner" in Southwest Obion County received it's name after someone threw a cat through the window while John R. Williams was preaching. A church was still meeting there at the time."
Anybody know where Cat Corner is located and anything about the church?
Tom
Here is an email from Ken Willis who preaches in Morrison, Tenn.
Tom,
Just looked at your restoration website today & the note about "Cat Corner". I preached there once a month during my student days at Freed-Hardeman. It is the Rehoboth congregation in the Cat Corner communiity. It was a thriving community at the time with a busy cotton gin, community store, and lots of share croppers. The cotton gin is gone & most of the share cropper houses, but the little congregation is still there. It is on the road from Newbern (Lane's Ferry Road to the Obion River, then on toward Reelfoot Lake.
The next time I visit my aged mother (now 88 & still liviing alone) I'll try to get the name of that road. It is just a few miles from "Do Drop", which is just an intersection now. Formerly stores, etc.
Ken
"While preaching in Rives, Tennessee I remember hearing that "Cat Corner" in Southwest Obion County received it's name after someone threw a cat through the window while John R. Williams was preaching. A church was still meeting there at the time."
Anybody know where Cat Corner is located and anything about the church?
Tom
Here is an email from Ken Willis who preaches in Morrison, Tenn.
Tom,
Just looked at your restoration website today & the note about "Cat Corner". I preached there once a month during my student days at Freed-Hardeman. It is the Rehoboth congregation in the Cat Corner communiity. It was a thriving community at the time with a busy cotton gin, community store, and lots of share croppers. The cotton gin is gone & most of the share cropper houses, but the little congregation is still there. It is on the road from Newbern (Lane's Ferry Road to the Obion River, then on toward Reelfoot Lake.
The next time I visit my aged mother (now 88 & still liviing alone) I'll try to get the name of that road. It is just a few miles from "Do Drop", which is just an intersection now. Formerly stores, etc.
Ken
Grave of Only Child of David Lipscomb
June/25/2005 15:06
The son of David and Margaret Zellner Lipscomb is buried in the Hughes Cemetery in Maury County, Tenn.
To view photo go to FindAGrave.com.
Directions: while traveling east on Highway 412 bypass around Columbia, turn left on Highway 7 (Santa Fe Pike), and go two miles. Look for a gate and old barn on the left. Go through three gates and follow the lane to the top of the hill. There is a wrought iron gate around the cemetery. I suggest you stop at the house nearby and obtain permission from the owner to go onto the private property.