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My Sisters And Brother My Sister Kat Kathleen was eleven years older than I was. She was beautiful inside and out. For all of the important moments in our lives, she was there for us. She took Betty and me uptown to buy ice cream and acted as a quasi-mother. An artist and designer on paper and she could embroider when she was five and left proof of it. When she got older, she could sew anything and was an excellent cook. Her soda biscuits were the best that I ever tasted. She married in 1947 when I would have been nine years old, so I have more memories of her married life than when I was younger. She had a great sense of humor and an infectious laugh. I have never met anyone who said a bad word about her. More to come. I Had a Brother Named Bob We were a family of four girls and a brother named Bob. When that is your family dynamic, your brother is almost worshipped. My mother always said that he was too pretty to be a boy. He was six foot four inches tall, blonde, blue eyed and fair. He probably took after my mother’s family. They had always been called “Big Swedes”. He was so good looking that he had a suitcase full of photos that girls had given him. On top of that he was humble and even a little shy. He never sought his own and valued people who were downtrodden. He ate everything in sight including raw onions that were left over from supper. Then he would head uptown with Betty and me yelling from the back porch for him to bring back “bub” (bubble gum). He did. He sent letters and cards to Betty and me when he was in the Army. Who does that? Have I worshipped him enough? No! More to come. My Sister Jean Jean was in a spot. She was four years younger than Bob and five years older than me. She was essentially the middle child. She was too old to play with Betty and me and too young to be with Bob and Kat though in later years, she and Bob became close and did things together. In recent years, Jean and I became closer than we had ever been. I came to believe that she was the most intelligent of us all. She remembered dates, historical facts and was well read. One time I asked her if I could bring her an Alan Eckart or Zane Grey book and she said “no, Bob and I read those years ago”. She was artistic and could draw, sew and crochet anything. More to come on her too. My Younger Sister Betty Betty was two years younger than I was. When we were kids, you didn’t see one of us without the other. You can assume when I write that wherever I was, Betty was there too. Even today, I have called people that I am with “Betty” and then turn around and realize that I have mispoken and the person is not Betty. I was always tall and skinny (that I is what we used to say). Now we say thin, willowy or some such. Betty was little and sweet. She even had little teeth and she cried in her cat’s fur when she was upset. Today, she can crochet, embroider and cook anything. ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck
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 Mama My mother, Virginia Elizabeth (Skaggs) Francis was born on July 29, 1908 to Isaac and Sebra “Frances” Fyffe Skaggs. She was the only one of her family born in Ohio. Her siblings were all born in Kentucky. She was a second cousin to Ricky Skaggs through the Fyffes and Lesters and also related through the Skaggs. As a matter of fact, after Isaac and Frances died, Ricky’s grandfather bought the property where they lived. My mother’s parents are buried on the top of a hill there in O’Bryan Cemetery. My mother was in the eleventh grade when her father urged her to marry Bert Francis who lived nearby. He said that Bert was crazy about her. She wanted to finish school but in those days, it was hard for parents to support their families so she married Bert on December 1, 1926. My mother was very intelligent and loved school. She took Latin and could sing “Te Cano Patria” (My Country ‘Tis of Thee) in Latin. I always knew the song from her singing it. She also could spell everything and when she got old and had difficulty speaking, if people didn’t understand her, she spelled the words. I have always thought that music and art talent are inherited. My mother was an artist. She was always cutting papers, making patterns, sewing and writing poems. She was also the world’s best cook. My younger sister Betty and I stood in the doorway from the living room to the kitchen watching her cook. We also would stand there saying, “We’re bored. What can we do?” She would hand us a piece of paper to go entertain ourselves. We called my mother Mama and my father Daddy. When I got older, I was sort of embarrassed to call them that. One day when my brother Bob was at their house, he unabashedly called her Mama. I figured if a big, respected man like Bob could call his mother Mama, so could I. Consequently, I will call them Mama and Daddy from time to time in these writings. The thing that impressed me most about Mama was her honesty. Her family had been swept up with the Mormon movement when it went through Kentucky. Though she was never a Mormon, I don’t know if that influenced her, but I do know that she never lied. When I say that, I think of Lucy and Ethel on the “I Love Lucy” TV sitcom. They decided to tell the truth which got them in so much trouble. That was not the case with my mother. She always figured out a way to tell the truth without alienating anybody. My mother was a phlegmatic, laid back person but she was the disciplinarian in our family. My Dad never got involved with that unless it was something serious. In that case he went along with whatever my mother said. She kept a two-foot tree branch switch on top of the oven on the kitchen stove. She didn’t use it much because it was always a visible deterrent for Betty and me. But then again, we were good kids….written with tongue in cheek. : )   ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck  Daddy My Dad, Bert Francis, was born on November 24, 1905 to Amos and Suzannah “Elizabeth” (Schooley) Francis in Hocking County, Ohio. Elizabeth was of German descent. Amos’ father was Nelson Francis, his father John Francis and his father was Jonathon Hall Francis who is buried in Pike Run Cemetery near Tar Hollow in Vinton County. Genealogist Don Meenach lives in Circleville. His wife was also named Marilyn Francis and was related to me. Don researched the Francis genealogy which came to a halt with Jonathan Hall in Virginia. It appears that Jonathan Hall Francis may have been the son of Jonathan Hall but was raised by the William Francis family. It looks like Jonathan Hall married Francina Berry Francis and later took the Francis name as his own. When I told my sister Jean over the phone about this finding several years ago, she became silent. I asked, “Are you ok?” She said “Yes, but I don’t like it.” I didn’t like it either but any way you look at it we have Francis blood in us from Francina. I don’t know anything more about the Halls because that was the end of the road genealogically. As far as I know, my Dad was unaware of this. Before my Dad died, he wanted to go, one last time, to the Hocking hills of his childhood. I think he wanted to see and show us the places that were important to him. There was a house roof lying on the forest floor with a big rock in front of it. He said he sat on that rock the day his mother died. She died when he was nine of Bright’s Disease. He was the only son and the youngest of four children. After she died, he went to the 5thgrade in school. I suppose he worked after leaving school. His father married again to a lady named Rosella Hoy. They didn’t have more children but many of my Dad’s relatives still live in Hocking County. After my Dad married, he worked for the Works Projects Administration (WPA) as a heavy equipment operator. He stayed with a group of men and learned to make pancakes and vegetable soup (which he made for us on occasion). He later worked at Anchor Hocking Glass Company in Lancaster. It is likely that he left there for a job at the Dunlap Company in Williamsport where he worked until he retired. My Dad was a big strong, quiet man somewhat like John Walton on the ‘Waltons” TV program. However, my family was a family of jokesters. They were always laughing about something. In my mother’s later years. we realized that she was attracted to mischievous people. In times past, people didn’t have computers or TVs to entertain themselves, so they had to make their own entertainment. Though I have a dry sense of humor, I think I was the most serious of the bunch. My Dad was also a laid-back person, but he had quite a bit of a choleric personality about him. Consequently, he was always “doing” or getting people to do things. My Dad worked hard to support his family and often came home all scraped up from wrestling with a stray bull. He didn’t go to the doctor but seemed proud of his war wounds from the bull. He was very seldom sick but when he was sick, he was really sick. He chewed Mail Pouch tobacco most of his life. He was not perfect (like none of us are) but he was well respected in the Williamsport community….and more importantly, he was a good father.   ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck |
Marilyn Francis FergusonGrowing up in Williamsport, Ohio is a blog by Marilyn Francis Ferguson which describes small town life in the 1940s and 1950s. Blog Categories
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