Volume 8, Number 5 - Fall 1983
Family Reunions Are Inspiring
by Randy Spurlock
For the past 31 years descendants of John & Sarah (Mason) Spurlock have come, from all across the United States, to reunite on the 4th Sunday in June at Ava, Missouri.
I have attended 23 of these 31 reunions. The most inspiring may well have been in 1978. I re-established my acquaintance with two of my dad’s cousins, Ralph Spurlock of Arizona and Joe Spurlock of Florida, sons of John A. & Synthia "Jennie" (Huffman) Spurlock.
My parents and I took Joe & Ralph to the old Family burial grounds, which is now known as the Whitescreek Cemetery. This short trip rekindled several memories of Joe, the eldest.
As we stood in the shade of an oak tree, by the gate, Joe relived the funeral service of his grandmother, Sarah E. (Shelton) Spurlock, 1843-1914. He told how two chairs were set under this tree to hold the casket during the service. "Ya know it was a custom for the neighbors to help set up with the sick, if they died, most always, the neighbors would ‘tend the corpse--wash and dress it and lay it on a plank board in the family home,’ until the coffin was made. If the body wasn’t buried the same day as the death occurred, then the neighbors and family members sat up with the body that night."
I inquired, "Has it always been a custom for the neighbors to be so helpful during sickness and death?"
"No," Joe replied, as he walked toward the graves of his grandparents and their first child. "Sometimes farms were quarantined during epidemic cases. My grandparents had nine children. The first one, James Marion, died at age eight months, during a smallpox epidemic. All farms with a smallpox victim were quarantined, people were even afraid to go to the funeral of someone who died with smallpox. Jimmy was sick several days, grandma and grandpa ‘tended his needs alone.’ When he died, grandpa said he didn’t have any extra lumber for the coffin, so he went to the barn and tore out a manager to make the coffin. Grandma dressed the baby and laid him in the coffin and watched as grandpa left with the coffin on his shoulder. He had to walk three miles, over hills and hallers, in a three-inch snow to this cemetery. Then he dug the grave ‘by hand,’ and buried his baby. Yes, those were the ‘good-ole-days’--or were they?"
My cousin, Joe, died a year later. I’ll never forget the impact his story had on me. I could actually feel the grief of my great-grandparents, and for a moment I could comprehend what it was really like to be a pioneer in remote, Douglas County, Missouri. In July 1982, while remembering this story, I wrote the following poem:
"Little Jimmy" was born, June 1864, Eight months later, death knocked on the door.
James Marion was the first born, Taken by smallpox, oh how they did mourn.
Each farm was quarantined, the town was still, As this destroyer went after its kill.
No funeral was scheduled, for the little corpse there, For the neighbors were told to "beware."
"Grandpa Will," went to the barn and tore out a manager, The coffin, he made, from this used lumber.
"Grandma Liz" then dressed her little one, Then wrapped him in a blanket, and said "good-bye," to her son.
Tied to his back, shovel and pick, Will walked three miles, on an ice covered trail, and snow that was slick.
He buried his baby in the family cemetery that day, My "Pioneer Grandfather," had many a rough way.
Soon another baby, to them was given, And the pain of Jimmy was "dimmended."
So if you feel life isn’t going your way, Remember this sad story, of the "Pioneer Day."
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