George Washington Wallace. That was the full name of one of my great, great, great-grandfathers, who my family has always referred to as “Grandpa Wash.” He and his wife, Grandma Mary, lived in a log house about thirteen miles from my North Carolina home, near a community called Trade, where it’s said the sun first rises in Tennessee. Over the course of nearly two decades, Grandpa Wash and Grandma Mary had ten children – four girls and six boys, two of the latter dying in infancy.
In the spring of 1863, blue-eyed, black-haired Wash enlisted in the 13th Regiment of the Tennessee Volunteer Cavalry. By the following spring, having endured some great hardships and exposure, he was sick with chronic diarrhea, and in the fall of 1864, while retreating at or near Bull’s Gap, Tennessee, he was wounded between his shoulders, near his spine.
Although Grandpa Wash had originally committed to serve the Union Army for three years, he served less than two. He did something contrary to the orders of his commanding officer, and when he heard that the captain was going to punish him, he deserted. Hiding out in caves, he occasionally made it home, where Grandma Mary prepared food for him.
A decade later, in 1874, it was established that Grandpa Wash should have been dishonorably discharged from service, and on that basis, his subsequent pension applications, claiming disability on the basis of rheumatism, kidney disease, and a tumor that resulted from the wound to his back, were rejected. Appeals of those rejections were also denied.
In 1896, the War Department decided that Grandpa Wash’s dishonorable discharge was an error and voided it, while writing, “his final record is that of a deserter.” Undaunted, he continued to apply for a pension until 1917, the year of his death, but without success
Despite any disability, which later included arthritis and a rupture that required him to wear a truss, Grandpa Wash managed to farm corn and wheat, and he grew a little tobacco for chewing. He also raised livestock and tanned leather. Many decades later, I salvaged a few sections of his old, log tanning vat, one of which I had fashioned into a bench that sits on my front porch.
Grandpa Wash also had a chestnut orchard, and he tapped his maple trees each spring. The syrup was boiled into sugar, and Grandma Mary packed it and took it to town to sell. Grandpa Wash also made a bit of liquor, and he and Grandma Mary kept their own jugs, each consuming a dram (a little less than half a teaspoon) every morning. Grandma Mary smoked a long-stemmed, cob pipe, which she lit with a coal from the fireplace, and she also chewed tobacco, preferring the "Brown Mule" commercial brand to homegrown.
Perhaps in keeping with his military desertion, and maybe influenced by his claim that a headless horseman once rode beside him, Grandpa Wash seemed to tend toward cowardice. If he arrived home after dark, he was afraid to take his horse to the barn and would have Grandpa Mary do it because she feared nothing. Grandpa Wash was also afraid to go to the outhouse by himself at night, and Grandma Mary would accompany him.
These dependencies on Grandma Mary may have been why she sometimes lost patience with Grandpa Wash, but even that aside, family members have generally characterized her as grouchy, hard to please, stern, and hateful. Maybe Grandma Mary’s aggravation was exacerbated by Grandpa Wash’s failed pension applications, which did not sit well with her. She tended to be hard on Grandpa Wash and unsympathetic toward him, occasionally cussing him and referring to him as an “old devil.” Eventually, their daughter and son-in-law (my great, great-grandparents) moved in with them to care for them, but mostly for Grandpa Wash’s sake.
When asked how he met Grandma Mary, Grandpa Wash said, "Gentlemens, I'll tell you, it's a long story. When I was working in Kentucky, I had a girlfriend, and she was a BOO-TEE! [beauty]. But when I came back home I met Mare [Mary], and gentlemens, that's when I lost my candy." I’m not quite sure what it means to lose one’s candy, but it seems to me that Grandpa Wash may have been indicating he got a raw deal and ended up with the short end of the stick. He may well have reflected many times through the years on the Kentucky “boo-tee” that he left behind.
Even upon Grandpa Wash’s passing, Grandma Mary seemed not to be grief-stricken. At the funeral, when someone asked how she was doing, she replied, "Gaily as a gal!" Her daughter was upset at such a happy-go-lucky response with Grandpa Wash laying there, but Grandma Mary said he didn't know the difference.
Grandpa Wash may have had character flaws, but don’t we all? And while Grandma Mary seems to have been short on compassion, I would like to give Grandpa Wash some grace, keeping in the forefront of my mind some other details about him.
Remembered as good-hearted, kind, easy-going, and well thought of, Grandpa Wash loved to watch squirrels, and birds responded to his gentle nature by lighting on his shoulders. In the wintertime, he swept snow off his porch and scattered breadcrumbs to feed them.
On Sundays, with a plate of cornbread and a pitcher of buttermilk by his side, he read Bible verses so loudly that folks could hear him quite a distance. And after reading a little while, he would sing a little while, and he could offer a beautiful rendition of "Wayfaring Stranger," which, in retrospect, seems a fitting summation of his life’s hardships, his struggles with fright, and his ultimate faith:
I am a poor wayfaring stranger
While traveling through this world of woe
Yet there’s no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright world to which I go
I’m going there to see my father
I’m going there no more to roam
I’m only going over Jordan
I’m only going over home
I know dark clouds will gather ’round me
I know my way is rough and steep
Yet beauteous fields lie just before me
Where God’s redeemed their vigils keep
I’m going there to see my mother
She said she’d meet me when I come
I’m only going over Jordan
I’m only going over home
Rest in peace, Grandpa Wash.