Santa Forgot the Doll, He Said

Ah Christmas... food, family, traditions all rolled into one holiday.  It's not like any other for me.  When I was a child, Christmas was the ultimate highlight of the year, each year.  It meant Grandma Kells would be there from Ohio, Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie Jenkins would be there from Corinth, KY, and Grandpa Jenkins would either come from his home up the road or later on with Grandma from Ohio.   There would be a ton of food and Daddy wouldn't work late.  He'd come home when Grandma said for him to come home. I thought he was afraid of her and that's why he came home on time.  He didn't do that the rest of the year.  If you knew my Grandma, you knew she was all business.  He had to be scared, there wasn't any other explanation. She wouldn't put up with him being late.  And, of course, the ever illusive Santa would walk in our front door, leave presents, eat the cookies and drink the milk we'd left and do so without us ever knowing he was even there.

We had our Christmas on Christmas Eve.  It was our tradition with little variation for many years. It went something like this: Mother would get me up at the crack of dawn.  I really didn't like that part and it took me most of the morning to get my Christmas Cheer on.  Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie, Grandma's brother, celebrated with their children on Christmas Day but they came to our house the night before. We had cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and turkey and cake that Grandma always insisted was made with my daddy in mind.  After all, as she said, John loved his sweets and he worked hard.  She almost sounded like she pitied him for working so hard. Therefore, he deserved to have his sweets.  But that's another tradition for another blog entry. The table was full of delicious food. Then Santa would finally come and everyone opened their gifts.

In this particular year, I got busy as soon as the Sears Christmas Catalog arrived.  I went through the pages carefully trying to decide which doll was THE one for me.  I marked the doll by circling her picture.  I'm sure I picked out other things, too, but I only remember the dolls.  I usually wanted them all so the decision was hard.  Mother let me pick out two or three "in case Santa ran low on his stock".  That way I wouldn't be disappointed as much.  Each got circled. This particular year I really, really, really wanted the Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy.  She talked. None of my dolls had ever done that before. I "wrote" my letter to Santa with my mother's help and sent it off to the North Pole and waited for what seemed like eternity.

Then the day came.  Grandma arrived and the cooking began.  The house smelled great.  Grandpa sat in the living room watching TV and asking me a bunch of questions.  It seemed he always wanted to know something.   Grandpa was hard of hearing and I had to shout to try to make him hear me.  It usually didn't help. I would get frustrated.  I was relieved when Uncle Willie got there.  They could talk forever.  Uncle Willie's arrival also indicated that it was getting close to the time Santa would come.  Dinner would soon be ready and Daddy would be home.  Then, after dishes were done, it would be  discovered that Santa had left presents on the front porch.  I learned that Santa liked milk and cookies.  At some point, I started leaving some for him under the tree, hoping to catch him.  He successfully evaded me year after year.

The morning after: 1964 

I'm not a morning person. Never have been.

Me, Grandpa Jenkins, and my brother

After dinner, the men sat in the living room, while the rest of us cleaned up the table. None of them ever saw Santa.  I couldn't understand how Santa could come in and eat those cookies and drink that milk and not one of them could hear or see him. I always thought they fell asleep after eating such a big meal and maybe that was their excuse.  Those men could really put down some serious amounts of food.  Trust me.

Grandma always insisted that the dishes be washed, dried, and put away before we could have Christmas.  Even from the smallest age, I was given a task in the kitchen. When I was younger I put the silver in its box and the Tupperware containers in the refrigerator as my mother filled them with leftovers.  Those duties evolved until I was drying dishes and putting them in the cabinet (while standing on a chair.  As I got even older and could be trusted with fragile items, I learned to set the table; where the knife went, where the water and tea glasses went, where to place the napkin, and so forth. Talk about fun! It was so neat to be so "fancy").  Finally, we would finish.  I hated this part. I'd fuss. Grandma would assure me it wouldn't take long and that we'd "go through them like a dose of salts".  I had no idea what that meant or what it had to do with doing dishes.  I just wanted to be done with the task and open the presents.

Eventually we'd finish. Then, just as Grandma went into the laundry room/old back porch to hang up her dish towel to dry, a knock was heard, every single year.  I remember that it always sounded like it came from the back door but Grandma always turned me around and said the knock was coming from the front of the house. I'd run. Daddy turned on the front porch light. Grandpa was on the edge of his chair with a grin on his face.  Sure enough, Santa left the packages on the front porch.  Daddy pulled them in and I got down to business opening my loot.

Typically, Aunt Violet always wanted to see what I had so after I opened each package, I'd hand it off to her for her inspection.  We'd open our gifts to each other as well at that time.  I'd play and play and play with my new toys, sometimes bringing out my older toys to join in the fun.  Then it was over for another year.

But, 1964 was a different story. On this particular Christmas something went wrong, very wrong. I ALWAYS got a doll.  I opened packages and handed the items off but there wasn't a doll.  I began to cry. Aunt Violet thought surely the doll was there and she went through the discarded boxes.  Grandma thought maybe a package was left on the porch.  Daddy didn't think so.  Mother checked and sure enough, Daddy was right.  Grandma said maybe it fell out of the sleigh and suggested that Daddy go out in the yard and look.  Daddy, again, didn't think that happened.  After all, Santa didn't make big mistakes like this. He must have forgotten it.  (Really? If he didn't make big mistakes like dropping the doll how could he make a bigger mistake by forgetting it?) Grandma insisted and Daddy resisted.  I thought he'd better watch out, you didn't mess with Grandma.  I cried and Aunt Violet pulled me onto her lap while the others discussed what to do.  Finally, Grandma went to the coat closet and came back with a big flashlight.  It was big and square, red in color, and had a handle.  It was the super-duper flashlight.  She shoved it into Daddy's hand and dispatched him onto the lawn in nothing flat.  (I knew he needed to mind her or else...).  Soon Daddy came in the  house with my Tiny Baby Chatty Cathy doll in her box. He was a hero! I hugged him and told him I loved him. (I probably should have passed all that adoration to Grandma instead because if she hadn't put him on the straight and narrow, I'd still be crying.)

Years later it was discovered that Grandma and Daddy were in cahoots.  Imagine that! My list of wanted items never went to the North Pole.  Instead, it went to Brentwood Street, (Mayfield Township) in  Middletown, Ohio where Grandma Kells and Grandpa Jenkins would open and read it and then go shopping at Montgomery Wards and Sears for the items on it. Grandma would make a trip to visit between Thanksgiving and Christmas and go to Falmouth before coming to the house.  She would drop off the loot at the dealership and Daddy would store it in the upstairs.  He had the farm machinery dealership in Shoemaker Town and we didn't get there often so that was presumed a safe hiding place. Then when Christmas Eve came, she'd call him at work (something we rarely did because Mother always said Daddy was busy working and we shouldn't disturb him) and let him know what time Aunt Violet and Uncle Willie were coming (what time dinner was going to be served).  Then Daddy would always call and ask to speak to Grandma.  I always thought that odd since I never heard them talking on the phone  together any other time but, hey, it was Christmas.  This was his "heads up" to her that he was on his way with Santa's gifts.  The adults would keep me, and later on, my brother, busy so that Daddy wouldn't get caught pulling up in front of the house and unloading the Santa stuff onto the front porch. After unloading, he would then pull into the drive and drive around to the back of the house, coming in the back door like he did every other night.

As for the dropped doll, he never realized that he let it fall off the stack of packages.  The yard was dark. He'd turned the lights off the truck so I wouldn't get curious if I had happened to be looking out the window. I often watched for him to get home.  To his credit, he had his "thinking cap" on. He simply couldn't see where he was going and was more concerned with that than with losing packages.

Baby Chatty Cathy and Me

When my son came along, Daddy helped with the delivery of Santa's wares.  I always reminded him to count the packages because I didn't have a big, red, square flashlight he could use if we were short.  We'd always get a laugh. He always made a comment about Grandma making him go out in the cold to look for THAT doll.  Mother always sighed and said that "ordeal" was a nightmare. She just didn't know what they were going to do if that doll wasn't in the yard. She never did find the situation nearly as funny as Daddy and I did. Never.

Since I was let in on the whole story, it's been one that I think of every year.  It causes me to  remember our traditions and all the things that didn't make sense but I was willing to let slide, the very reasons that Christmas was a magical time. I remember the extra leaf added to the table, the silver coming out to be used, the crystal glasses we only used at Christmas.  I feel the excitement that was in the air as I waited for the dishes to be done and Santa to come. I recall the people that are no longer here but yet continue to be with me in my heart every Christmas since their passing.  I remember the joy I experienced and I savor the memory.

I Give... Here's My Five

I've noticed that I've only had a few "idle" hours in the past couple of years. That's sad. My goal when I started this blog was to write about my ancestors. I thought taking them on one at a  time would be a great way of writing the family history. At the rate I'm going, I'm going to have to live (and have my mind and eyesight) another 120 years. Not happening.

If you've been on social media and in a genealogy group there, sooner or later THE question is going to be asked. I bet you know what I'm going to say, right? Yes, that's the one. "If you could talk with any of your ancestors, which one/ two/three/ five would you like to talk with and why?" I usually just scroll on by. Most people want their brick walls dismantled. Don't we all?  How brazen of them. Well, I'm an administrator of one of those social media genealogy groups and a few days ago I asked that same question but with the caveat that the visit could have nothing to do with a brick wall. Hey, these folks were good. They had genuine interests and weren't just looking for an easy way through the wall (although I'm willing to bet copious sums of money borrowed at high interest rates at short term that most would steer the interview in the direction of that wall. I know these people.).

This compound question led me to think. That can be dangerous at times. I thought I'd blog about the five ancestors I'd like to meet and why, while avoiding the proverbial brick wall questions. I thought I'd write it in the form of a letter to you, my future "cousin", "niece", "nephew", "grandchild".  Aren't you feeling lucky? Here goes:

So, Who Really Stole the Horse?

John T. Asberry, my 4th great-uncle, was born about 1841. He was the son of Delilah Henry and Jacob Asbury and the grandson of Coleman and Amy Compton Asberry.  It is probable that he was born in Pendleton County since his parents were land owners and appeared in the census in Pendleton County each time from the date of their marriage until the death of John's father in 1856.  John was one of eleven children that lived to adulthood.

When John's father died, his will provided that each of his minor sons, James Samuel, John, and Robert Franklin, (the only children named in his will) be given a horse and all the necessary accouterments of a horse upon their reaching a majority age. When the Civil War broke out in Kentucky, Sam, John, and Bob all decided to join the Confederacy. Their mother told the John she would buy a horse for him if he could find a suitable one. John found one. It belonged to a neighbor, Henry Austin. The problem was that Henry didn't want to sell. 

                            Jacob Asbury's will on file at the Pendleton County Clerk's office,
                                               Falmouth, KY

Recruiters for the Confederacy were in the area. Among them were my maternal 3-great grandfather, James Jenkins. "Preacher" Jenkins, Bob Asbury*, John Asbery*, David Fogle, Samuel Coleman Lowe, and possibly a few others from the neighborhood "pressed" Henry Austin's horse into the service of the Confederate Army on October 3, 1862.

This case was amended three times, appealed to the Court of Appeals, and many Callensville folks were deposed before the matter of the horse was settled. I particularly like this case since it's the only document that I have found that names all of Jacob Asbury's children and states that they are his children. It also contains a wealth of other genealogical and historical information. 

It was originally styled, Henry Austin vs. John Asberry* Petition filed February 9, 1863, by attorneys Swope & Moore. The claim was that on October 3, 1862, John Asbery "forcibly entered the plaintiff's premises, took and carried away, and appropriated to his own use" a bay horse four years old of value $125.  It further states that the defendant was a non-resident and in the Confederate Army. It asked for a judgment and attachment of any property owned by John Asbery. John was entitled to a 1/11th share of the farm that his father left to his mother. (I should note here that Henry Austin had previously been in a suit against his neighbors that shared boundaries with him, accusing them of encroachment.)

Henry Austin v. John Asberry

The first amendment to the case was dated April 25, 1863. The reason: "John Asberry is one of the sons & heirs of Jacob Asberry, of this county, and that Jacob died seized of acreage of one hundred acres." It asked for the attachment of John's 1/11th share. 
 
Depositions were taken and from them, we learn many things. Number One: People see things from different perspectives. Number Two: People lie. Number Three: Maybe people forget. If we dig deeper, we can infer that people had different views on the war. Some may have been afraid their testimony would somehow incriminate them. Some may have harbored ill-will over political positions taken. One thing is for certain, it is hard to get an honest perspective without looking at what the war was doing to those left behind. Whatever people were feeling, seeing, sensing, and such, it is evident that conflicting stories were told. For details on this case, read this post from the Pendleton County Historical & Genealogical Society's Blog, Looking Back, Civil War & Uncivil Neighbors.

During much of my youth, I was told the family story of Mathew Jenkins and his father, the Reverend James Jenkins. James did not return to Kentucky to live after the war. The family legend is that he feared "retalliation for the deeds he'd done".  His wife stayed in Kentucky near her sons. She refused to join him. Mathew eventually was drafted into the Union Army but not before he was arrested twice by the Provost Marshall on suspicion of being a Rebel. Mathew took the Oath of Allegiance after the first arrest. His second arrest was based on the word of a Union soldier from, and stationed, in Falmouth. This soldier claimed to have knowledge that Mathew was gone from home for five days and had been with the Rebel Army. Were his arrests retaliation for his father's deeds? What "deeds" did James Jenkins commit that caused him to fear retaliation?  Maybe, his part in the stolen horse was the "deed". But just what was his part? Most placed him on the porch guarding the door of the house. They all said he ordered his new recruits there but some said he was the one that stole the horse.  How much of what was being said in the neighborhood did James know? Did Mathew go to him and tell him Henry Austin suspected James Jenkins stole his horse? Is this what led Mathew to be arrested a second time? Maybe the Reverend feared his wife, since his son had been arrested twice! I think it's plausible that she could have had a cast iron skillett with his name on it, so to speak.

Different folks that were deposed said that John Asberry stole the house, that his brother Robert stole it, and that James Jenkins stole it. Henry Austin's son, James, said he clearly saw John; the moon was bright and they had known each other for years. David Fogle was also there and he saw Jenkins take the horse.  He claimed John wasn't there. Now, one of those two lied, wouldn't you say? Why? What was in it for them? Was Fogle lying to protect the Asbury's interest in John's estate?  Did James Austin have a bone to pick with John and was this his way of settling a score? Henry Highfill, tavern owner, claimed John spent the night at his place and couldn't have been present when the horse was taken. Did he lie? Was John there all night or just part of the night? How sure was Highfill of John's whereabouts? James Thompson, a neighbor, didn't recognize the horse John Asberry was riding, yet the stolen horse was from the neighborhood. Wouldn't it be hard to not recognize your neighbor's car? I'd think this horse would be compared the same way, after all it was the equivalent of a car. Mary Harrison, another neighbor, claimed to see Robert Asbury in possession of the horse shortly after it was taken. Did Robert and John look alike? Could it have been mistaken identity? Could she have been angry with Robert and this be her way of getting even? Or maybe, could she have been in love with John and not wanted his memory tainted? Or could she have justed wanted her "fifteen minutes of fame"?

In the end, the jury found in favor of Henry Austin. They agreed that John Asberry stole the horse. After all, John made it known he was going to have the horse no matter what. He was seen, in Tennesee, on the horse by the man that originally owned it and had told him he got the horse in Kentucky. Of course, that didn't necessarily mean that he'd stolen it but it looked bad in view of the testimony in the depositions. 

Sometimes when I look at the depostitions and replay the family story in my mind, I have doubts. If John stole the horse, why would all those people lie? What other deeds could have been bad enough to keep James Jenkins from returning home if stelaing the horse wasn't the deed? What else was at play? How many of those testifying had Union leanings? How many Confederate leanings? Was politics at the core of the perjuries? Was it a way to turn on your neighbor? To show the Provost Marshall you were on his side? To gain the Marshall's trust? 

This case raises more questions than it answers but it does cause one to think beyond the obvious question of 'Who really stole the horse'? 


* The Asbury name has many spellings. In this case 'Asbery' seems to be the one used. I've used 'Asberr'y for John many times in this entry.