Odds 'n Ends
The following are
newspaper articles copied
verbatim from the papers of the time.
Shooting Affair Proves Fatal To Willie Janes
Printed about April 2, 1923
verbatim from the papers of the time.
Shooting Affair Proves Fatal To Willie Janes
Printed about April 2, 1923
Shooting
fracas which took place on Burton Fork in one of the oil camps,
resulted in the death of Willie Janes. The following is an account of
the affair as seen by an eye witness. Willie Janes had been with the
crowd for quite a while and the witness said he was drinking.
Janes got ready to leave and got on his horse and rode away. In a very short time Janes came back after his coat which he had forgotten. Jim Alexander seeing Janes horse asked whose horse that was. The witness answered and told Alexander it was Janes horse. Alexander told Janes to get on his horse and get away from there, as they did not want any drunk men in the camp. Janes told Alexander he did not have to leave until he got ready, Alexander said get on your horse and get away from here before I kick you out, Janes replied: no man ever kicked me out the second time. The Janes drew his revolver, but Alexander was not far behind on the draw and both men fired. Witness stated he did not know who fired first as the shots were almost simultaneous. Janes lived but a few minutes after he was shot. Alexander made his escape and has not been captured yet.
The above is the statement of _____ witness, as told before the Grand Jury, which is now in session.
Janes got ready to leave and got on his horse and rode away. In a very short time Janes came back after his coat which he had forgotten. Jim Alexander seeing Janes horse asked whose horse that was. The witness answered and told Alexander it was Janes horse. Alexander told Janes to get on his horse and get away from there, as they did not want any drunk men in the camp. Janes told Alexander he did not have to leave until he got ready, Alexander said get on your horse and get away from here before I kick you out, Janes replied: no man ever kicked me out the second time. The Janes drew his revolver, but Alexander was not far behind on the draw and both men fired. Witness stated he did not know who fired first as the shots were almost simultaneous. Janes lived but a few minutes after he was shot. Alexander made his escape and has not been captured yet.
The above is the statement of _____ witness, as told before the Grand Jury, which is now in session.
Prof. W. L. Jayne in Paintsville
undated
Candidate for Supt. of
Public Instruction Speaks Here:
Prof. W. L. jayne,
Republican nominee for Superintendent of Public Instruction, spoke at
the court house in Paintsville Tuesday to a large and enthusiastic
crowd of Johnson county voters in the interest of the Republican State
ticket.
He is a native of Johnson County and will receive a large vote in this valley from both Republicans and Democrats. he is well qualified for the office he seeks and the people of this section
are proud of the record he has made in the educational world.
He is a native of Johnson County and will receive a large vote in this valley from both Republicans and Democrats. he is well qualified for the office he seeks and the people of this section
are proud of the record he has made in the educational world.
Tribute to Tubby the Iceman
(Everett Blanton, Jr. aka Tubby the Iceman, was married to Mabel Tackett, daughter of Angeline Jayne. This is written by Brenda Caudill, daughter of Mabel and Everett.)
I'll never forget the trips I've made with my dad to Huntington, West Virginia to pick up loads of ice. The blocks weighed 350 lbs. I would help dad load the 64 blocks onto the truck, one-by-one, after pulling them through a small door from Junior Morgan's huge ice plant. I can sometimes still hear those sharp-pointed ice hooks sinking into each side of those upright ice blocks.
Dad has always been a big man. Most of his life he weighed 320 pounds, wore a size 52 pants, and a size 20 shirt. One of dad's jaws was always bulging with a gigantic wad of Red Man tobacco. His reputation for being the strongest man around was widespread. Two months ago, I recieved a VCR tape of Dad carrying a 350 pound block of ice on his back at the Huntington Ice Plant back in 1949. At that time he was 24 years old and I was only two years old.
When all 64 blocks were rapidly but carefully put in their correct position, I would bravely climb upon the naked mountains of frozen water. I say bravely because there's no way I would show weakness in front of "Thor, The Thunder God," as an old boyfriend use to call Dad. I would then spread the heavy pieces of brown, tattered burlap to cover and help insulate the frozen statues.
Next, I would unroll the weighty tarp that lay on the board covering the truck's cab. This board even meant a lot to me because it was made by Dad's skillful hands! As a matter of fact, the complete bed of the truck was designed and made by this knowledgeable man.
I would then take a crowbar and with one foot on the side of the truck, push away from the ice while punching the tarp down between the ice and the wooden sides of the bed. Tie-downs weren't invented at that time, so I used a chain hooked to both sides in the middle of the truck.
The tool in the middle of those chains was called a "Red Devil" which had a long handle. It was like a wrench. While using the Red Devil, I would crank until it tightened the sides towards each other to ensure the safety of this fragile load. Finally, I would get to move the truck forward about ten feet so the steel tailgate could be raised to seal our creation.
What you must remember is that many years ago many homes and businesses lacked refrigeration, so it's important to know just how ice is made and why we journeyed to Huntington, W. Va., in the wee, foogy hours of the summer mornings. It was a fire. the year was 1949 and the Arctic Ice Company was melting, just like the ice cubes in a Nehi pop. So Dad made a deal with Junior Morgan to buy ice for ninety cents a hundred.
There we were. I was a six year old, tow-headed tomboy, and I had to see Dad, at the young age of 28, witness the total end to what put meat on our red-checkered, oilcloth tabletop.
But remember, as I told you, dad was known far and wide for his strength. Nothing was going to take him down. Not my dad! It wasn't feasible to build the plant back, so we knew it was Huntington or the food stamp line.
Those trips taught me so much, with Dad showing me how ice was made, but more importantly, showing me how character was built. But for now, I'll tell you how ice was made.
Water was put into large rectangular cans that hung from the rafters on chains. Those chains were suspended from movable hoists. The cans were then lowered into each correct hole in the floor. Ammonia was put through the pipes that ran between these large cans. No, it didn't make the water freeze faster. No, it wasn't a toxic chemical. As Dad explained to me, it was just part of the freezing process.
When the water froze into ice, the cans were then hoisted and guided to the scoring room. Scoring divides the ice into sections to allow faster penetration of the ice pick. The ice pick must be used to chop the blocks into different sizes to be sold for different purposes.
I can so vividly see Dad as he patiently paced in anticipation for our turn at the loading ramp, also his creation. In his old faded jeans, with the ice pick swinging from its holster on his hip, he sweated the hours away for his family. His shirt, a light gray, straight off the clothesline, was now dark with toil. His arms and shoulders shimmered in the sunshine, displaying a provacative dark brown. Is it any wonder, in my eyes, Dad was beautiful?
But the memories I cherish most were those trips back to Paintsville on KY route 23, in Dad's 1948 black, two-ton Chevy. Our first stop, about middle-ways home, was at Varney's filling station.
Our daily ritual was Rose potted meat, Zesta crackers, a pound of bologna, a pound of longhorn cheese, and pop. My choice was either a Grapette or a Royal Crown Cola in a bottle. Dad, before joining the church, would drink a quart of West Virginia's "That'll Win Ya " beer.
This always had to be a hurried meal for fear the ice would melt. Back on the road, I would soon lay on the seat, my head gently placed on Dad's comfortable, warm lap. Sleep came to me from the hum of the vibrating motor, while the stickshift played a lullaby. Often the scent of a freshly hit skunk would awaken me from my slumber, or sometimes the heavenly aroma of cut grass.
Dad always had a positive attitude about life and death, seldom saying, " I don't know." He knew when a road was built. He explained road directions to me. He taught me about different trees. He taught me about love.
Finally, we're back home at the Arctic Ice Company. Dad and I began to undo our work performed at Junior Morgan's. He would again sweat, shimmer in the sunshine, and be my beautiful Dad, just as he was in Huntington.
It's all different now. Mom and Dad bought a thirty thousand dollar ice machine that paid for itself the first year. So there are no more trips to Huntington, no more Rose potted meat or Grapette pop, and no more "That'll Win Ya" beer for Dad.
The doctor says Dad can't go into the ice house anymore, but he still goes with my brother and me to deliver ice. You see, Dad has sugar, and has had six operations, the loss of five toes, a pacemaker for his heart, and takes thirteen pills a day.
It's not easy for Dad to make deliveries with us. I willfully and with honor dress him for the trip, help him into the wheelchair and up into the truck, all 175 pounds of the beautiful man! Oh, how he pleasures himself with our deliveries...just as his little girl did.
Dad, this is for you. I wouldn't know the happiness I have in my heart without you. Thank you, Dad, for your love, your patience, your teachings, your understanding, and each and every moment that you spent guiding me to the woman I have become. I love you and God has blessed me with your love for Eternity.