Rare, Collectible, & Otherwise

Tag: oklahoma (Page 73 of 115)

Alice Walton and the Preacher.

When the Lord called Sherman Merrill, it was usually Long Distance. And the first call came early. As a newly-married 22-year-old Sherman was already in His service, leading a congregation at Whitehall, New York, the same town where a fleet of vessels was built to confront the British during the Revolution.

As a result of that latter fact, Whitehall is said to be the birthplace of the US Navy. It certainly was the starting point of a long career for Sherman Merrill, son of Elam, son of Benjamin, son of the immigrant Nathaniel Merrill, who had come to America during colonial times. It was a small town, Whitehall, and still is – located across the state line from Vermont, where the twins Willie and Alice would later be born.

The son of a long line of farmers, Sherman took up the cloth and found his first flock and a home with his young wife Cordelia around 1850. Things were looking up.

But the Lord kept calling.

Baby Adalaide was just two when a church in Massachusetts needed a pastor, and it was a short two years later when an invitation came from a congregation in Vermont. By the time his mission brought him back to New York state and the birth of baby John, Sherman headed a family of seven. In 1860, the family resettled in Greenwich, New York, already an important – if secret – stop on the Underground Railroad that carried slaves to freedom from the American South.

Then came the war.

Pastor Merrill was older than some of his comrades-in-arms, but he again offered his services when volunteers were sought for a troop of up-staters. The 177th New York Infantry marched down from New York to New Orleans, Louisiana to join the 3rd Brigade serving under General Sherman.

They took part in skirmishes at McGill’s ferry and Pontchtoula. 23 of Chaplain Merrill’s fellow volunteers lost their lives during the siege at Port Hudson. 149 others died of disease. Still, he never lost his faith.

When the war ended, Merrill rejoined his family and relocated them to Wisconsin, a move that was little more than a layover on their way to Gallatin, Tennessee. The Major was invited by a congregation in that city to head their Methodist Episcopal church. Cordelia Merrill, who spent her life raising children and keeping house for Pastor Merrill, left the family behind when she was buried in the Gallatin Cemetery.

Remarriage was common, particularly when there were young children in the home. And that brings us to the point of this little story.

Sherman Merrill married John Walton’s daughter, Susan, a girl half his age. Together they had three daughters – one of whom they named Alice – who grew into an artist who loved to read. Alice signed her name in a book that landed in the bookshop yesterday. You may recall there is an Alice Walton who is the tenth richest American. The daughter of Sam the Walmart man. I wondered if there was a connection.

There wasn’t.

Which presented the question: How did a copy of The Methods of Lady Walderhurst by Frances Hodgson Burnett (she also wrote The Secret Garden, from which a movie was made) – how did the book get to Broken Arrow from Gallatin, Tennessee?

As it turns out, it was by way of another New York native. Dr Les A. O’Brien found Alice in Tennessee, married her, and moved to the Indian Territory to open his practice. Tulsa was a booming community and the draw was strong enough that the in-laws packed up and moved west to join Dr and Mrs O’Brien. Later, Dr. O’Brien wound up moving his offices up the road to Skiatook, but the Waltons remained in Tulsa.

South of town, near Muskogee, a family named Clinton married into the Creek Nation and did well enough on their ranch that they opted to build a big place on the hill in Tulsa. Dr Fred Clinton and family made their home near 13th and Boulder while brother Lee constructed a mansion a half-mile to the west. His house sits there still, completed in 1913 at 1322 South Guthrie and now sitting on the National Register of Historic Properties.

Alice Walton Merrill’s sister Susan lived there. She had married Mr. Clinton, a banker of some note, and already a driving force in the growing city.

Alice and her sister Susan were included in the 1914 Who’s Who in America, which made note of their artistic and philanthropic works and identified them as belonging to the Methodist Episcopalian church.

Which did their daddy Pastor Sherman proud.

The book?

It’s a First Edition copy from 1901. A little threadbare – even for a 100+ year-old. Not so valuable as a result.

But it tells a tale all its own.

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main Street

A Dickens of a Day…

The lady came back to the checkout counter and glanced at her companion, then looked me straight in the eye and said, “Tell her about William Wallace.”

Smack me. What?

Do I have a forehead tattoo? History Geek? Maybe inked in Old English Script?

Alas – the gauntlet was thrown down.

“Do you have a couple of hours?” I asked the companion, then gave the four-minute synopsis of the Scottish legend who gathered the always-feuding clan families together long enough to defeat the British in 1297.

I wasn’t around back then, but it is known as the Battle of Stirling Bridge. You’ve guessed by now that she had me pegged correctly. Truth is – I am a bit of a history nut.

But – what came over that woman to suddenly demand a medieval dissertation of me? We had not been talking about Scotland, bagpipes, broadswords, or even history. Well, I did mention the year 1847 when I was showing her the date on an antique copy of The Pickwick Papers.

Maybe I’ve the late afternoon scent of a kilted Highlander. I’ll hit the deodorant stick after I rub off that head-tattoo.

Not a historic day, here in the Rose District, but it has been somewhat history-oriented. Sold a copy of Beowulf. George Orwell. Fahrenheit 451.

The nice lady who pressed me for a lecture on the Old World had just purchased an illustrated edition of Oliver Twist. Of course, a good day is made even better when a copy of Dickens goes home with its new family. Honestly, that lady was after my heart: she asked about the book because of the George Cruikshank illustrations.

Dickens went through several artists during the course of his writing career, but his books were loaded with drawings, a fact that nearly shot me down in freshman English. We were reading a Tale of Two Cities. (In truth, the rest of the class was reading the assigned work.)

I wasn’t reading. Not a bit.

Mike Green – my aspiring artist friend – and I were too busy drawing freehand copies of the wonderful Hablot Knight Browne illustrations. It was a competitive thing. A sketcher’s version of a footrace. We’d both begin the hour with a blank piece of paper and a Parker brand ink pen, then before the hour was up, we’d pass the finished drawings around in secret for our fellow students to grade. (Click on the image for a better look at Browne’s skill. It’s an illustration from Tale of Two Cities of the sort we plagiarized during class.)

Some days Mike had the better drawing. Other times, I got the nod. Neither of us got the plot of the Tale, since we hadn’t read a thing beyond the captions accompanying the illustrations.

I’m ashamed to say it was years and years later when I finally sat down with Charles Dickens and he became my best friend. At least, he became my best dead literary friend. And Oliver Twist is a favorite acquaintance – especially the George Cruikshank illustrated version.

There’s a copy over there waiting for its new family.

Come visit!

McHuston

Booksellers & Irish Bistro
Rose District
122 South Main St. Broken Arrow OK!

Marching to the Drum… as best we can.

It breaks my heart to hear about Linda Ronstadt.

She’s not the first – and won’t be the last – to be afflicted by Parkinson’s Disease, but unlike several other celebrities who have suffered its debilitating symptoms, I have such good memories associated with Ms. Ronstadt.

Not that I ever even met the award-winning singer.

It’s crazy, but when there are life-events that we associate with other positive occasions, it is hard to separate the reality from the memory.

I’ve mentioned more than once – specifically – my association with Linda Ronstadt and her hit song You’re No Good with my buying a brand-new British sportscar. Driving around in that era when Top-40 hits were played on the radio hourly (it seemed to me). I remember the long music passage that started that song. In radio, we called that the “intro” and we read the weather over that one, one of the few songs that had a long enough passage to complete a forecast.

When I heard the news about Ms. Ronstadt, it was sort of like a punch in the gut.

Michael J. Fox has suffered from the disease for more than twenty years, but has recently returned to the spotlight, playing roles in The Good Wife and preparing to debut his own program, in which his condition will play a role of its own. He has managed to carry on with his craft.

I remember meeting Mohammed Ali at a press conference when he visited Tulsa to promote a thumb-less boxing glove. My memories of him did not match the man standing in front of me. His courage in light of his condition was apparent by his light-hearted manner in dealing with the lot of us. He wasn’t boxing any longer, but was still ducking and weaving to our questions.

Linda Ronstadt says she cannot sing any longer. The eleven-time Grammy winner has had symptoms for six or seven years, she says, but only revealed her diagnosis recently in an interview with AARP magazine.

That’s another shocker.

My recollection is of that beautiful young woman singing her heart out. I can offer my weak harmonies to her hits, even those dating back to the days of the Stone Poneys and Different Drum (as in: You and I march to the beat of a Different Drum), released in 1967. Man. That was a good time ago.

It’s just hard to think about these icons of our lifetime aging – when in our memories they tend to stay young. Young. Forever.

Linda Ronstadt is 67 years old.

My friend Mr. L has pointed out that the 50th Anniversary of the Beatles and their initial performance on US television appearance is rapidly approaching. His remark?

50 years.

I’m thinking: Where did all that time go?

I can remember the discussion among my classmates on the morning after the Beatles’ first TV appearance. Recall it like it was yesterday. News flash: It wasn’t yesterday.

It’s good keep in mind the positive things. At least I’m in a position to be looking back on these anniversaries. Still breathing and kicking. Don’t walk so quickly anymore.

But I can still sing. Never -ever- could with the command Ms. Ronstadt possessed, but I love that expression of spirit enough to know what she has lost.

I’m sorry, Linda. In my heart and in the theater of my memory your voice still carries clear and strong, and we’re all still dancing.

To a Different Drum.

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