Monday, June 25, 2018



"We are not here to curse the darkness, but to light the candle that can guide us through that darkness to a sane and safe future." John F. Kennedy

                In November of 1963 I was 19 years old.  The last time a President of the United States had died while still in office (Franklin D. Roosevelt), I had been approaching my first birthday. What was happening here during these waning days of November was something new to people my age and younger, and many felt this was so much worse. President Roosevelt was a sickly man at age 63 when he died in Warm Springs, Georgia, in April of 1945. President Kennedy was a young man in his forties, in his prime, when struck down by an assassin’s bullet. Roosevelt died at the height of World War II. Kennedy was killed when tensions between the U.S. and Russia were at their height and nuclear war was feared around the world. I guess any younger generation experiencing traumatic times on a world-wide basis thinks his or her experiences are the worst ever; they really have nothing with which to compare.

                We watched a lot of television over the next three or four days. After the death of the President that Friday in Dallas, Texas, and the swearing in of Lyndon Johnson as the new president, Air Force One, bearing the dead President, the new President and their families left Dallas for a flight to Washington, D.C. and arrived late that evening. We saw the departure from Dallas’ Love Field and the arrival at Andrews AFB in Washington. The casket was then transferred to Bethesda Naval Hospital where an autopsy was performed. We learned from television that the body would be returned to the White House after the autopsy and that it would lie in repose in the East Room of the White House on Saturday (the same room where Abraham Lincoln’s body had lain nearly a hundred years earlier).

                That Saturday, we watched off and on pretty much the whole day and into the night. I don’t know how many regular TV shows were either cancelled or interrupted that day and evening but it seems everyone was tuned in to see what was happening in Washington. This was the stuff of books to be written, enough to fill a library. We saw that mahogany casket that state visitors passed by in the East Room that Saturday. An interesting side note that I never knew ‘til many years later concerned the original casket. Kennedy’s body had been placed in a bronze casket at Parkland Hospital in Dallas for the flight to Washington. That bronze casket was replaced by the mahogany one after the autopsy at Bethesda Naval Hospital. The bronze casket was placed aboard an Air Force plane and flown out over the Atlantic Ocean and dropped into the sea. The concern was that if someone ever got possession of the casket it would result in a morbid situation that the family wanted to prevent at all costs.

                In Part 2 of this story we talked of the murder of the suspected assassin in the halls of the Dallas jail as millions around the country watched on live TV. This was the day, back in Washington, when Kennedy’s body was transferred from the White House to the Rotunda of the United States Capitol Building to lie in state until the funeral on Monday. Little did we know as we watched all of these proceedings unfold how much time historians had spent pouring over official records of Lincoln’s funeral. And so much of what we saw these few days mirrored what had been done for President Lincoln nearly a hundred years earlier. I went to church that Sunday and to this day can’t recall much of anything that happened at church. As I said earlier, I’m sure there was much talk of the death of the President, including in the pastor’s sermon. But I don’t remember it. I remember watching TV that afternoon and seeing the people filing past the casket in the capital (they said later that maybe 200,000 people came to pay their respects).

                On Monday, November the 25th, I went back to work at Pepperell in Lindale. Everybody you met anywhere that day wanted to tell you about what they had seen on TV since we all left last Friday. And everyone was courteous and respectful as you were told the same things you had seen yourself. The theories had already started as to why this had happened. Surprisingly, many of these theories had pointed to Lyndon Johnson because of his long history in the Halls of Congress and his having been seen as a favorite for becoming President years earlier and then being upstaged by this young pipsqueak from back east – a hard pill for the big Texan to swallow. But that theory was just the beginning of the small industry that would be formed over Kennedy’s death and which would not settle down for thirty or more years!
                We had no TVs at work (even very few radios), so we had to watch the actual state funeral films on the evening news shows that night. Scenes of the riderless horse with the boots backwards in the stirrups and of little John-John saluting as the cortege passed by and the lighting of the eternal gas flame at the grave site in Arlington National Cemetery were seared into the collective memories of most of us to last for a generation of two.

                The world had changed in the past week. Much would go on as before. Some things would never be the same. Much of the “age of innocence” of the 50’s and early sixties was now gone. The seeds of Vietnam were sprouting halfway around the world. The laid back songs we’d loved were turning to a strident protest. People were beginning to choose up sides. We were to be children no more.

                Three days later, Thursday, November 28th, would be a somber Thanksgiving Day.

                                                                                                                               Mac Eubanks

Saturday, April 7, 2018

THREADS OF LIFE by Mac Eubanks

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them. John F. Kennedy
Read more at:

"A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on." John F. Kennedy

November 22, 1963

                I got sidetracked in Part 1 writing about going to Georgia Tech and getting a job working at Pepperell Manufacturing Company in Lindale (this happens to me quite often, writing more than I should. No one ever accused me of clarity.) Now it’s time to get back to the story.

                I’d been working on one of the spinning floors where spools of thick yarn fibers (imagine skeins of knitting yarn) were processed through a spinning frame, which lengthened, without breaking, and twisted the fibers to make a thread. These threads could then be wound onto quills for making the “filling”, cross threads in a piece of cloth, or they could be wound into “cheeses” for making the “warp”, length-wise threads in the cloth. The warp and filling came together at the loom to be made into the final product – cloth. Bear in mind, I’m talking about a technology used in 1963, fifty-five years ago; it has probably changed drastically by now.

                There were hundreds of these cheeses which fed parallel threads through a part of the machine which aligned the threads and wound them onto a big spool (three or four feet wide and a couple of feet in diameter.) One of the things that could happen was that one of the threads could come off the cheeses and break which stopped the machine immediately. This meant the operator had to find the break, re-thread and restart the machine. These starts and stops affected the quality of the finished cloth (knots) as well as efficiency-downtime.

                My job was to stand by a group of the machines and count the stops, as well as time the stops, and record all the data. The information was used by the lab and engineering to figure out ways to enhance quality and improve efficiency. Employee pay was based on a combination of hours worked and volume of output. Lowering these breaks could help increase employee pay.

                I started work every day at 7:30 a.m., got off at 4:00 pm and had thirty minutes for a lunch break. Sometimes I brown-bagged, sometimes I bought lunch from vending machines and maybe once or twice weekly I’d go across the street to Knight's in Lindale – the company store! Knight's could sell you everything from a pair of socks to a washing machine. They also operated a great lunch counter, serving snacks or full meals, and their food was good! The Methods and Standards Department, where I worked, had about ten employees and there were always at least two or three who went to Knight’s. I can’t recall who I went with that particular November day, but it would probably have been either Carlton Jefts, Gene Covington, Roy Hatch or Coolidge Green, our department manager. We had an uneventful lunch before returning to the office, spent a little time reviewing our projects and were about to separate to go back to work at different locations across the plant when one of the employees from the Production Control Department across the hall burst in and asked if we’d heard the news. We peered at him and asked, “What?” He told us that it had just come over the radio – President John Kennedy had been shot and killed in Dallas, Texas

                We all sort of stared at one another. Most of us didn’t believe him. Then we snapped out of it and began asking questions. He said there wasn’t much to tell except that he’d been shot in a motorcade driving through downtown Dallas and had been taken to Parkland hospital where he’d been pronounced dead at about 1:30 (Eastern time). For several minutes, everyone went quiet and sat stock-still. Stunned, we finally gathered our things and headed back into the plant.

                Once I made it back to the spinning room/creeling area (that’s what they called the machines that made the cheeses of thread, a creel), it wasn’t hard to notice that the word had spread through the mill like wild fire. These employees didn’t actually get lunch breaks. There was a big area with benches (no tables) near the elevators and restrooms where employees took smoke breaks. This was also the area where they ate their lunches, either food brought from home or bought from the vending machines. There was a continuing hub bub of conversation about the shooting in that room. Everybody was offering comments, but other than what few facts came out in that one radio report, nobody really knew anything.

                I returned to my work and for the next couple of hours, despite the noise from the machinery, I could see that there was a quietness that filled the area. After working there a while people learned to hear over the noise. My guess is that they learned to read lips, I know I did, but that day there was a silence that overtook the mechanical roar.

                At quitting time I met up with Mr. Duke and Mr. Hawkins, my ride back home to Armuchee. The assassination of the president was the only topic of conversation going home. Many days, one or the other of these two had to stop in Rome for some item needed at home – a loaf of bread, a jar of mustard, etc., but not that day. All of us were kind of subdued during the ride today.  All had opinions on who’d want to kill the president. My own guess was Russia. It had only been about a year since Kennedy had faced down Russian Dictator Nakita Kruschev over Russia’s trying to place atomic missiles at the U.S.’s doorstep across from south Florida in Cuba. The Cold War was at its height, people around the country were digging bomb shelters in their back yards. To those too young at the time or not yet born, it may be hard to imagine a world living in fear of another Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but many of us were. My thoughts were that the Russians didn’t like being embarrassed in the eyes of the world and that this could be their way of getting even with the U.S.  But what would I know? I was still just a nineteen year-old kid.

                When I got home, Mother was watching the news on TV and she told me that someone, possibly Kennedy’s killer, had killed a Dallas police officer not far from where Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. Now the fear factor of something big going on had just ratcheted up a few notches.  These were the days of those iconic newscasters like Walter Cronkite bringing the nightly news and seeing them working at 5:00 pm was highly unusual.

                Almost everybody in the country stayed glued to the radios and TVs that weekend (the shooting took place on a Friday.) We followed the reports of Lyndon Johnson, Kennedy’s Vice President, being sworn in as President on the Air Force One plane that had brought the Kennedys to Dallas from Ft. Worth that very morning. A picture that still lingers in the minds of all who saw the broadcast was Mrs. Jackie Kennedy standing there in the plane while Johnson took the oath of office, still dressed in the pink jacket she’d been wearing in the motorcade, covered in Kennedy’s blood.

                Saturday, November 23rd, was a melancholy kind of day. My personal feeling was that the U.S. had really lost something. I was at that age where a lot of young people had been totally enamored by the young president. We had witnessed his attempts to correct some of the wrongs that had been done to minorities and we had hope that our country was on its way to solving some of its problems through the guidance of this young leader. Now we were afraid our hopes were not meant to be.
                On Sunday, I awoke early because I wanted to see all the newspaper stories for recent days. At that time, our family subscribed to both the Rome News-Tribune and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, big papers in those days. The Atlanta paper probably had eight or nine sections at maybe twenty pages per section. I read as much as I could before leaving for services at New Armuchee Baptist Church. The assassination was all the talk. I don’t remember the Pastor’s (Rev. E. Stanley Morris) sermon for that day but I’m sure he, along with almost every pastor in the U.S., had words to say about the killing of the President.

                When I got home from church, Mother and Daddy were glued to the TV set. The news was relating the story of how the Dallas Police were transferring the suspected killer of the President, Lee Harvey Oswald, from the Dallas City Jail to the Dallas County Jail and on national live TV, as millions around the nation were watching, a man, Jack Ruby, a night club owner in Dallas, burst through the police lines and fired a single shot into Oswald. Oswald was rushed to the same Parkland Hospital where just forty-eight hours before the dying president had been taken. Ironically, the same doctor who’d tried frantically to save the president’s life had also tried to save Oswald’s life. But it was not to be. And now we tallied up that the President, a Dallas policeman, and now Oswald had each been killed within forty-eight hours. 

                With Oswald and Ruby taking any secrets they had to their graves, was it so hard to believe that something sinister was going on in the United States?  Was there any wonder why we were all fearful of what might happen next?

                Please watch for my conclusion coming soon in this blog!  Mac Eubanks

Saturday, February 10, 2018

WEAVING A PATH by Mac Eubanks

"All you need is the plan, the road map, and the courage to press on to your destination."  
Earl Nightingale

NOVEMBER 22, 1963

                That first year at Georgia Tech, starting in the Fall of 1962, had come and gone. I had started to school again in September of 1963 but had to come home to Armuchee early for financial reasons. Since I’d worked at Pepperell in Lindale the Summer of ’62, the winter of ’62/’63 and the Summer of ’63, I went back to Pepperell to see if they’d let me start to work early (I would have returned at the Tech school quarter’s end before Christmas anyway). Instead of going to the Personnel Office, that's what they called HR/Human Relations back in the day, I went straight to my old boss, Coolidge Green. Telling Mr. Green my story and my needs, I guess he took pity on me and said they’d take me back, but he jumped all over me for coming straight to him without going through the Personnel Office first.  He said he’d handle things with Personnel and told me to report for work the next day. This was a Monday, therefore Tuesday would be my first day back on the job.

                I gave both Otho Hawkins and Albert Duke phone calls about getting daily rides with them. Since my job was going to be on day shift, and since I knew Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Duke well and had ridden with them for a year, everything worked out well in that respect since I had no car. All I had to do was be ready each day  at 6:00 A.M. They were always prompt and I don’t remember ever making them wait the three years I rode with them to and from Pepperell. They usually alternated weeks in their driving. Mr. Hawkins worked in the Loom Repair Parts Room and Mr. Duke worked in the Dye House; both had worked at Pepperell for some time and taught me a lot about the workings of the mill. And since my Daddy had lived in Lindale, he knew a lot of the people I would work with during my tenure there.

                The reason I was working at Pepperell (and also the reason for going to Georgia Tech) went back to the year before, my senior year at Armuchee High School. In the late winter of ’62, I’d been accepted to attend Georgia Tech. I had no idea what I wanted to study or do in life, and I also had no money and little hope of getting any by Fall. There I was with a letter of acceptance to Georgia Tech, which many kids in that day would have given their right arm for, and my greatest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to go. Shortly after being accepted, the Floyd County School System held a sort of school seniors’ jobs and college day. The sessions I attended were at West Rome High School. One of the day’s sessions was held by Mr. Smith, who was Plant Manager at Pepperell in those days.  His talk was all about the textile industry and the Lindale Plant.  I Listened attentively and after the session I waited for the other kids to leave the room so I could speak with him. I told him my story about the Georgia Tech acceptance, and having no money, and no job and no prospects, and then I came out and asked if there might be a way he could help me out of my dilemma. Mr. Smith said he’d think about it and talk with Mr. Lindsey, my school principal and neighbor who happened to be there that day.
               Back at school, Mr. Lindsey advised me to ask three people to write letters of recommendation and then send them to Mr. Smith, endorsing me for both a job at Pepperell and a Scholarship offered by the Georgia Textile Manufacturers Association. I immediately asked Mr. Lindsey if he’d write one since he’d known me all my life and he said, 'sure.' I saw Mr. Tom Harris, Armuchee Math Teacher, after school and asked him if he’d write one and he agreed also. At church Prayer Meeting that night at New Armuchee Baptist Church, I told our Pastor, Rev. E. S. Morris, my story and asked him if he’d write a letter too. He also agreed.

                All this occurred on a Wednesday. The following Monday, Mr. Lindsey called me into his office to tell me Mr. Smith had reviewed all my letters and had told him I would be allowed to work at Pepperell (after I graduated) for the summer, and this would give me some money for school at Tech in the Fall. And if that weren’t great enough, he said Mr. Smith told him I would be awarded the scholarship as well. Tech had accepted me into their co-operative program whereby a student could go to school for a quarter and work alternate quarters to get hands-on experience in his chosen field.  If I kept my nose clean, the job at Pepperell would also be there for me after each quarter when I returned from school. Between what I’d make in the summer at Pepperell and what I’d get in the Scholarship, I’d have enough to go to school. It’s hard to imagine how happy a seventeen year old kid could be with such developments over just a few days! 

                It was a number of years later when I really thought about how the stars had lined up for me that Winter/Spring of 1962. Sure, I’d had to study hard in school and do well in my courses. I’d had to apply to Georgia Tech when I didn’t know if I’d even have a prayer. I’d had to take the SAT tests.  I’d had to agree to go to the Senior Day sessions. I'd had to gather the gumption and initiative to approach Mr. Smith that day about a job and a scholarship. And thank goodness I’d known my principal, my teacher, and my pastor well enough to ask them to write letters for me. I couldn’t help but think, “I was such a kid back then. What did I know about all this stuff that was swirling around me then?" But I guess in looking back on that time, I didn’t know any better than to just plow ahead, do something and hope for the best. Not a bad lesson to learn at a young age.

                Now, what does all this have to do with November 22, 1963, you may ask? I will have to invite you to watch for the next installment for that answer.




Tuesday, January 30, 2018


A bit of old time advice written by Floyd County native, Ray Ellington.

"In 1919, it was discovered that by placing an onion (or two) in a bowl in your house that it helped ward off sickness! Our country had been exposed to the deadly "Black Plague" in those days and winter sicknesses that are common today. Most houses of that era were only two rooms unlike today. By placing a couple of onions in a bowl it seemed to keep the colds and flu away. If a person was sick to the bed, they would peel the onion and cut the top and bottom off and place in a jar or bowl next to the bed. The onion would turn black and the symptoms would disappear.  It is also said if you put a slice of onion on the bottom of your feet at night it will draw out the sickness from your body. Seems this went on for many years until we became educated and stopped believing.

All I'm saying is that with the flu epidemic going around, why not give it a try? It will only cost you a few onions and they are cheap enough.

P.S. Don't forget to throw the ones you use away; they just might have absorbed that virus!

This picture was taken in my house; tradition lives on here, and I haven't gotten sick either. Prayer also helps!"

Ray Ellington


I personally have never tried using an onion for a cold, but I have used it for bee stings and guess what, it works! I'm not saying give up modern health practices and common sense, but why not add some of the old-time remedies to your life? It worked for grandma!

If you have an old time remedy, recipe, anecdote or tradition you would like to share, please let us hear from you. I can be reached through this blog or via Facebook.


Saturday, August 20, 2016


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'Armuchee- A Journey of Generations' is a gathering place for the descendants of families who have lived in Armuchee, Georgia.

We share history, anecdotes, photos and genealogical research.

It's a place of memory, of family and of home...


 This is the final installment of memories presented by the host and author of Facebook's FRIENDS OF ARMUCHEE, Mac Eubanks.

Conclusion to my "Memories  of  Armuchee,  1950 - 1962"

The part of Armuchee which was south of the Farmers Bridge over Armuchee Creek was a well - populated area between 1950 and 1962. When you left Armuchee "proper" and crossed the bridge, there  was (and still is) the old Farmers Cemetery on your right (which would later become the New Armuchee   Baptist Church Cemetery).

The "Farmers Bridge" name for the bridge referred to the family who lived in the old house just south  of the bridge on the left-- this would have been back in the 1800's, as I learned it as a child. This family  must also have owned the hill across the road (Old U..S. Hwy 27), hence the name "Farmers" Cemetery.  Many years later, this land would be owned by the Burk family. In my day, I remember Alfred and Louise Burk and their daughters, Anita and Emily. Louise played the piano for the New Armuchee Baptist  Church for a number of years. They still owned the Cemetery up until the 1980's or '90's, I believe, when  they turned it over to the church.

After returning to Armuchee in 1997, from being gone about 35 years, my wife and I re-joined the  New Armuchee Baptist Church. I had the opportunity to serve as Chairman of the Cemetery Committee  for a number of years. In that capacity, I was able to learn a lot more about the cemetery than I'd ever known before.

L-R: #2 Roy Selman, #3 Willie Nelson, #4 Otis Lumsden, #5 Rev. E. Stanley Morris

The Farmers Bridge existed as far back as the Civil War (as a wooden covered  bridge). Frequent  and devastating floods of the creek caused it to have to be repaired or rebuilt a number of times before a more sturdy concrete structure was built around the 1920's. One of the bridge's claims to fame was a  battle that took place there during the Civil war. Rather than try to describe that battle, I'm going to  include an article from the Rome Convention and Visitor Bureau's website.

Farmers Bridge across Armuchee Creek
Farmers Bridge

Located eight miles north of Rome in the Armuchee community, Farmers Bridge was the only span across Armuchee Creek between Summerville and Rome.

On May 13, 1864,  Company G, Twelfth Alabama Cavalry (C.S.), was posted on the heights south of the bridge to provide warning of Federal forces advancing after the battle of Resaca. On the morning of May 15, Colonel Robert Minty’s Federal brigade, composed of three regiments and a detachment of artillery, arrived on the road just north of the bridge. An initial charge was repulsed by the dismounted troopers entrenched on the hillside, but Minty was able to pin the Confederates in place while sending a larger force both upstream and downstream at fords across the creek.

The thin Confederate line was outflanked and soon broke. Their commander, Captain William Lokey, was mortally wounded and ten of his command killed. The remainder of the company fell back to Big Dry Creek and participated in the fight at Howe’s Hill.

The ten Confederate soldiers were initially buried where they fell but shortly afterward their bodies were reinterred by a local family in their family cemetery on a hill overlooking Armuchee Creek where, through the years, their unmarked graves were gradually forgotten. In 1998 a group of researchers from N.B. Forrest Camp 469, Sons of Confederate Veterans, found their burial location and a substantial monument with plaques describing the action was dedicated in a ceremony featuring descendants of the soldiers buried here.

Monument to the Confederate dead of the Battle of Farmers Bridge

Graves of the ten Confederate soldiers who died at the Battle of Farmers Bridge

The current Farmers Bridge over Armuchee Creek

In my childhood years, the old FARMERS home was occupied by the Spurgeon Family. Their  children were Linda, Julia (who was in my AHS graduating class in 1962), and Bill. That old house is now gone and a new one built some years later; it is now occupied by Emily Burk Swanson, whose family owned the cemetery across the road.

I can't leave the Cemetery without at least a mention of its layout. There was a road around the Armuchee Creek side of the cemetery --it really had no name until many years later when Scenic Drive  was built and the road became an extension of Scenic Drive. Sometime over these past eight or ten years, the county put up a sign calling it the "Armuchee Creek Cemetery Road".  Scenic drive spanned from where the new U.S. Hwy 27 is, back to the old U.S.27 just south of Farmers Bridge. There  was also an old road around the back of the cemetery which entered the old U.S. 27 at the same spot as  Scenic Drive. Sometime in the late  '50's or early '60's, this Scenic drive was extended over the portion of  Lavender mountain beyond  the cemetery, around  to the Little Texas Valley Road northwest of the Old  Iron Bridge. By following this road over the mountain, and taking a left turn on an old dirt road, you could  hike all the way along the top of Lavender to the House of Dreams, Ms. Martha Berry's retreat atop the  mountain. These two roads, the road behind the Cemetery and the entire length of Scenic Drive over the  mountain (as well as a portion of the unpaved road to House of Dreams) served many a teenage dating couple as nighttime hideaways for many years. I daresay there aren't many Armuchee kids from the 50's,
60's or later who don't know what I'm talking about!

Old Iron Bridge over Armuchee Creek

 When you left that area around the cemetery, going farther south on U.S. Highway 27, there were very few houses all the way south to the "Dead Man's Curve" area. You would pass on your left the Yarbrough Bend Road which went about a mile over to the McGrady Road. Along the way, on Yarbrough Bend, was the old Rock Quarry on your left. We loved to fish and swim there, although if our parents found out we could expect a whipping.The water was crystal clear to the bottom (some said up to 90 feet  deep). You could see beautiful fish down there, but they could see you too and we seldom caught many.  In  WW II years, the Rock Quarry was where Uncle Sam got the rock (gravel) used to build the Naval Air  Training Center (which later became Russell Field,  Rome's local Airport). Word back in the day was that  when workers were mining the rock they had much heavy equipment down in the quarry and when they  struck water, the quarry filled with water so fast much of this equipment was never recovered. Tales (probably true) told of cars and trucks which accidentally -some maybe on  purpose- are  also down there on the bottom of the quarry. It would be interesting to know true stories of divers who have explored  these waters and could either vouch for or disprove these tales..

Dead Man's Curve on Old U.S. 27

McGrady road ran from Dead Man's Curve all the way out to the old Yarbrough farm at its end on the  south side of Armuchee Creek. During the years I'm writing about, the Buffington family lived there. Many times, the New Armuchee Baptist Church held its baptisms here. This is where I was baptized in  1953. Besides the Buffingtons in those years, I also knew some of the many McGrady Road families:  the  Burks (from their house you could walk through the woods to explore the cave on the north end of the  airport- hidden in the woods); the Lumsden's (Otis-our Ag teacher- and wife, Ruby, Charles, who married my younger sister Monna, Eddy, who became our County Commissioner and State Rep, and Lynn); the  Horn's, whose daughter Kay was one of my AHS classmates, sisters Carol and Debbie; the Reonas family; and the Jacksons, whose son MJ and I double dated many times. There were a number  of others whom I knew well from school years, but I didn't know they lived there (McGrady) 'til much later.

Baptismal Service, New Armuchee Creek Baptist Church around 1957

From Farmer's Bridge south on Old US 27, there was one more family, the Presleys; they
were great friends of mine for many years. Their sons, Dexter and Terry, were classmates at AHS
and have been dear friends for many years. Beyond the Presley place, down US 27, you came to Dead  Man's Curve. At this point, McGrady Road, Hatfield Road and Warren Road branched off. On south,  around the curve, my Uncle Lionel Marr and his family lived. Children of Lionel and Elminie (Harper)  Marr were Jimmy, Lenore, Charlotte and Woodfin, my first cousins.

Dexter and Terry Presley

 Again, during the period I'm writing about ('50's, and  '60's), I didn't know a lot of people on Warren Road, and Hatfield was not very populated. But there was one family on the Warren Road I would come  to know quite well and would eventually marry one of the daughters. That would be the Barnes family,  who brought their daughter Nancy into my life in the early '60's. After nearly 51 years of marriage, it's  hard to imagine when we were not together.

Anita Burk and Johnnie Johnson, 1965 at the Eubanks Wedding

Nancy Eubanks, Age 16

Mac Eubanks, Age 12

From the area of Dead Man's Curve southward on U.S. 27, the area was known as Dixie Park and  south of there, Glenwood. Technically we leave Armuchee behind I guess, but there were many kids in  Glenwood who would become great friends when they started attending the consolidated Armuchee  High School. But until then, I didn't know them. And even today, there are still many who consider Dixie  Park and Glenwood as separate communities and not a part of the Armuchee community (and I agree with them)!

In 1965, I married this girl of my dreams, Nancy Ellen Barnes, and we went to live in Atlanta. She  went to work for Southern Bell and I went to work for IBM while attending Georgia Tech. After that, our  lives were to take us to many different parts of the U.S., but always in the back of our minds, we thought  of returning one day to Armuchee. That dream came true in 1997 when we returned to live in the Floyd  Springs Community.

So we come to the end of a series of memories of my years of growing up in the community called  Armuchee-- that place which was not so much a  place as a "State of Mind". In my memory all the  homes, schools, churches, roads, creeks, groups and  most of all those individual people and families who were my friends were my own personal "State of Mind". I have never intended to set myself up as  any kind of authority or last word, only to put my memories out there for any who might be interested and to encourage others to share their own thoughts- especially with younger members of their own families or members of the community. Only in doing so can we make sure that what we experienced in  life is not lost to time after we are gone.

Mac Eubanks