Many times you can find accounts of holiday antics or traditions in regional newspapers, and these stories add color to local history and genealogy. Cathy Benson relates one such story in an article entitled, “An old-fashioned Christmas tale,” published this year by Main Street Newspapers. Sometimes newspapers delete pages after a certain timeframe, so I’ll include the anecdotal portion of the story here for safekeeping. Note that Benson includes information about historic prices, attitudes, information about Indian Rock, clothing, and the traditional Virginia oyster meal Christmas in her tale:
Our story surrounds a robbery down at the little community called Indian Rock near Buchanan along the shores of the mighty James River. My grandfather was called very early on Christmas Eve morning to come to Buchanan with his three bloodhounds to capture a fellow who had robbed the Indian Rock store. The owner offered a $50 cash reward (a huge sum back then) for the capture of the criminal. My daddy and Uncle Bill, who were 10 and 11, went with him and the hounds, all of whom were in the back seat except Pa Pa’s favorite hound, Belle, who rode shotgun in the front seat. She was the family favorite bloodhound and the other two were her progeny. Pa Pa had a great big old touring car, gangster looking - think of Bugsy Segal or one of those guys who liked to give the “Coppers” a hard time.
Pa Pa dressed the part just like the mean sheriff in the movie, “Oh Brother Where Art Thou.” A picture of him in those days showed a great big man of 6-foot-4-inches (about the size of my son Brian, for those who know us) with broad shoulders, tan riding pants, a long coat, black boots up to his knees and a broad-brimmed hat. A double barrel shotgun broken open across his right arm, he held the leads of the bloodhounds who were standing at attention for the camera. Can’t you just hear the occasional deep, “Barrruuuhhhhhhh,” howl forth from one of the dogs? Nothing else in the world sounds like a bloodhound, they don’t bark or yap - they bay in long, deep-throated emissions as Daddy said, “Music to the Old Man’s ears.”
Dad and Uncle Bill were tall and skinny boys in those days. I can see two boys and three hounds riding in that big car through the Botetourt County countryside. A giant of a man with that broad brimmed hat wheeling the touring car must have been sight with his entourage. Back in those days Route 11 was the only way down from Roanoke to Buchanan and the side roads were mostly dirt and washboard, so the travel time was close to two hours. My grandfather set straight to work as the storekeeper had a fresh scent of the man who pilfered the goods, and before noon, after traveling through the woods at what Daddy remembers as a rapid pace, they had treed the criminal. Daddy said it was an exciting chase; Pa Pa was a big fellow who didn’t accept foolishness and the crook didn’t argue about his arrest.
Indian Rock now it is a small, hard-to-find place nowadays, unless one is bent on float fishing the James River. However, prior to World War II, America was a rural country and Indian Rock was one of many places that had some life in it that are now just memories of old folks and historians. The storeowner paid Pa Pa $50 in cash as promised. They called the county sheriff to take the thief to Fincastle.
As soon as the criminal left in the deputy’s car, the fellows and the hounds high-tailed it back to Roanoke. They had a mission. At home no gifts, no tree and no Christmas oysters waited. Daddy said the stores in downtown Roanoke closed at 5 p.m. Arriving at the house, they replaced the three dogs with the women folk and headed downtown for last-minute bargains. Years later, much laughter flowed amongst my aunts and uncle along with my dad as they recounted at family gatherings how they went in all of the five and dime stores with a quarter each and came out with an arm load of gifts for the siblings, parents and grandparents. Pa Pa purchased a gallon of oysters for a couple of dollars and numerous delicacies including Christmas Eve dinner for the kids - hot dogs from the Roanoke Weiner Stand. He stuck them in the pockets of his great brown coat. One dozen dogs cost 35 cents! Just before 5 p.m. they headed for their place but stopped by the home of a friend who had found them a last-minute Christmas tree. Uncle Bill, through a rolled-down window, held the tree on the running board of the car as they drove it home.
In the early part of the 20th century most folks waited until Christmas Eve to decorate the Christmas tree. They didn’t have that electric light show thing going and the tree had to be fresh if you placed candles on it. Daddy said the younger ones stuffed themselves with hot dogs while my Grandmother Irene fried oysters for the old folks. They decorated the tree, wrapped the treasured dime store gifts. Always a musical family, they sang Christmas carols until time for bed. Daddy remembers they hung the stockings for Old St. Nick’s visit as the last event of the night.
And despite the Great Depression, no Grinch stole Christmas, pardon the pun. Pa Pa and the bloodhounds captured him.
Posted by river queen in Botetourt
