Memories of Miss Etheline

Today, as I tidied my office (an occasional experience, I admit), a letter fell out of a pile of papers. It was a letter written by my mother’s good friend, Etheline Wilkinson, a strong Christian woman who lived near my parents. She was always impoverished but never showed it in either her spirit or her generosity. She was so witty that we all enjoyed being around her. When we picked her up to go to church, we knew we were ready for a laugh. (Though she was married to our dear Mr. Jess, I was taught to give the title “Miss” before the first name of any of my parents’ adult female friends.)

On every anniversary that Mother and Daddy celebrated, Miss Etheline would say, “[Any number since 1943] years with that woman there? No wonder the man has lost his hair!” Changing the year each time did not make it less funny to her. The last time she said it: “Thirty-one years with that woman there? No wonder the man has lost his hair!”

Many things made Miss Etheline laugh, just as she made others laugh. One of her favorites was a column in the Goodlettsville Gazette. For years, the heading in the weekly newspaper column was “Billy the Goat’s Tales of Two Towns.” Miss Etheline would read that folksy column and roar with laughter. I’m not sure how she first knew about it, since we were about 20 miles (with no interstate highways) from Goodlettsville, but she and the folks at the local general store couldn’t wait to get to it each week when the paper arrived.

She often pondered over who the writer could be, though she assumed it was someone she didn’t know. What my family knew was that it was written by my maternal grandfather, Luther D. Ralph, Sr. In later years, he added L.D.R. to the byline. He wrote the weekly column from 1949-1976.

When she found out who wrote it, she was “tickled pink.” She knew that Granddaddy had a birthday coming up, so she asked my mother to take a letter from her to Billy the Goat, and of course my mother complied. I’m guessing Mother took it after Granddaddy read it, for I found the letter with my mother’s mementos. The paper is yellowed and the writing has faded, but here is what it said, with no corrections:

Dear Billy,

    I hope you have a mighty fine birthday.

    I like to read your article in the Gazette. Can’t afford your paper any more on my Socail Security, but I don’t have to. My neighbor lets me read hers. When are you a-going to have a half price sale again on that paper?

    By the way, I have one neightbor that used to live at your house. You call her Florence Nightingale but I call her Job—you know Job had lotsa troubles so I just call her Job and tell her to use her patience. Ever day she has a new trouble the cows are out, the car won’t start, trouble with you or some other old codger and she is really a modern day Job. I’m one of Job’s friend and I call her to cheer her up.

    If you can find a young handsome widower, strong too, down there somewhere, that wants to take care of an old, crippled, overweight widow send him up my way. I don’t want any old ones.

                                 Yours truly as ever,
Etheline Wilkinson

P.S. Just any old deer or old coon will do.

She was right about my mother having the problems she mentioned—not only on the farm, but with all the old folks she helped. She took my grandfather to the doctor so often that he started calling her “Florence Nightingale.” She was a great blessing to all she helped, and she often said that Miss Etheline’s humor helped her get through her challenging days.

So I packaged the ancient (by now the 1950s are ancient!) letter and sent it to her daughter, Sue. Sue is ten years older than I am and eleven years younger than my mother, so we’ve both always claimed her as a friend, and she was a true and helpful friend to Mother. In these dark, drab days of winter, I hope that little glimpse into the past will make Sue’s day brighter as her mother always made ours.