Ex-Slave, Glasglow's Oldest Resident? "Babe" Recalls the Civil
War
Courtesy Barren Black’s Roots, Volume 3, Michaelle
Gorin Burris,
Gorin Genealogical Publishing,
(c) May 1993. By permission. Original source unknown, likely the
Glasgow Times.
“At the age of a hundred and some odd years, J. T.
“Babe” Franklin was starting out in the mid-afternoon heat of Friday
afternoon,
September 8, to harvest his tobacco crop.
“However, Franklin, who probably is Barren County’s
oldest citizen, bowed to request of interviewers and seated on the
front porch of his Honeysuckle Lane home told of people, places and
incidents he recalls during his long life since the days when he was
born in slavery in Macon County, Tennessee.
“Franklin, who says his mother never gave him a name but just called
him “Baby”. (a cognomen he retained untill well into boyhood
when Major James Tompkins instructed her to give him his name),
James Tompkins Franklin, later shortened to “J. T.”, admits he isn’t
sure exactly how old he is, but is sure he well over a hundred.
“One of his earliest memories, he declared, is hearing the rumble of
distant artillery during one of the Civil War campaigns, and he says
he was at that time “old enough to pick up chips for the fire and to
carry a water bucket.” But, he added, “I just have to guess at my
age; the records are all burnt up.”
“At any rate, the undeniable very aged man is in remarkably good
physical condition, though he shuffles as he walks due to a “misery”
in his legs. His “second eyesight” came to him two years ago, he
states, and his hearing appears excellent. However, prolonged
conversation does tend to cause nervousness, and an occasional
fainting spell, his wife states. But this year, in addition to
helping in his tobacco patch, he has cultivated his own garden.
“His memory for names, especially of the long ago, is so tenacious
that a listener soon becomes a trifle confused by the outpouring of
family names and family histories.
“Briefly, when he was a boy, in the Civil War era he and his mother
and an older brother lived on the John Bratton farm near Akersville,
while his father was owned by Sam Franklin and lived on a farm some
miles away. His owner gave him permission each two weeks to visit
his wife and sons, Franklin said. “Babe” appeared to have been quite
fond and rather proud of his older brother, who he says was a school
teacher, lawyer (well enough versed that other attorneys asked his
advice) and singing teacher. The brother died of lockjaw while
working in Indianapolis, many years ago.
His Civil War memories, and his slightly unusual interpretation of
some of the politics involved in that conflict, are subjects to
which he recurs repeatedly in his conversation. He heard the sound
of cannon twice, he says, adding one time it was at the battle of
Chattanooga, the other than of the battle of Nashville. He also
recalls that during his very early boyhood he saw groups of Negro
slaves being marched down Tennessee roads by buyers en-route to new
homes, and that the feet of some were bloody from long marching over
the rocky roads.
“During the war, he adds, Confederate soldiers often passed in “big
droves” and “used to put up in our (Bratton’s) place.”
“Babe” says he and his parents lived on the Franklin farm three
years after the war, building a cabin there, and that Franklin gave
his former slaves a share-cropper status. He can recite each
successive move of the family through the following decades of
farming: to the “Major Seay” place 300 yards from Franklin’s; to the
Bart Stone place on the road to Glasgow; then to a Celsor farm;
thence to another Celsor’s; then to Flippin area where his father
bought land from the “Harrison Heirs” because the farmer on whose
land they had been living attempted to dictate to his sharecroppers
how they should vote in the Grover Cleveland election. On this 50
acres of timberland, he recalls, there was a huge Indian mound area
composed of mussel shells, bones and other debris at an old Indian
camping ground on “Goodman Branch” where “Indian spikes” were
everywhere. The family built a cabin near this camp site. However,
the Franklin family were frequent movers, averaging about three
years at a location, though at one place they lived with a man whose
wife had died and helped him raise his children till they were near
grown.” Finally, after a last period of farming on a Sam Hudson’s
farm near Puncheon, “Babe’s” father gave up agriculture and went
into blacksmithing, and worked at that trade the rest of his life.
“Babe” remained with his parents until he was “about 32”, he says,
and was married about 1889 (though he was very vague on this date,
confessing that a “whole lot of things I’ve done clean forgot and
can’t remember”) to Miss Lizzie Ellen Brown. However, he says he
distinctly remembers they were married “in the Lafayette courthouse
door” and that he financed the wedding with ten dollars loaned him
by a Mr. Ed Gillenwater. His bride, he says, was 14 years old, and
“we’ve been together ever since.” Mrs. Franklin, listening inside
the door of their residence while her husband told his story, also
said she was uncertain of the date. As a sidelight on this marriage
Franklin states he still possesses a bedstead he purchased when he
and his bride set up housekeeping.
“Franklin was a farmer on various farms until 1922 when he moved to
Glasgow, and continued farming for several years after that, and “I
worked at everything.”
“He is the father of five children, “two boys and three girls” but
they all gone from home and they are getting pretty agey now, too,
and they all work.”
“He added that he had eight brothers and sisters, but only two of
them survive, both in bad health, and both in Indianapolis.
“Upon request, he brought forth (attached to his big gold-cased
railroad watch which was in the trousers he’d removed when dressing
in work clothes for his tobacco patch chores), and displayed a
lengthy fob made of hand-carved mother of pearl medallions. These,
he explained, he carved from big mussell shells, adding that his
best sample, a fish “with all the scales on it”, had been lost while
he was fishing in Barren River. The pearl medallions are mostly in
the form of profile human heads and are very artistically shaped.
“At this point, the strain of attempting to bring into focus the
memories and dates of more than a century of living apparently
became too great a strain on his nerves and Franklin began to sob
softly while tears ran down his cheeks. The interview was
immediately terminated, and Franklin was left, an old, old man
seated on his porch, fingering his carvings and lost in his
memories.”
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