Fond Memories Of Franklin Al.

Anybody can make a post on social media about Franklin, Al and immediately there will be dozens of others that will respond. Franklin, is a place that holds a lot of memories for a lot of people. In fact, it is amazing to me how many people from all walks of life are touched in some way by the quaint little village in North Monroe County Al. There are rich, poor, black, white, and other demographics of people that all hold fond memories of Franklin.

I was born in 1957 and from my youngest memories my father drove a truck for Franklin Gin Company, for Mr. Paul Hybart, and farmed. During the time of the year when the gin was not running, he hauled various other things beside those associated with the gin, Lumber from Vredenburgh Sawmill being one. When the gin was running, from the best of my recollection anyway, he was either hauling or at the gin helping with the running of the gin.

As a very little boy in the early 1960’s I can remember going to the gin and watching the gin work. I remember the wagons pulling in under the shed where there was this big pipe that would suction the cotton up out of the wagons. There were wagons that would be pulled by pickups to the gin. There were even some that was hauled in with mule drawn wagons also. How many and so forth I do not remember but I do remember them being there.

There would at times be a long line sitting there waiting. I remember that there were even pickup trucks that people would have side bodies on them, and they would be loaded with cotton as well. Many would be sitting in line waiting their turn to unload. I can remember us going to the gin at night even and there a line of trucks and wagons waiting. I do not know how late it ran.

One thing I remember distinctly was that many of the wagons and side bodies on the pickups had a board that stuck out the back that was securely fastened to the side. I remember being in the fields where people were picking cotton and they would use long heavy sacks. They would have this wooden board sticking out the back and it would be high enough off the ground that they would hang the scales on it and weigh the cotton as the people who picked cotton came in. The sacks were weighted, and records were kept in a ledger book. That is how the workers were paid. They were paid by the pound. I was too little to pick but I remember it like it was yesterday in many ways. 

The workers would come in and weigh up at the end of the row and get water out of a keg that had a dipper that hung beside it. Then they would go on another row. It seems like in the fields I was with them picking that, the person weighing the cotton would move to the other end of the field. By doing that once the pickers had weighted their cotton they would not have to drag as much weight to make a round trip. 

When the gin was running my father hauled cotton seed to Montgomery, I think I remember. As I stated earlier. When he was not hauling, he would be at the gin working. He was good at many skills and would be involved with the record keeping and taking samples of bales and so forth. Of course, when the seed house filled he would be hauling. On occasion I had the opportunity to watch the folks bring their cotton. Then the gin would suck it in. After that a bale would be made. Then the person would come up and get a ticket for the bale. I have seen men that could take two cotton hooks and back up to a bale and hook it and pick it up and walk off with it. A bale weighted 500 pounds. Quite a feat.

The bales were stored to the side. Then there was a black man named Tookie or something similar that would drive a big flatbed truck somewhere, Selma I think, and haul the bales. 

Tookie only had one arm. I will never forget that. He could drive a truck and do about anything anybody else could do but had only one arm. My dad always said that the only thing Tookie could not do with his one arm that anybody else could was push a loaded wheelbarrow. I know that me being a small kid he always fascinated me.

When the seed house filled at the gin, my dad would load the truck he drove which was a B61 Mack with a trailer. On several occasions I have ridden with him in the truck. Although I did not get to go to Montgomery or wherever he was taking the load, I did on many occasions get to ride back to the house. 

Our house was six miles north of the gin right on the highway. As a little kid, I was in Hog Heaven riding in that truck with my dad. To this day I can be driving North on hwy 41 and when I start off the mountain North of Franklin I can still picture in my mind my dad. I can still see him driving that two stick Mack. I can still in my mind’s eye see that left arm down through the steering wheel on one shift lever and the right hand on the other one making that shift where both levers had to be shifted. I can still hear the sound of that old Mack engine. I can still smell the smell of diesel burning and everything associated with that ride. At times it is like I am still doing it 60 years later.

At the top of the hill going north out of Franklin I remember there was a house on the right. It was a lady named Minnie Bayles. I remember our family would visit them from time to time. She had a son named Charles that was about the age of my father and my uncle. They had a telephone. In fact theirs was the closest phone to our house. They would allow my family to use the phone if they needed to make a call. Their yard was always manicured from the best I can remember. Minnie Bayles loved flowers and my grandmother did too so they always had something to talk about and cuttings to share.

I also remember that right beside Minnie Bayles driveway there was what appeared to be a small store that had long since been closed. There was a man that lived there who was named Frank. He was, from what I remember being told, from Czechoslovakia, or some country in Europe. He spoke with a very strong accent of some kind anyway. I was always fascinated by him as well. As a child I have never experienced anybody that talked different from the local people. 

I also remember going into Mr. John Rutherford’s Store. I will never forget that one either. So many things in that store. It seems like there was a ladder in there that ran on a track or something that could be pushed so that it was moved to be climbed to take stock off the shelves or put it back on. 

I remember looking upstairs from the inside and seeing caskets sitting up there. That always amazed me that they had them. I never got to go up there and examine one up-close, but I always wanted to.

One other thing about that store was there was a drink box that always had water standing in it. That was when the canned drinks had to be opened with a can opener. My dad called it “a church key”. There were also some cans about that time that had a pull top but it was the one that the whole piece pulled out.

I remember one time going to Mr. Rutherford’s store with my Grandfather House who was a pulpwooder. He stopped by the house one afternoon and picked me up and took me to get a cold drink. He and Mr. John were sitting on the porch of the store. There was an air hose on the porch. I was playing with the air hose, and it started blowing air and I could not get it to stop. He and Mr. John laughed at me and rapped it on the edge of the porch, and it stopped.

I remember also down the road from the store was a man named Ellie Deer or something like that. I can in my minds eye as they say still see him in his old Chevy pickup coming by the house going to Camden to check on his cows.

There were many, many others that I remembered. I know that some of the fondest childhood memories I have hinge around Franklin and the surrounding area. It is still a special place for me to go through and bring back memories of my childhood.

As with countless others I have come in contact with over the decades I was blessed to have the experiences of being a child associated with Franklin, Alabama.