Clark Day with postscripts

Background

In August 1981, I participated in a once in a lifetime, dream come-true experience. When it happened I thought I was certain to remember everything in minute detail. Unfortunately, some of the details are no longer clear. So, after revisiting one of the sights nearly 24 years later I sat down to record the way I remembered it before the rest is lost too.

The adventure began when my family was in Morehead City, North Carolina to visit my father Harvey L. Joslyn, Jr. (1917 – 2005) and stepmother Jean Shelley Joslyn (1929-1999). At that time they were living in the home I’d visited every summer for as long as I can remember – the home of my grandparents Harvey Sr. (1889-1977) and Anne Neal Clark Joslyn (1892-1979). Thinking about the house always brings to mind fond memories of visits with my grandparents and summer fun with my cousins.



2806 Evans Street

Built in 1927, the house was a square, white clapboard home with a seamed tin roof. Upstairs were two large bedrooms with dormers. Those dormer windows were too tall for us to look out of to see the water across the street. Oh, how I loved listening to the rain on that tin roof.

The living room was filled with my grandmother’s grand piano. My sister, Susan, and I used to play under the piano when we were very young. The only other furniture I remember in the room flanked the fireplace. My grandfather had an upholstered rocking chair with wooden swan neck arms. An upholstered chair on the other side of the fireplace was my grandmother’s chair. There were small tables and lamps beside each chair and every evening you’d find them sitting across the room from each other reading.

The clock on the mantle and the rocking chair are now in my home.

Later Grandmama sold the big piano and an upright took its place. Shortly afterwards Granddaddy brought a walnut hutch from his mother’s home in NJ. The hutch had two doors at the top, that when opened revealed shelves filled with books and two narrow drawers that Granddaddy kept filled with tricks and puzzles. Four small drawers inside the doors completed the top section. The bottom had two large drawers and a fold down desk for writing. Even as a child I loved that piece of furniture. It wasn’t until much later that I learned that it was hand-made in 1867 by Albigence Waldo Eldredge, my grandfather’s grandfather. He built it after moving his family from Vermont to New Jersey for a longer growing season. The date and his signature are written in on the bottom of one of the two narrow drawers. The hutch is now in my home and Granddaddy’s puzzles are still in one of the drawers. Every time I open those doors I see it, as it was when I was a child. It has been a part of our family for five generations and I enjoy just reaching out and touching something lovingly made by my great-great grandfather.

Outside of the house beautiful Crepe Myrtle bushes bloomed near the street. There was a big porch across the entire front of the house that was well shaded by a large live oak tree.
Often there was a large green hammock off to the shady side of the front door. After work, Granddaddy sometimes spent lazy, late summer afternoons in his hammock. There was always room for a little girl to snuggle with him – that is if Grandmama didn’t need help snapping beans for dinner, or he wasn’t too busy in the garden. He made summer fun for us.

The porch was a favorite place for the cousins to play. Several wooden lawn chairs, and a few of those 1940 style metal ones were also on the porch. From the porch you could watch the cars crossing the 28th Street Bridge to Atlantic Beach and the ocean. The traffic jam was huge when the drawbridge opened to let boats travel up and down the sound and Inter Coastal Waterway across the street from the house.


Another one of my favorite memories is helping him churn ice cream. His homemade peach ice cream was divine. I’ve never tasted anything like it – and believe me I’ve tried to duplicate the recipe without success.

Cousin Anne with the grandparents, the ice cream churn, and Corky the dog.



Watching as he whittled are right to left: Cousin Joe Mereness, me, my sister Susan, cousin Anne Mereness and a little girl from the neighborhood.

When I was very little, there was a lily pond in the shady back yard and beside the one-car garage was a shed filled with chickens. Jennie, the goat, lived in a fenced-in area next to the shed. Granddaddy’s garden filled the lot to the east toward 28th Street and a wide-open yard was between their house and the house to the west. Across the street was a gentle slope down toward the shore of Bogue Sound. The sandy soil on the slope was filled with sand burs. The most hazardous encounter on the way to the shore was usually a painful sand bur in a bare foot. An observer watching us walk to the shore must have thought we were playing an erratic game of hopscotch as we sidestepped from one side to another to avoid stepping on burs. It was there on that slope that I encountered my first snake in the grass.

Dad was 11 years old when he moved into the house the first time. It was a great place for four active children to live. The Joslyn children were all named for someone special. Dad of course was named after his father. Both of Dad’s sisters were named for their aunts - the sisters of their parents – Dad’s oldest sister Cora was named for their mother’s mother, Cora Withers Clark as well as their Mother’s sister Cora Clark Woods. Dad’s youngest sister Amy was named for their father’s sister Amy Joslyn Whiffen. Dad’s only brother Oscar was named for their mother’s father Oscar Lee Clark.

Dad lived in the house, except for college, until he left home to join the Navy when he was 24. Then, after the death of my grandparents in the late 1970s, Dad and Jean moved into the home where he spent most of his childhood. By that time the front porch was enclosed and the tin roof was no more – in its place was a green shingle roof. A short while after they moved into the house Dad’s sister Cora and her husband Bill Mereness moved into the house next door.

The Four House, Six-Generation Day

That summer morning in 1981 was the incredible day when Anne and I, as part of the sixth generation of Clarks, entered the homes of five generations of Clark ancestors. The adventure began when we left my grandparent’s home – then the home of my father. Aunt Cora’s daughter Anne and I had been working together for several years on the family genealogy so it was especially meaningful to share the once in a lifetime experience with her. Dad, cousin Anne, and I drove two plus hours to Clarkton, North Carolina to pick up Great Aunt Cora Clark Woods from her home and take her to Wilmington, North Carolina to visit another of her nephews.

Clarkton was renamed for my great-great grandfather, John Hector Clark (1821-1898) in 1874, and has been home to more than five generations of the Clark family. John Hector’s home was a large one-story house with several wings.

John Hector Clark and family in front the house he built.

Sometime in the mid 1900s the home was cut into three pieces; and each wing was moved to a different location to become a separate home.

Great Aunt Cora, a spry and delightful widow in her 70s, lived in one of the three sections of John Hector's house. Hers was the front section of the home built circa 1866 and was the home where her father, Oscar Lee Clark (1865-1930) was raised. Her cozy house was just a block or so from the home where she grew up.



The plaque on her house reads:

Clark House
circa 1866
Home of John Hector Clark, Sr.
1821-1898. Merchant in Clarkton.
Town renamed in honor of
him 1874.

Bladen County Historical Society


The home of Cora Clark Woods about 1980.










Next, we went to the original site of her home, which was across the street from the home her father, Oscar Lee Clark built for his family. Located at the intersection of the main roads, the house was set back from the roads behind several very tall trees dripping in Spanish moss. The large white, two-story house has a covered porch across the front of the house on each story. The first floor porch wrapped around one side of the house toward the kitchen.



Aunt Sadie, the widow of Oscar L. Clark Jr., raised her family in the beautiful home where her husband, my grandmother, Great Aunt Cora Woods and the four other Clark children were born and raised. Home to quiet now, the house was at one time filled with music and the laughter of children and later the laughter of gandchildren. Dad, his brother and sisters joined their cousins every summer at the grandparent’s home just as I had joined mine at the home in Morehead City.

After a short visit with Aunt Sadie, we left Clarkton for historic Wilmington. We deposited Aunt Cora at her nephew Clyde’s house so she could take a nap as we explored the city with his wife Marion.

Marion led us first to Oakdale Cemetery. After entering through the gates we proceeded toward the back of the historic cemetery.

The original cemetery was established in 1852 and includes a separate Hebrew Cemetery. Written in gold leaf on the ornate gates of the beautiful wrought iron fence surrounding this portion of the cemetery is written:
Hebrew Cemetery - Opened March 6, 5615 - 1855. Oakdale is also the final resting place of television newsman David Brinkley.


The cemetery contains many beautiful monuments and some of the plots are still surrounded by ornate wrought iron fences.

The Clark family plot is in the old burying ground near the original cemetery gate. Among those buried on the Clark plot are John Hector Clark's parents, Duncan (1782- 1850) and Elizabeth Cook Clark (1791-1832). Duncan’s tombstone proclaims him to be a “Native of Grenock, Scotland.” Also buried there is his second wife Mary and several of Duncan's children and grandchildren.

Next, we went to 210 Nun Street in the Wilmington Historic District to see the two-story home Duncan Clark built for his large family. Like the house in Clarkton, the Wilmington house also has a plaque on the front. It reads:

Clark House
Built 1830

Built by Duncan Clark (1782 - 1850)
Native on Greenock, Scotland
as his family residence.
Renovated in 1892 with a new facade.

Historic Wilmington Foundation, Inc.

(Did you notice that the spelling of his home town is different on his tombstone and on the plaque?)

There we were – two generations of the Clark family – spread out all along the sidewalk taking photos of the house from all angles when a young man pulled up in front, got out of his car, and proceeded to walk toward the house. Familiar with tourists taking photos, he stopped to say a word to us before going inside. We told him we’d traveled to visit the home of our ancestor, and spent a few minutes talking about Duncan, the house and our trip to the cemetery. He told us he’d owned the house only a few years, and was still in the process of restoring it. He went inside and a few minutes later came to the front door and invited us in. Amazing!

The upstairs was in a state of renovation. It was far from finished judging by the visible lath along the stairwell wall, so our tour was only of the completed lower level.
The downstairs was lovingly restored, and furnished in a style compatible with earlier times. There were strong colors on the walls, and it was sparsely furnished by standards of today.

Every summer I’d heard my grandmother tell stories about her family. I knew only two of her sisters, and none of her brothers. I first got to know Aunt Cora Woods when I was an adult, although I had been to her home once when I was a very young child. Yet, it wasn’t until that day that I got to really know my Clark ancestors. Over the years Aunt Cora Woods shared a wealth of knowledge about the family with my cousin Anne and me. She even presented each of us an autograph book that had belonged to her mother Cora Lee Withers Clark. She is with me every day as several of the Clark family treasures she had given, or willed to my father are now in my home.

It is true – an anonymous author was correct when he wrote, “Memories are gifts you can open again and again.”


Postscript One:
In April 2005, while visiting my sister Amy and my father, who now resides in an assisted living home in Wilmington, we went back to the cemetery. Time and weather have certainly played havoc with the tombstones on the Clark plot.

Most of the tombstones are no longer up right - only Duncan’s tombstone is still standing. However, it is no longer legible. Thank goodness for photos from our first visit.

A stop at 210 Nun Street brought back all the memories of that earlier day – a day when I was thrilled to enter the homes of my father, grandfather, great grandfather, great-great grandfather and great-great-great grandfather all in the same day.

Unlike the cemetery, the house looks as it did that day in 1981 – lovingly restored and tended.
While standing there looking at the house through the branches of a flowering tree, memories of that earlier day, and of family no longer with us filled my mind and my soul.

Twenty-four years later I felt fortunate to be standing on Nun Street once again.


"I thank my God upon every remembrance of you.”
Philippians 1:3






Postscript Two:
In October 2008 we made a trip to the beach with our children and grandchildren. One afternoon, we took those who'd not been to Wilmington before on a tour of family sites in Wilmington.



As always, the house looked welcoming. How I'd love to be able to sit in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch and look down the hill toward the Cape Fear River just as my ancestors did more than 175 years ago.



A big surprise awaited us at the cemetery. Since our last visit, the Clark family plot had been restored.

The tombstones were cleaned, repaired and placed up right again - and they looked better than they did that day in 1981 when I first got to know Duncan Clark and his place in my family story.








Dad is no longer with us. Wearing his red Santa hat he went home to be with the Lord on Christmas Day 2005.

A trip to the house on Nun Street and Oakdale Cemetery is always a special treat. This year, without dad as part of the tour group, memories of our shared family adventure filled me with joy. Thanks dad for the wonderful memories.

Postscript Three - February 2011
As the person who gets the emails for the Northbrook Historical Society I have had some interesting inquiries. Two have even ended up connecting a question about our town to my personal genealogy research.

What happened next just goes to prove that you never know where a contact, or a comment, will take you. One of the two questions that involved my research is part of this story. THat simple query took me to Brooklyn, and research on my maternal family then returned me full circle to the ancestral home and burial place of my paternal family.

That twist of fate began in September 2009 when I received a note from a gentleman in New York inquiring about, "A place called Benton (1925-30) where a man who earlier had a place in Shermerville owned a house." I responded with what I could tell him and from then on I've been on a journey of discovery.

It turned out that while the subject of his inquiry did have a summer home in Shermerville, the Benton he was looking for was a street in Arlington Heights. As we sorted this out I learned he was an accomplished family historian with roots in New York and Chicago. He also lived in New York City where one of my elusive maternal ancestors lived beginning about 1820. This is the same line that connected the other question to a New England family shared by both my parents and to the founding of my town.

My own research has taken a back seat to Village research in recent years. I'd done some intense research on this Faron line about eight years ago, and then put it aside to attend to other projects and life altering events. Yet knowing full-well that a local family historian knows sources the average out-of-town researcher doesn't, I asked my online friend a couple of questions about where he'd suggest I go to find early New York records. His responses and his own digging for clues have led me on magical journey learning about my still elusive ancestors.

Together, my online friend and I have traveled from 1830 to 1900 New York, Brooklyn and upstate New York. I've also met family I've never known, shared our research and discovered some unbelievable coincidences.

One of these coincidences happened when I sent a note to one of my newly discovered "cousins" who like my father was in the Navy, and now lives in Wilmington, North Carolina where my sister resides and where my father spent the last few years of his life.

One night, on a whim, I sent him the link to my blog where I'd posted the Clark Day story. He passed the link on to a friend of his who responded immediately. A part of the note she sent through him is included below.

"That is more fascinating than you'll ever know. I tried to write a comment on her site, but was required to register with Google--too hard. So, here is what I tried to send her . . .

Judy,
Dana forwarded your site which I so enjoyed reading. My husband and I lived next door to the Duncan Clark House from 1978 to 1985 and know the owner . . . When we lived there, his Labrador was named Duncan in honor of Mr. Clark!

I am the historian for the Friends of Oakdale Cemetery. Our projects include trying to tend orphaned graves--those for which we know of no descendant. I suspect the friends are responsible for restoring the Clark grave markers. Their web site is: www.oakdalecemetery.org."

So, from an online historical question about my Village I have gone back in time to the home towns of two of my ancestors, and the final resting place of one of them.

This has been an amazing ongoing journey.