My grandfather, John Hugh Sobey, was a quiet, reflective, hard-working, Christian man. He was thin and slight of bone, but had the strength of an ox. He was born to William H. Sobey and Christina A (Burke) Sobey in the harshest part of winter, during the years the family toughed it out in Dakota Territory. He was still a toddler when South Dakota became the 40th state of the Union on November 2 1889. John was the elder son, but grew up the middle child, born three years after his father applied for Naturalization and two years after his father took his Oath of Allegiance to the United States in Brule County, Territory of Dakota on February 26 1886.

Having been born February 8, 1888, John Hugh Sobey joined the world only three months after the marriage of his parents in November 17 1887. The date of their marriage has been sworn and attested in two legal affidavits included in pension papers written during 1915. This means older sister, Effie, being their oldest child, was born before the pair legally married. This was not that uncommon a practice in the sparsely populated areas where preachers were few and far between and actually made "circuits" to be able to reach the smaller communities and preform weddings.

I have yet to find a church record for this marriage or a marriage certificate, but the two witnesses who gave Affidavits attesting to the date both lived in Brule County, South Dakota and both stated that the couple was married in Coyle, South Dakota by J.B. Taylor, Presbyterian minister. Since William relocated from Iowa to the Dakota Territory in about 1880 and did not give up on the harsh winters until about 1900, they had to have married in that time frame. About 1900, they headed for Mississippi. To have been married in Coyle meant the one reference I found to the marriage having been 1877 in Dakota was in error.

When the family sold their homestead and moved south to Burgess, Mississippi, Effie was likely in her early teens. John would have been around twelve years old and little brother, Will, would have been around nine years old. There was another child, Elizabeth, who did not live long enough to make the move south. She was born 1890 and died 1895. She has to be buried in South Dakota though I have found no record of her grave.

Burgess is near Oxford, Mississippi and both cities are in the county of Lafayette, which is centered in the northern part of this southern state. John would have gone from extreme cold and dry weather to hot and humid. That had to be quite an adjustment for an eleven to twelve year old boy, knowing that boys of that age are expected to be farm hands. I am not sure how long they stayed in Mississippi, because by the 1910 census, the family was already in Texas. They first settled in the Indian Rock area, which is an area of Upshur county appropriately named because of all the porous iron ore rock in that area. But soon after that, John bought land in the West Mountain area, where he began farming and where he remained for the rest of his life. I have not found the land record yet to know an exact date of purchase.

Once World War I came about, all men of a fighting age were required to register for the draft. On June 5, 1917, at age 29, John signed a draft registration card stating he was natural born in Kimball, S.D., single, and a farmer in West Mountain, Upshur County, Texas and that he supports his parents, both partially dependent on him. This was one day after the U.S. Came out of neutrality and declared war on Germany, who refused to follow any existing rules of war. My guess is that the registration sites were very busy that day with those wanting to fight and those wanting it clear they had legitimate reasons not to be drafted. His younger brother, Will, was listed as single with a home address in Dallas, Texas, employed by the USMC and stationed in Key West, Florida in February 1918. He "transferred" from Gilmer, Upshur County, Texas and had been in the service of the Marines for two and a half years. The handwriting of the clerk is sloppy at best, but it looks like it says he was being discharged on that day. And, yet, the family claims he was a "career" Marine and he was a Sgt when Japan struck Guam in December and he became a POW when this peacetime military base was overwhelmed by air and water attack.

On November 11, 1918, at age 30, I am not sure if John was drafted or whether he enlisted, but John was issued a military uniform and set out to serve his country in that first world war. His eldest daughter, Christine (Sobey) Rutledge told it that he was at the train station (likely in Dallas, Texas), about to be shipped out for war on the very day the news came down about an Armistice (the treaty was signed on the 11th and went into effect six hours later). Therefore, instead of having to participate in the fighting of WWI (like his brother, Will), he was allowed to turn in his uniform and return home instead. I have a feeling that was a day of great celebration all over the U.S., but especially in the Sobey household.

It was five months later that John married Iris Matilda Mackey (April 26, 1919). A bride at age 23, Iris was eight years younger and had lived with her family on a nearby farm in the West Mountain area. Iris and John had lived close enough to each other that the households shared a party line within the Gladewater Telephone Exchange, along with J. C. Mackey household, O. T. Craig household and two others. Iris moved in with John and his two "dependent" parents. She was the giving, caring kind so I feel certain it did not bother her to have his parents already under the care of her new husband, and, thus under her care as well. In the 1920 census, John was head of the house with Iris (wife), William (father) and Christina (mother) living under his roof.

By the 1930 census, William Sobey had died and his mother lived elsewhere, likely with his sister Effie in Dallas but I have not found that census record yet. Listed as residing under John Sobey's roof in 1930 are himself (41), Iris (33), Christine (9), Charles (7), Markoleta (5), Marie (2 1/2), Hugh F (6 mo) and Duncan Campbell Burke (69). Duncan was John's mother's brother and, therefore, his uncle. It was shortly thereafter, during the worst of the Great Depression, that they took in boarders. I cannot imagine how they worked that out, all their children and boarders in a two bedroom house. John also preformed carpentry work when the farm could not provide enough for his family, usually making no more than $3.00 a day. In this time period, two other children were born to John and Iris. Thomas Elwin/Eldon Sobey was born in December 22 1931 and died two days later on December 24th. What a sad Christmas Eve that had to have been. Then Anna Beth Sobey was born December 16 1933 and died February 22 1934. Anna Beth was reportedly a sickly baby who died of pneumonia during a particularly hard winter. She lived only two months.

My earliest memories of John Sobey (PawPaw Sobey to most of his grandchildren, others called him Grandpa Sobey) are of him sitting next to the living room fireplace in his narrow, high backed slider-rocker, puffing on his pipe. In the winter, there would be the flickering glow of the nearby fire. In the summer, there was the gentle stir of electric fans tugging at the curtains. PawPaw Sobey always had a red and silver tin of Prince Albert either in his pocket or hiding behind the large clock on the mantle and he puffed contently on his pipe while rocking back and forth. He sat there quietly and listened to whatever conversations might be going on around him, or watched whatever program Grandma Sobey wanted to watch on their black and white television that stood between the two doors on the wall of the living room that opened one to their bedroom and the other to the kitchen. Black and white television is all there was back in the 1950s and they were lucky to get three stations: ABC, NBC and CBS.

The "television set" was on only during certain hours and faced the very center of the room from that inner wall. The doorway to the left of the television was usually open and, from the couch, we could see their huge bed covered with a hand-crocheted spread, part of a large wardrobe chest, and (depending on which end of the couch you sat) part of Grandma's old foot-pedal sewing machine. The doorway to the right of the television was always open and through it we saw the large table in front of a wide set of windows flanked by sheers that danced in the breeze during the warmer months when the windows were kept open. Near the far right end of that table was the refrigerator, where there was almost always a large mixing bowl of green Jell-o with bananas and marshmallows suspended in it. At the far left end of that table was a unit of kitchen cabinets with a narrow countertop that almost always had plates of homemade cookies, or fudge patties that were fat little puddles of rich chocolate heaven, and there was usually a pound cake or a chocolate sheath cake, already cut into squares. Beyond the refrigerator were more cabinets where a huge porcelain sink stood, facing a window where Grandma could look out into the garden and watch birds flutter down from the huge oak tree that shaded that part of the yard.

In 2010, nearly seventeen years after PawPaw's death, my younger cousin, Terry Don Taylor, remembers that PawPaw had poor eyesight, "which was why he always let Grandma do all the driving". Terry's theory is that, "if PawPaw could have seen the results, he surely would have had second thoughts about that." Problem was, Grandma knew only one speed and she used it whether on the open highway or making a sharp turn on some old black topped road. I remember that Maw-Maw hugged the shoulder of the road and sometimes slipped right off the pavement, giving us all a good, hard jolt, especially those riding in the bed. If PawPaw was in the truck with her, he never commented one way or the other.

Just like the rest of us, Terry does not remember Grandpa ever raising his voice at anyone, "even with 12 grandkids in the living room all at once." He can remember seeing the man get in a hurry only two times. "Once when my mother threw all the used Christmas paper in the fireplace and it went out the top of chimney on fire, scattering across a dried pasture; and secondly when my little brother ran up on the front porch and announced, 'I was standing in the pasture and it just caught on fire.' We discovered the kitchen matches in his pocket later that day."

But that wasn't the first time that a pasture had been mysteriously caught fire. My older cousin Ronnie Pyle, remembers a July weekend when he, John Robert, and Steve (the eldest three grandchildren) were specifically warned not to set off any flying fireworks because the grass was so dry. After they grew bored with what fireworks they were allowed to set off, they experimented with using the matches to set small fires to this very dry grass. Why would three boys do such a thing? According to Ron, "To see if we could put them out with dirt before they got to large. After a few successes, we finally let one get out of hand. I was designated to run to the house to get all the grownups off the front porch to come help put the fire out. PaPa knew that everyone would need a wet burlap sack to do the job so he quickly set about getting them soaked and equipping everyone to go to the rescue. Later that evening when we got home, I confessed that the fire was no accident as we originally claimed. I felt better....for a minute." The next "fire" was set by his parents and in the vicinity of his backside.

Ron also remembers one of the few other times he ever saw Paw-Paw Sobey come alive. "PaPa was quiet and not too animated but I remember him getting excited a few times. Once, when I was feeding one of his mules an apple through the fence, the mule got a good grip on my finger and I hollered pretty loud in response. PaPa hollered louder than I had ever heard him before and smacked the mule hard on the head. Needless to say, I was a little shook up, but I was duly impressed with his reaction."

All the grandchildren remember sleeping in the big bedroom with the two really huge beds and large windows left open in the summer. Ron put it best when he said, "I was very blessed to spend a great deal of time with Grandma and PaPa Sobey. Mom and Dad used to let me stay most of the summer with them for years and, of course, we later lived close enough to visit often. Some of my favorite memories are of waking up in the guest bedroom on top of a bed that seemed like it was about six feet tall at the time. I don't think I ever slept better in my life than I did in that bed." In the winter time, Terry remembers sleeping under a mountain of quilts to keep warm at night. He also remembers how big and soft the beds were.

I also remember that big room and those two huge beds that we had to "climb" into at night, literally. We would sometimes sleep three and four grandkids to a bed. With two beds, if all twelve grandkids were there, that meant the older three boys slept out in the bunk house, where occasionally they were awakened by cows bellowing right outside their windows. The bunk house is where Uncle Charles slept and was a separate little house that faced the back of the main house. It stood next to the large wooden structure where there was the tool shed, the smoke house, and an open lean-to area where the ringer washer was kept. A chicken house and the garage stood further away and kind of off toward the dairy barn. Behind the bunk house was the main pasture with the big red barn where there was a hay loft to play in and cows with calves milling about looking to be fed.

In the summer, the windows in both the house and the bunk house were always left open. Screens kept the insects out and oscillating fans kept us cool. The night sounds were comforting and helped tone down the sound of PawPaw Sobey's snoring. For a small man, he could certainly produce a big sound during the night. In the winter, the windows were kept closed, but then, so were the doors, meaning Paw-Paw's "sound" was muffled to a degree. But, then, having played hard all day long, and having eaten Grandma's good cooking that evening, no sound was going to keep us awake long, not even PawPaw's.

One memory every one of the grandchildren has is the 50th Wedding Anniversary. It was April, 1969 and family and friends had gathered in and around the Sobey home for the celebration. I was sixteen and in the kitchen talking to my mother when there was a horrific crash in the living room. We all went running to the door of that adjoining room to see what had happened and we were shocked to see that the entire floor of their small pier and beam house had dropped about four feet and now lay on the ground, and all the people who had been in the room at the time were now seated on that floor. Most of the furniture was pretty much as it had been when the floor was in its proper place. It was the strangest sight. At first no one talked, then everyone talked. Then, when it was clear there were no serious injuries, the laughter began as they pulled folks out of the fallen room. It's the only time I ever heard PawPaw laugh so hard his voice was heard above the others. With people still arriving by the carloads, the celebration went on as planned, but everyone was now routed through the bedroom instead of through the living room to the kitchen, where the refreshments were. Grandma and PawPaw took the incident right in stride. Later, it was determined that termites had eaten away at the wood supporting the floor and, once all those people had entered the room, the floor simply could not hold the weight. This was the talk of West Mountain for years and years to follow.

In August of 1973, Lois Graves, a reporter with the Gilmer Mirror, wrote a local-interest piece on John and Iris. In it, she mentioned the 50th Anniversary incident. It showed what a good humor both of them had. Another part of the article read: "John Sobey who is 85 years old age now is a man full of vigor and vitality. He has a large productive garden which he plows with a mule named Mike--but his favorite mule was old Kit who became crippled with arthritis, and shots were becoming rather expensive. So when a stranger came along and offered to take her to the soap factory, he obliged. But the event back-fired, and a neighbor bought Kit at a Mineola sale and brought her back to West Mountain. Unaware that she was formerly Mr. Sobey's mule, he offered to sell Kit for $35 and let Sobey try her out. His reply was, 'I've been trying her out for the past 12 years, and she's completely worn out and has seen all of her working days.' Both Iris and John thoroughly enjoyed spinning this tale as well as others." All grandchildren remember old Kit. He was PawPaw's mule and could plow for hours without rest, but he refused to move if Uncle Charles held the reins.

One month after that article appeared in the Gilmer Mirror, John Hugh Sobey died (September 15 1973) and was buried two days after that in the West Mountain Cemetery, near Thomas E and Anna B, the two children who had died in infancy and not too far from his father William H Sobey and his mother Christina (Burke) Sobey.