Dear Jenny

Charles Fr. Rust (my father)

Lola Baker (my mother)

On the Baker side I only know of a first cousin living: Wm Hussey (he is a successful interior decorator in Dayton, Ohio), son of Grace Baker Hussey (sister of Lola Baker, and my Aunt Grace. Melvin, her husband). She was always a religious person, and when many relatives lived in Christiansburg, Ohio (where your Dad was born,) she tried to look after us, me, Mildred, Normal, and Vernon, when my mother died age 33, leaving us 4 children. My Dad, Charles F. put Vernon in Add Fellow’s Home in Springfield, Ohio as he was only 6 mo. old. My mother died on March 3, 1917, at age 33. She did not die from the flu epidemic of ’17, but from the effects of childbirth. (Dr. said should never had had another baby. (there is much more to tell you about this if you want). When Vernon was 2 years old, my father remarried to Grace Helvie, and V was brought home to live. My father was a blacksmith by trade. (“The Village Blacksmith” describes him to the T, even to “hearing his daughter’s voice in the choir.” line 28 (This must have been Mildred, my older sister). The line in poem, “He goes on Sunday to the church and sits among his boys”, is not quiet the way it was. There were just girls. Vernon may have gone to church, I don’t remember.

Our house (which burned down in Feb 1920) was next door to the Methodist church. I lived for Sunday because if I was “good” and hurried to get white dress, white stockings & black patent leather slippers on, “and behaved” I could go early to the church (next door to B.S. shop) and help old Bill Wilson, the sexton, ring the bell for Sunday School. It was a big rope, I can still remember it scratched my hands and was “thick”. Bill Wilson was an old man and I can remember watching, with wide eyed unbelief, how he could hit the spittoon from far way at the corner grocery store, where the old men played checkers! and chewed tobacco!

Jennifer if you can ever make sense of these facts, or sort the people out!

I know very few incidents about Grandpa Rust, (Daniel) your great grandfather. One thing there I must close for now. He went to enlist in Civil War when 16 years old. As he as too young, he was sent home. Returned at 17, fought in Battle of Vicksburg. (I’m always trying to read somewhere that Daniel Rust, Dalton, Ohio, was made a General!) Ha. He was married 3 times as you can tell by the pages; was killed – run over by 1925 Chevrolet. How it happened can’t find out.

I’m not sure what all you want – I probably should write about my family and living in Christiansburg. It had population of 600, a big sawmill, a slaughter house, (I always attended the slaughtering of hogs, blood never bothered me! I was a tough kid – never played much with dolls (like my sister, M.) roller skated all over town as did all the other kids. Gee – I’ve got to write about it many things return to mind. But simply have close. Going downtown to central Jr. Hi. am working on organization of “college bowl” for 7-8-9 grades. Love it. Like getting a college education at 7^th gr. level! ha. Let me know if you want me to write things I remember. (I was born in Clark county, in the country; 3 mo. old moved to Christiansburg, where my father, a young farmer, learned the Blacksmithing trade. I still hear the “ring of the animal,” shoeing of horses, slack tub, forge, slack coal he used, pileay corn – cobs for fire (piled outside B.S shop, made my childhood exciting. (By the way, B.S. stands for blacksmith not bull-sh… ha.

Wish we could visit and talk. Maybe sometime.

What are you doing this coming summer?

Love always,

Grandma.

Jennifer:

Lawrence Rust, son of Daniel was a brother of my dad, Charles Franklin, and was my father’s brother. He was born with a club foot, was a sweet, dispositioned man and very kind. He never married, always lived with someone of the family. When he & Grandpa Rust were living together, Mildred age 16 and I age 13 would take the street-car (5c) to Dalton, Ohio, where their home was. We’d stay 2 or 3 days, clean their house & cook for them. This was the only time we could fry potatoes like we liked them “not very done!” I remember how badly crippled Uncle Lawrence was.