A Tribute to my brother, Arthur

 Arthur Yarborough, Jr.

Twenty-six years ago today, I lost my brother, Arthur.  We were only 17 months apart.  The two of us grew up together, almost like fraternal twins.  We did everything together, shared the same experiences, good and bad.  When Arthur died, he took all of the secrets of my youth with him, because he was the only person who knew and (in many cases), shared them.
 

 My mother, Mary Yarborough, poses with her newborn son, Arthur, Jr.

Arthur Yarborough, Jr. was born on August 23, 1960 in Bremerhaven, Germany, to parents Arthur, Sr. and Mary Yarborough.  He was said to have been a very good natured baby from the start, with an even temperament and a quick and easy smile.  I remember hearing stories about how Arthur, as a baby, would always stop whatever he was doing when television commercials came on, and would watch and listen intently.  Once the commercials ended, he would resume his activity.  This was an interesting bit of family lore, since Arthur grew up to be a Mass-Media enthusiast and majored in it in college.

  Above:  Arthur as a toddler (Presumably, before I was born)

Below:  My dad, Arthur, Sr. and my brother, Arthur, Jr. in Louisburg, NC

circa 1968

As a boy, Arthur was involved in many community activities.  He was a Cub Scout, played Little League Baseball, and enjoyed attending youth activities at our church.  In high school, Arthur was a triple-sport athlete, playing basketball, football, and baseball.  After two years at Bethel High School in our native Hampton, VA, he decided to go off to military school at Augusta Military Academy in Staunton, VA.  It was there that Arthur truly blossomed as an athlete, as well as as an ROTC officer.  He graduated from Augusta in 1978.

Arthur, the Little League's star pitcher

 Top left: Arthur's Junior picture @ AMA.  Right: QB Arthur (#10) and another player pose for their football picture at AMA.

Arthur returned home to Hampton to attend the alma mater of our mother, and our two oldest brothers, Hampton Institute (now Hampton University).  Known by the nickname, "Yang", he was very popular and well-loved by his fellow students.  Arthur grew deeply involved in his major, Mass Media Arts, and became best known for his smooth jazz radio show, "Inspirations", on Hampton's station, WHOV.  In addition, he wrote for the school's newspaper, and anchored a 15-minute nightly broadcast on Hampton's "Newswatch 10" a weekday cable news program.  He also joined several social fraternities, including the oldest on Hampton's campus, Omega Sigma Chi.  Arthur graduated from Hampton in May, 1982, two months after discovering that he had cancer.

 Hampton Institute president, William R. Harvey, congratulates Arthur and hands him his diploma on Mother's Day, 1982

Though the news of my brother's illness was discouraging, he never let it stop him from working towards his goals.  What began as a mystery-illness, with symptoms of abdominal pain and blackouts, was first diagnosed as a hernia.  Plans were made to surgically remove the hernia while Arthur was on Spring Break during his senior year at Hampton.  However, what we thought was going to be the solution to his problems turned out to be just the beginning.  Once the hernia was removed, surgeons discovered a tumor on my brother's liver.  Primary liver cancer of unknown origin.  The fight began...

 Here, Arthur, wearing his fraternity tee-shirt, snaps a picture of himself in the mirror.  I kind of like the "halo" effect. :)

 For the next two years, my brother, with the support of my then-divorced parents, did everything he could to beat the odds.  Liver cancer was one of the toughest to beat, especially as the primary site.  Arthur tried traditional and experimental treatments.  He tried dietary changes and supplements.  He had good days and bad days.  Good weeks and bad weeks.  He underwent chemotherapy and radiation and was in and out of the hospital.  During this time, we remained in close contact, via phone and letters, but I was away in college and unable to be by his side as often as I wanted to.  Then, in 1982, just before my third year of college, I gave birth to my first child, Natasha.  I named Arthur her god-father, and in the summer of 1983, decided we could stay away no longer.  I wanted my brother to know his niece, so I got a job as a teachers aide, and my daughter and I moved back to Hampton Roads, so that we could be near him and assist in his care. And, during that year, my brother got to know my daughter, and she, him. Though she was very young, the two of them developed a very close relationship, and she remembers him, to this day.  I praise God for my decision to move back home, because it was during that school year that my brother's health took a turn for the worse. 

My brother, Arthur, with my daughter, Natasha, sometime in 1983.

Although Arthur was sick, he was determined to continue his quest to find employment in the media field, which he loved so much.  He completed an internship at our local CBS affiliate television station, and was being considered for an anchor position at the time of his death.  Additionally, he worked as a sports writer for the Daily Press, our local newspaper; and as a newscaster for WNIS, news/talk radio station. I give thanks to all of these companies who recognized his talent, and were willing to give him opportunities to do what he loved, despite the fact that he sometimes was too ill to work.

In March, 1984, Arthur took ill and was admitted to Riverside Hospital (now Riverside Regional Medical Center).  The doctors were pessimistic about his prognosis, and pretty much let my parents know that this was it.  But still, my brother stayed positive and hopeful.  He was in a coma for the first week or so, but once he became alert, he started talking about coming home and about wanting to get back out onto the golf course with my dad.  We were taking turns sitting with him - my mother, father, and I - and on my shifts we enjoyed reminiscing about when we were little, and he played with Natasha, if she was with me.  A few times, when he was sleeping, he would seem to choke and stop breathing, but I would shake him and say, "Breathe, Arthur, breathe!", and he did.  At first, my parents and I were just quiet about the idea of him coming home, but he was so insistent, and he seemed to be doing so well, that finally the doctors agreed to let him go.  I believe the plan was for some level of in-home hospice care, although I didn't really understand what that meant at the time.  (I was only 22 years old, and I think the hospice concept was fairly new.)   My mother was so excited, and she worked hard to get his old room clean and ready for him, with a hospital bed on order, and plans to have nurses checking in.  Unfortunately, early on the morning of April 6th, the day before he was scheduled to come home, and with our father by his side, my brother, Arthur took his last breath. 

Today marks the 26th year since the day my brother died.  Words can't explain how deeply the loss of my brother has affected me, and changed the course of my life.  Although I do have two other brothers, they are so much older than me, that they were both gone from home by the time I was seven years old.  So, it was just my parents, Arthur, and me for most of my life.  Arthur and I fought like any other siblings, but our love for each other was undeniable, and our paths (I'd thought), inseparable.  When he was in the hospital, I prayed and prayed, always asking God to help me to accept His Will, whatever that turned out to be.  My brother's death was, and has continued to be a lesson in FAITH for me.  I miss him so much, but I know that he is in a much better place, and that he is rejoicing now in heaven with our father, grandparents, and all of the ancestors that I'm working to learn about now.

  This is my absolute most-favorite picture of my brother and me.  I think it says so much about us, without having to say anything at all! 

In closing, I'd like to share a poem that I wrote three years ago, on the anniversary of Arthur's death.  At that point, he'd been in heaven for as long as he was here on earth, and these are the words that came to my heart:

To Arthur

For twenty-three years you were here on this earth,
Now for twenty-three years you’ve been gone.
And I know in my heart that you’re better off now,
As you rest in God’s heavenly home.
I’ll always remember the things that we shared,
The good, as well as the bad.
The ups and the downs, the smiles and the frowns,
And all of the secrets we had.
Without you, my brother,  life’s not been the same
But I’ll try not to dwell on the past.
God knew what was best when he took you with Him
To anchor on Heaven’s broadcast.
For twenty-three years you were here on this earth,
Now for twenty-three years you’ve been gone.
I’ll see you one day, when God chooses me
To rest in His heavenly home.  

                                                                            With love, from Renate

                                                            April, 2007

 One of those Easter Sundays.  I miss you, Arthur.

Thank you for reading.
Renate

The content and pictures included in this post are the property of Renate Y Sanders, and should not but used, copied, or embedded without the express permission of the owner.  Please contact me via email at yarsan@aol.com.  Thank you.

CoAAG - Grandma's Hands: Grandmothers and Their Influence On The Family

The second installation of the Carnival of African-American Genealogy, "Grandma's Hands", is, in the words of its host, Sandra Taliaferro, "all about Grandmas".  Since I recently posted tributes to both of my grandmothers on a Sentimental Sunday, I'm going to simply repeat that post here, with just a few revisions (and a couple of new pictures)!

When I first began my research 13 years ago, I did so in an attempt to discover who I am.  I didn't know anything at all about my ancestors, beyond my maternal and paternal grandmothers, both of whom I personally knew.  I didn't grow up hearing family stories.  As a matter of fact, I really didn't have any sense of there being a "history" of my family.  My maternal grandmother, Mary (Davis) Thomas, lived just 30 minutes away from us, in Norfolk, VA, but it was my paternal grandmother in Louisburg, NC, Anna (Green) Yarborough, with whom I was closest.  Both of these women were constants in my life, and my grandma Thomas even ended up living with us during  my last couple of years of high school.  Therefore, despite the fact that I knew little to nothing of my grandmothers' past, or of the ancestors who preceded them, each of these ladies were threads the fabric of my life.

These women who raised my mother and father each had a significant impact on my development into the person I am today.  And not only that, but when I look in the mirror, I see them both in my reflection - the body of one, and the face of the other.  As I've learned more about their lives, and the hardships they each faced, I beam with pride as I recognize what it had to take for each of them to have managed and sustained their households in the loss of their husbands and in the face of repeated financial blows and/or significant family stressors that would have brought many others down.  But, both of my grandmothers stood tall in the face of adversity and beat the odds of their time.  As single parents, they raised successful children and both managed to keep their homes, which are still in our family today.  Through hard work and faith in God, Mary Thomas and Anna Yarborough lived well, and left a legacy of self-sufficiency, perserverance, and good will towards others.  Many times I've been complimented on the way I've raised my children and managed to rise above the many hard times I've been faced with in my adult life, and I'm often asked the question, "How do you do it?"  Well, now I know, and I have the perfect answer:  "It's the 'stuff' I'm made of!"

Anna Beatrice Green Yarborough

Anna Green Yarborough

Anna Beatrice Green was born on January 18, 1891 to parents John Wesley and Susan Dunstan Green.  She was the daughter of Nathaniel Hawkins and Anna B. Green (who she was named for). Anna was born in Rolesville (Wake County), NC. The family soon moved a few miles north to Louisburg, in Franklin County, but returned to Wake County when Anna was in her teens.  She had two sisters, Mabel and Blonnie, and three brothers, "Little Johnny", Joseph, and William; however only Mabel, William, and Anna lived to adulthood.  I know very little about Anna's early life, but in 1919, she married my grandfather, Calvin R. Yarborough, Jr., a widower with three children.  Anna moved to into the Franklin County home that was built by her new husband and his brother, and became step-mother to Vida, Priscilla, and Frederick Yarborough.  Over the next five years, she gave birth to her own three children, Susie, Calvin III, and Arthur (my father).  Unfortunately, Calvin began to suffer with the symptoms of tuberculosis, the cause of his first wife's death.  He fell ill, and passed away in 1929, leaving Anna to raise six children alone.  Anna, who was, at the time, involved in the creation of a new church in Louisburg (Mt. Hebron United Holy Church) relied on her faith and worked hard keep the taxes paid on the house that her husband had built, and to keep her children fed, clothed, and educated.  She worked as a laundress, as well as for private families as a housekeeper and nanny.  She also took in sewing, all the while maintaining a leadership role in the church she'd helped to create. She had a sweet disposition and was known throughout the little town of Louisburg as, "Miss Anna".  Anna walked several miles each day to and from her jobs on the "white side" of town.  She never did learn to drive.
As Anna grew older, her three biological children helped to support her so that she no longer had to work.  (The older three died of various causes in their 30's and 40's.)  Her greatest joy was in spending time with her four grandchildren, all the children of her youngest son, Arthur.  She was an excellent cook, and was known for the wonderful cakes she baked.  She took pride in her house and her yard, and gave special care and attention to her "award-winning" rose bushes in her front yard.  She loved to sit out on her in her porch in her brown, wooden rocking chair and wave at all of the passers by, many of whom would stop for a chat.  Some of my fondest memories are of warm summer evenings spent sitting on that porch with my grandma, and yes, I remember her hands - soft and wrinkled, I loved so much to trace the bluish-green veins that showed so clearly through her pale, almost-white skin.  I remember my grandma's hands.

In February, 1977, when I was 15 years old, my grandmother, Anna Yarborough, died of complications from colon cancer.  She is buried in the family plot on "the hill", which is the Louisburg City Cemetery (formerly, "Louisburg, for the Colored").

This is me with my Grandma Yarborough, probably around 1968 or 1969.

 In addition to the Sentimental Sunday post, mentioned above, you can read more about my Grandma Yarborough here and here. 

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Mary Davis Walker Hill Thomas

Mary Davis Thomas

My maternal grandmother, Mary Davis was born December 26, 1897 in Littleton (Halifax County), NC to parents Walter and Minerva Brown Davis.  According to the 1900 Census, Mary had a brother, one year older, named Samuel, and in 1910, the Census states that her mother had actually born three children, but only one (Mary) was living.  It is likely that Mary never knew or remembered her two siblings, because she never mentioned them to my mother, or to either of her other two children.  Mary's maternal ancestors were her grandparents, Asa and Luvenia Ross Brown, and great-grandparents, Everett and Minerva Ross.  Her paternal grandparents were Lewis and Dollie Davis.  Mary's large extended family all lived in the Littleton and Roanoke Rapids areas of North Carolina.

Around the turn of the 20th Century, several members of the Davis family migrated to Norfolk, Virginia, seemingly to work as longshoremen.  Walter, Minerva and Mary were part of this migration.  By 1910, they, as well as several of their family members are living in the Lambert's Point section of Norfolk.  In 1915, a young Mary was wed to her first love, Allen Walker, at the St. Marks AZUA Church in Norfolk.  Allen worked as a brakeman on the Virginia Railroad.  He and Mary were quite in love and lived happily, sharing a home with her parents until his untimely death, which occured sometime early in their marriage. 

Mary, though heartbroken, had to go on with her life.  At some point, she began doing hair in the porch room of the home that she'd shared with Allen, and she petitioned the owner for it's purchase.  In 1924, the house in Lambert's Point was hers, and it is still in our family today.  Sometime later, Mary met Daniel Webster Hill, and they were married in 1929 in Philadelphia, PA, and in 1930, Daniel, had joined Mary and her parents in the home.  Mary began her family with Daniel; first giving birth to a son, Howell, and then, in 1934, to a daughter (my mother), Mary Anne.  In 1936, Mary's father, Walter, died, but she still had her mother, Minerva there to help her with the house and the chldren. Unfortunately, sometime around 1938, Daniel Hill abandoned his family for reasons unknown, and was never heard from again.

Once again, Mary was left on her own, but this time, with two children. Mary was able to carry on with her very successful hair-care business. True love struck again, and she married Charlie Thomas, a railroad worker with whom she fell deeply in love.  Mary gave birth to her youngest daughter, Jane, in 1940.  Charlie was a loving and caring provider to his wife, daughter, and step-children.  It seemed that the family had finally found joy, but tragedy struck again, as Charlie was killed in a railroad accident, leaving Mary a widow, once again. 

Understandably, Mary lived the rest of her life without a spouse.  She continued to do hair, and also worked as a secretary and receptionist at the local YWCA.  Her mother, Minerva, who was her partner in raising the children, died in 1960, after they were all grown and gone.  Mary carried on, living alone in the home that she'd purchased in 1924.  At some point, she joined, and became a faithful and comitted member of Jerusalem Baptist Church in Norfolk. In the mid-70's, when Mary's health began to fail, she moved in with her daughter Mary's family in Hampton, VA, and later into a nursing home in Chesapeake, close to where her son lived.  Mary Davis Walker Hill Thomas, who'd lived to see three generations of her descendants, died in June, 1986, at the age of 89.  She is buried in Calvary Cemetery in Norfolk, VA in a plot with several family members, including her parents, and her beloved last husband, Charlie.

 I've wanted to use this picture on my blog for so long; I think now is the perfect time!  I find this photo so intriguing, because it show my grandmother in a light that I would have never imagined.  Here Mary Thomas poses on an unknown beach - date also unknown.

Both of my grandmothers, Anna Yarborough and Mary Thomas, had a "hand" in shaping me, as well as the rest of their descendants.  They've each left a legacy of strength, determination, hard work, and perseverance; character traits which have been passed down and have led generations of our family to stand tall in the face of loss and struggle, and to each become successful citizens in our own right.  May they rest in peace.

Renate

Tombstone Tuesday - My Brother's Grave

Even though this picture features a person, more so than a grave, I felt it appropriate for Tombstone Tuesday, when I ran across it on my memory card just the other day.  Everyone who knows me knows that I always have my camera with me, and I randomly snap photos of even the simplest moments.  Here, on a ride out a few weeks ago (not the same ride I wrote about for Sentimental Sunday), I took my mom by the cemetery in Hampton where my brother, Arthur, is buried.  My mother was very reflective and was noticeably touched to be able to visit her son's grave site, even though she's now unable to get out to walk over to it.  This picture tells so much, and reaffirms for me, in yet another instance, that my mother, despite some occasional moments of dementia, is still herself and (as I already know, but others don't seem to), is not only a thinking person, but also one who experiences normal human emotions, whether she expresses them verbally, or not.

In this picture, Mary Yarborough gazes out towards the grave of her son (and my brother), Arthur Yarborough, Jr., (August 23, 1960 - April 6, 1984).

Sentimental Sunday - Riding with Mom

The month of March has been extremely emotional for me for a number of reasons.  One thing that has been a challenge has been witnessing my mother's apparent loneliness, and then, just this past Friday trying to be uplifting and supportive as she, as she occasionally does, actually verbalized her feelings and expressed a true concern about her situation in life.  (For those readers who don't know, my mother has been in assisted living since June of 2004 after a devastating fall, and has lost her ability to walk -for the most part - in the past year.)  I've been very torn up and concerned trying to figure out what I can do that I'm not already doing to try to improve her situation.  I left her on Friday promising to pick her up for a ride out the next day, which was to be a warm, sunny 70+ degrees.  (My mother won't come out in the cold.)

We got a later start than I'd hoped for, due to my morning WAR with my allergies, but finally after lunch I picked my mom up and off we went.  She did a good job of getting into the car for me, which was a good sign.  Before we left the parking lot of her facility, I put on her make-up and jewelry to get her looking like Mary Anne, and we plotted out our afternoon ride.

 Our first stop would be in Hampton, at my mother's home (which she still owns and I take care of).  She sat in the car while I went in to check the house and get the mail.  When I came out, I noticed her neighbor sitting on her screened-in back porch.  She hadn't realized my mom was with me, but when I told her, she came right over to chat with her.  God is so good!  This is just what my mother needed - a few minutes with an old friend - her neighbor of 46 years.  I invited Mrs. Cappe to perch on the door-sill beside my mother, and sat by patiently while the two friends got caught up with each other, and Mrs. Cappe filled my mother in on the health of another previous neighbor.  This little visit, though brief, did my mother a world of good, and served to continue the job of lifting her spirits, which the ride, the sunshine, and I had already begun.  As an almost-afterthought, I decided to snap the two ladies' picture with my cell-phone just before we left.  It's a dark shot, but still I'm glad I was able to capture the moment.

That's my mom on the right, talking to her neighbor , Mrs. Cappe, as they sat in the car under our carport.

From here, we took a ride just a mile or so away, to the home of a dear friend and former co-worker of mine.  I'd called to tell her that we were in the area, and wanted her to meet my mom, since she never had and she hears me talk about her all the time.  The meeting was quick, but went well. :)  Next stop - McDonald's to get the required Coca-Cola (I don't know how to make the brand-sign) which my mother requests whenever we go out.  Then, it was onto to the interstate and off to Norfolk, where she was born and raised.

Our first stop on the south side was to Calvary Cemetery, the burial ground of my mother's mother and her paternal grandparents.  I wanted to show her that there was no headstone or marker for them, a discovery I'd made when I first visited in January.  She insists that there should have been a marker-plate for her mother, who died in 1986, and her brother has told me the same thing.  Luckily, the plot is right by the side of the road, so my mother was able to see for herself that there was nothing there but grass.  We drove around the cemetery a bit, looking at some of the surnames and unique graves (many of which I photographed on my last visit and have already uploaded to Find-A-Grave).  Next, it was off to my mother's childhood home, which she also owns, and I also now take care of.

Again, Mom waited in the car while I did my walk-through of the now-vacant property, which is adjacent to ODU's campus.  When I returned to the car, she reminisced a bit and commented on how the neighborhood was changing.  We talked about the need to get new tenants or sell soon, noticed the completion of the new recreation center in the next block, and headed out of the neighborhood for the 45 minute drive back to her facility in Newport News.

All in all this was a great day with and for my mom.  It saddens my heart that she, once such a vibrant and active member of the community, is now so physically confined by her failing body that she can't get out and about anymore, but I'm ever-so-glad that Spring has come, so that I can at least take her out on the weekends now.

On Tuesday, my mother will celebrate her 76th birthday.  Yes, I said 76.  The debilitating condition which has robbed her of her bodily control and ability to balance began to torment my mother eleven years ago, when she was only 65.  I'm thankful that she still has her mind (although there are times when she is extremely sleepy and you might not believe it) and that she knows all of her family members and what is going on around her.  This can be a mixed blessing though, because this means that she is well-aware of how seldom anyone else visits her, except for my daughters and me, but still it is a blessing.  Mom has asked me to make a yellow cake with lemon icing for her birthday, and she wants vanilla ice-cream, so that's what we'll be having to celebrate.  Oh, and if you're wondering what we'll be drinking... well, in this family, COKE is always IT!

Renate

Restore My Name - CoAAG (Updated 5/28/17)

For my first entry in the Carnival of African-American Genealogy, I'd like to respond to the prompt, "As a descendant of slaves, have you been able to work with or even meet other researchers who are descendants of slave owners?"

A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to meet a descendant of one of the slave-owning  YARBOROUGHs of Franklin County, NC, where my paternal ancestors are from.  As it happened, I was in the FC Courthouse doing some research one summer day, and in discussing my plight in trying to validate my theory on how my great-grandfather, Calvin, came to be a Yarborough, a very helpful young lady shared with me that a semi-retired lawyer in town was a YARBOROUGH, and had an office in the very next block.  Several of the other courthouse workers chimed in, saying that this person was an avid family historian and that they believed him to have access to his ancestors' records.  Of course, I made my way over to the law office, only to find a note on the door saying that the person I sought was only in on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  This was not one of those days.

This is Richard Fenner Yarborough, Sr., a son of one of the first "brothers of Yarboroughs" who came to Franklin County (then Bute), NC from Virginia.  (Photo taken by Renate Sanders of original picture (in frame) held by C.H. Yarborough, Jr.)






I took down the phone number for the law office and continued on to the next planned stop on my trip, which was a visit to the Oakwood Cemetery, where most of the slave-owning Yarboroughs are buried. This was more out of curiosity than anything else, but as always, the Ancestors were at work.  As I stood amid the immaculately kept graves in the YARBOROUGH CIRCLE (which was located right in the center of Oakwood), another vehicle pulled up.  A white-haired lady got out and headed directly towards me.  "Oh, no", I thought.  I guess she's wondering why I (a black woman) am out here in the middle of her family plot.  I put on my best smile and greeted her, excited on the inside thinking that I might be about to meet one of the descendants of my great-grandfather's owners, but nervous about how I was about to be received.  The woman also smiled, perhaps a bit nervously too, but - she - smiled. :) We got all of the pleasantries out of the way and got to talking.  As it turned out, the woman, Nancy, was the widow of a deceased YARBOROUGH and was out to visit her husband's grave.  She knew and shared quite a bit of history with me, and we completed our visit to the cemetery together. She also knows and considers as a friend, my aunt, Susue Yarborough, who still lives in Louisburg  joined the Ancestors in November, 2013. Before we parted, Nancy, too, shared the name and the home phone number of her husband's nephew - the same lawyer whom I'd just attempted to visit.

Nancy Yarborough, widow of Edward Yarborough
(Photo property of Renate Yarborough Sanders)







Long story short, I ended up calling Attorney Charles Yarborough, who was quite gracious and receptive to meeting and talking with me about the possibility of our shared family history.  I met with him on my next trip to Louisburg, and we had a high time getting to know each other, and chatting about our families. As it turned out, my own grandmother, Anna Green Yarborough, actually worked for Charles' family when he was a boy.  And get this - she was his nanny!  Charles remembered my grandmother's sweetness, and he remembered being very sad when she had to stop working for his family, abruptly, due to the illness of a family member.  (I'll write about that in another post.)  He thought he might have a picture someplace of her holding him (oh - wouldn't that be a treasure for me!), but hasn't been able to find it to date.  Charles did find the photo a year or two after this post was written! Although it's blurry, that's definitely my grandma. This photo now serves as the youngest picture I've ever seen of her. 

My grandmother, Anna Green Yarborough, holding little Charles Hill Yarborough, Jr. (circa 1934)

I have one other photo to add to this post, but I'll have to get it the next time I visit Louisburg. It's a precious photo of little Charles, about 5 or 6 years old, tucked into the Yarborough Family Bible, along with other precious mementos. (Ugh... I still don't have that photo in-hand to add, but I will.)

Anyway, I've had the opportunity since then to meet Charles' son, Hill, who is just as gracious, accepting, and generous as his father.  Together, the three of us have visited, "The Hill", which is the burial ground for most of my African-American YARBOROUGH ancestors, including many who were formerly enslaved by various members of Charles and Hill's family.  In particular, Charles wanted to pay his respects to his "Nanny", which he was able to do on that day. Charles recalled, with obvious fondness, how much he loved my grandmother, and how "sweet" she was to him. He told me about how, one day, his mother told him that "Nanny" (as he called her) couldn't come back anymore. He was very young, so of course, he didn't know the details, but he remembered that he "just cried and cried". Some 70 years later, I was able to fill in the void of him not knowing why she "left" him. My Aunt Sue, who was about 17 at the time, had been diagnosed with tuberculosis, the horrible disease that had taken the life of my grandfather (her father) some years earlier. Apparently, my grandmother had been tested and found to be a carrier, therefore, the Health Department prohibited her from working in private homes, any longer. Because of this, she had to abruptly leave her job with "Lawyer Yarborough", and resorted to at-home work to support her family, such as taking in laundry and sewing for others. However, I've found letters and documents that show that Mr. Yarborough (Charles' dad) provided legal support and wrote letters on my grandmother's behalf, in later years.

Charles and Hill Yarborough have continued to open their hearts to me in my quest to find any documentation that further supports my finding that my great-grandfather was owned by their ancestor's cousin, James H. YARBOROUGH.  We know that we are not blood relatives, thanks to DNA testing, but I never thought we were since my Calvin, was acquired by James H. via his marriage to Elizabeth T. Neal, when he was already 13 or 14 years old. Because James H. Yarborough's only child died in infancy, therefore, he has no descendants. Meeting the descendant of one of his siblings has been the next best thing and I'm grateful that the Ancestors brought us together.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                            This is me with Charles on "The Hill".  Here we stand touching the headstone of my grandmother (his "Nanny") and grandfather.

Soon, I'll be heading back to Louisburg, where Hill (pictured left) and I together will search through some of the boxes and boxes of family documents which he now has in his care.  Charles, Nancy, and Hill Yarborough have indeed proven themselves not only to be wonderful "friends of friends", but as we like to call ourselves, "almost-cousins", or "cousins-anyway". 

Hill and I did, indeed, have our day of searching. We started out, together, but then he left me alone in his home to go through the boxes and files on my own. (Such trust!) 

I learned a lot about the Yarboroughs, that day, but didn't find documents specifically related to my ancestors (although there were a few things that referenced my great-grandfather's last owner, James H. Yarborough). Still, just having the opportunity to sift through and read so many original historic records in a private collection was an honor and a privilege that I'll always cherish.

5/28/17: Today, I'm revisiting and updating this post, due to the loss of my dear "cousin-anyway", Charles Hill Yarborough, Jr. He left this earth on Friday, May 26, 2017. Sadly, I hadn't visited with Charles in the last few years, due to his move to Raleigh and declining health. Hill and I talked several times about trying to arrange for me to see him on one of my trips to the area, but we never made it happen and I truly regret that. 
Charles Hill Yarborough, Jr. was a great man, who lived a full life. I proud to say I knew him. We considered one another family, and I will always remember him with fondness. May he rest in peace.

Click here to read the full obituary for Charles H. Yarborough, Jr.

Wordless Wednesday - Been There - Done That!

Been there, done that!

 

Haven't we all? :)

Source citation included in photo,  The Daily Press is a Tribune subsidiary, and is located at 7505 Warwick Blvd., Newport News, VA 23607

Fearless Female - Anna G Yarborough - #AtoZChallenge

     A is for Anna.

This post was originally written in 2010, in response to a writing prompt encouraging the blogging community to write posts about "fearless females" from our family trees. I am resposting this on April 2, 2017 as a part of the A-Z Challenge, which began yesterday so I'll be posting A and B, today. 

This is a picture of my grandmother, Anna Beatrice Green Yarborough.  It is the only picture I've ever seen of her in her younger days.  I do so wish I could see her eyes under that hat!

Anna was "my" grandma.  I've written about her in several posts.  All my life I've been told that I look just like her, and I know that she has definitely passed on an abundance of her spirit to me.  We were so close, and though she passed when I was just a fifteen, I miss her still, and think of her constantly.

 Anna Beatrice Green was born January 18, 1891 in Wake County (Rolesville), NC, to parents John Wesley Green and Susan Georgiana Dunston. Her grandparents were Nathaniel M. Hawkins and Anna Green (her namesake).  In 1919, Anna married Calvin Yarborough, Jr., a widower with three children.  She went on to have three more children with Calvin - Susie, Calvin III, and Arthur (my father).  Sadly, my grandfather succumbed to tuberculosis, which had ravaged his family, just ten years after they married, leaving Anna to finish raising the six children alone.  Following what seems to be pattern of single women rearing children in my family, Anna never remarried.  Instead, she worked hard (and constantly) as a laundress, housekeeper, and nanny for several families in her little town of Louisburg.  "Miss Anna" (or Annie), as she was known around town, was under constant financial pressure to keep the beautiful family home which her husband had built, but she did it, and it is still in the family now.  (I've discovered records of letters and legal papers which document this struggle; otherwise, I would have never known.)  Anna, determined not to let her misfortune define her family, worked hard to feed, clothe, and educate her children to the best of her ability.  This was her priority, and, according to her daughter, Susie (who will be 90 in April) who passed in 2013, they "were poor, but they didn't really know it."  Additionally, Anna was one of the founders of the Mount Hebron United Holiness Church in Louisburg.  I have very fond memories of attending this church with my grandma, but I never knew that she was one of the founders until very recently.  My grandma was so very humble.  She was proud, but never boastful. She passed those traits down to my father, and subsequently, to me.

I chose this picture because, as I mentioned already, this it is the only picture I have ever seen of my grandma at a young age.  I don't know when the picture was taken, but my guess is that it was between the years of 1919-1929, because  I feel sure the picture was taken by her husband, Calvin. (She is not wearing a ring, but I don't know for sure if she even had one.  I will have to find out.)  What I do know is that in this photo, Anna is standing on the bridge over the Tar River in Louisburg.  This bridge used to serve as the proverbial "tracks", which divided the Black and White parts of town.  However, Louisburg's little "downtown" area is just beyond this bridge on the "White" side, so blacks had to cross it to do their business in town.  My grandmother, like so many others, walked across this bridge each day to get to the homes of her employers.  I like to try to imagine what took place on the day this photo was taken.  Had Anna and Calvin just gone on a date?  Had they, perhaps, just come from being married at the courthouse?  Was Anna just on her way home from work?  I pray that one day I might know the story and that eventually, someone will bless me with more photographic evidence of my grandma in her younger days.

My grandma

Grandma and me

Thanks for reading!

Renate


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All pictures and content are the property of Renate Y. Sanders, and should not be used or reproduced without permission of the owner, which will be liberally granted, so just ASK!