20 Years Ago
Week of October 17, 2002
Goes Along with
The Beauty of Autumn
Autumn is a lady of many moods. She can be warm, bright and inviting one day, or change quickly to a dark day. The recent rains have washed the slopes clean of the dryness of the the drought. Gone are the hummingbirds with their bright wings and quick darting flight. Most of the gardens are gone; and fodder shocks are appearing. Piles of orange pumpkins make a bright splash in fields and front yards. There is a certain sadness associated with the fall season, as one sees warm weather depart and knows that the cold days of winter are in the near future. It brings thoughts of one’s own mortality with the approaching autumn of one’s life. October is a blessing in these hills. To have four definite seasons here allows one to never get bored with the same type of weather all the time. If one has nothing but beautiful days, one could never appreciate the lush beauty of autumn.
The Silent Patients Speak
by Jim Davidson
Have you ever thought about the thousands of people in this country who spend countless hours confined to a bed in a hospital or a nursing home, who for one reason or another cannot speak for themselves or make their wishes known? If I had family or loved ones in this condition, I would want to know that the people who were taking care of them were thoughtful, tenderhearted and kind, especially in light of a touching article I read a while back.
This article was written by Anita Wildhaver, a registered nurse.
“Though we can’t speak, see, or move of our own will, we are living beings. We are your stroke patients, the brain damaged, and all your other patients who by illness or injury are locked inside the dark, silent shells of our bodies. We can’t cry out in pain or discomfort, regardless of how severe they are. We can’t express anger, despair, disgust, nor even happiness. But hear us, you walking, talking, feeling, doing beings. Some of us are aware. We hear, think and know. We are not living vegetables, nor do we think we would be “better off dead.” We still have enough self-respect to be embarrassed at hearing your conversation about your personal problems and your sex lives.”
“We are frightened by your conversations that relate the latest gossip about the questionable ability of the doctor who is responsible for our care, for his knowledge must be used to save us, if we are to ever recover. We feel shame at having our bodies exposed for any and all to see. It does matter to us that we lie in feces or urine for hours, and our muscles ache with pain from the strain of remaining in one position without being moved. We can feel our mouths filled with mucus, drying and caking to form ulcerated areas. We can feel the stomach cramps from ice cold tube feedings with all the speed and lack of concern of pouring water down the drain.”
“We can feel the pain of our skin breaking down from poor and careless nursing care. We can also feel joy — the joy derived from the firm, gentle touch of a person giving us good nursing care. We can rest more carefully when we are bathed, when our mouths and lips are cleansed, when our bodies are correctly positioned, when good skin care is given, when our beds are made neat and straight. We can appreciate being told when procedures are about to be done, before they are begun.”
30 Years Ago
Week of October 8, 1992
National Geographic News Service
Their saga began some 12,000 years ago when early big-game hunters emerged on the Great Plains south of the mile-thick ice sheets that covered the northern half of the continent.
The ancestors of the people whose ways of life were forever changed by Christopher Columbus’ landing in America in 1492 had come from Asia, after the ocean had retreated to lay bare a land bridge between Siberia and Alaska. Generation by generation, they migrated southward into what is now New Mexico, tracking wooly mammoths and other giant herbivores for food.
Eventually, the pressure of a rising population on limited wild resources forced some descendants of the earliest inhabitants of the Americas into the Four Corners region, where Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah join in an extravaganza of wide plateaus, sharp mesas and deep canyons.
“This was to become the heartland of the Pueblo ancestors, known to archaeologists as the Anasazi, whose spirits seem to pervade their many ruins,” Winifred Creamer writes in National Geographic.
Descendants of groups that lived in the Four Corners area are the modern Pueblo Indians, including the Hopi, the Zuni and the Tewa.
Named for today’s Clovis, N. M., the place where their chipped-flint spearheads were discovered, the Clovis people depended on the mammoth, which became extinct as the climate warmed. The later Folsom people, named for the place in New Mexico where their fluted spearheads were found, hunted the huge Bison antiquus in the increasingly dry Southwest.
The Anasazi peoples arose in the Four Corners region after the dispersal of the New Mexico groups around 3,000 B.C. It was this culture that left the fabulous cliff dwellings that astonish and delight tourists to this day.
Beginning around 1,000 B.C., the Anasazi experimented with horticulture. Over the next millennium they evolved from nomadic hunters and gatherers into farmers. By A.D. 500 they were growing corn, first domesticated in Mexico, along with beans and squash.
They settled in villages of two to 20 families, each living in a small pit house roofed with beams, thatch and mud. They learned to make beautiful baskets, to weave cloth of cotton and strips of fur and to craft distinctive pottery.
Typical of these prehistoric people were the Kayenta, who flourished from 700 to 1200. Life soon became more difficult. Changing rainfall patterns, soil erosion and a severe drought that peaked in the 1260s prompted the abandonment of many villages in the Kayenta heartland.
People began moving higher up the arable valleys and canyons. They clustered in satellite villages around pueblos of 75 to 400 rooms, housing 25 to 100 families.
40 Years Ago
Week of October 7, 1982
Many West Virginians Receive Treatment
At R. M. Hospital
A total of 1,132 West Virginia residents were in-patients at Rockingham Memorial Hospital, Harrisonburg, Va., in 1981. This accounted for nearly nine percent of the total admissions to the hospital in 1981. Of the 1,132 admittd from West Virginia, 703 were from Pendleton County, 223 from Hardy County, 104 from Grant and 32 from other areas of West Virginia.
According to Rockingham Memorial Hospital Administrator T. Carter Melton, Jr., “We have always considered the bordering West Virginia counties to be a part of our service area.” He went on to indicate the hospital “very much enjoys the relationship we have with West Virginia and trust it will continue to grow in the future.”
Mr. Melton said the relationship with West Virginia residents is one of mutual dependence. “We feel we are providing much needed medical services to people living in West Virginia. At the same time, we depend on them for support, including the excellent service of the rescue squads, blood for our Blood Bank, gifts to help purchase medical equipment, the help from the West Virginia medical professionals and the friendship of many people.”
In 1973, West Virginia began a statewide campaign to set aside a special day just for grandparents. September was chosen, signifying the “autumn years” of life, through concerned efforts on the part of individuals interested in preserving their heritage. This campaign was spearheaded by Marion McQuade of Fayette County, mother of 15 children.
50 Years Ago
Week of October 12, 1972
Inflicted in Pendleton
6.9 Inches Rain
Falls in 20 Hours
An almost steady downpour of rain lasting 20 hours last Thursday and Friday dumped seven to eight inches of water on Pendleton County resulting in flooding streams and rivers and extensive damage to roads, farm lands and residential property.
Department of Highways personnel worked continuously from Friday until Sunday to free stranded families in Mill Gap six miles south of Brandywine, and members of the Franklin Volunteer Fire Department remained on duty all night Thursday to provide emergency service and to pump water from flooding basements.
George Hammer of Franklin, official weather observer for the U.S. Weather Bureau, said 6.9 inches of rain fell during the 20-hour period from 2 a.m. Thursday until 10 p.m. Friday, and there were reports that eight inches of rain fell in the upper South Fork area. Hammer said it was the most rain we have had and the rivers were the highest since the disastrous flood of 1949.
60 Years Ago
Week of October 11, 1962
100 YEARS AGO
By LON K. SAVAGE
Editor’s Note—The following is one of a series of articles on the Civil War. Each weekly installment covers events which occurred exactly 100 years ago.
Bragg’s Invasion Ends
In Battle of Perryville
Braxton Bragg, the Confederacy’s now-famous general who had invaded Kentucky, was a bit puzzled 100 years ago this week.
He was at Harrodsburg, about 40 miles below Frankfurt, Kentucky’s capitol, and his army was scattered all the way from Frankfort down to Perryville, a few miles to the southwest. Somewhere up toward Louisville was the large army of Federal General Don Carlos Buell, moving down to drive him from the blugrass state.
But locating Buell’s troops was the problem. First, they were reported up near Frankfort, and Buell figured on a battle up in that neck of the woods. But now, during the hot afternoon of October 7, it appeared that Buell’s main force was down near Perryville, facing the Confederate troops under his subordinate, Gen. William J. Hardee. The two sides, in fact, were fighting over control of some precious pools of water around the sweltering town.
Finally, Bragg ordered re-enforcements to Perryville and during the night decided to go there himself. He arrived in mid-morning of the 8th, just in time for Kentucky’s bloodiest battle of the Civil War. It was the last battle of Bragg’s invasion, and though he earned a victory in terms of how many were killed, he realized when it was over that his adventure into Kentucky was no longer profitable, and he turned and headed for the Southland.
Bragg arrived while skirmishing was going hot and heavy all along the battle line. At 2 p.m., with a heavy west wind blowing up dust and leaves, his cavalry opened the attack on his right just north of Perryville.
The raw Federal troops who received this blow were ready for a battle, but not for an attack like this one. Back they fell, as the Rebels swarmed through and over them. Three brigadiers were among the first to fall. At the same time, the Confederates moved forward in the center and left, and the battle blazed all along the line.
Back behind the lines, Buell worked at his headquarters, ignorant of the battle his men were fighting. Because of the west wind and undulating terrain, he didn’t hear the shooting.
Young Phil Sheridan, just promoted to brigadier general of volunteers in the Union army, received his baptism of fire in the battle and came out splendidly. Holding the Union right, he repulsed one attack, turned his artillery to halt another, and finally led a counter-attack that ripped through the Confederates. Buell, meanwhile, had heard about the battle and brought forth more troops, and the Confederate attack petered out. Darkness finally ended the fighting.
Nearly 7,000 men had fallen—most of them Northerners.
That night, Bragg realized he had been lucky that his 20,000 men had done battle with only about half of Buell’s army. Not wanting to pursue his luck too far, he decided it was time to head South again, and at midnight his troops and long wagon trains—loaded with ammunition and merchandise from the wealthy bluegrass state—began bumping southward toward Tennesses.
Next week: Lincoln Orders McClellan to Attack.