New Hebron: History-nhhistory.html

-- The story of New Hebron as told by Marilyn Lane Sirmon, August 28, 1999
New Hebron Public Library, Activity Club "Taste of New Hebron" Program and Tea

When I asked my mother, who was born in 1909 in this town, to tell me something of early New Hebron, she replied, "Oh, you will have to ask somebody in an older generation." "Mama," I said, "You are it." She did not say, however, what an old friend used to say, which was: "I've seen a lot of changes in my lifetime, and I've been against every one of them."

We think of history as a chronicle of facts and dates and events -- a series of incidents and episodes that can become rather tedious in the presenting. So I am not going to give you that kind of history of New Hebron. I would like for you to become involved in what the town was and is - to experience in your imagination her past and to anticipate her future.

Now, our town has always been one of storytellers and this must follow that tradition of story telling. New Hebron is a story, not just a page in a history book. What is New Hebron? What story form best captures her? Her story is not a legend or a myth. It is not a folk tale. It is not an allegory depicting the conflict between good and evil. It is not an epic with a larger than life hero -- although her story does contain elements of all of these works of the imagination. I think the story of New Hebron is a play -- a drama divided into acts with a well-defined movement of time and character interacting with each other and with circumstances. Drama allows us plot and character and its impact is direct. The action of a play takes place on a stage and the audience can focus attention on the stage with all extraneous noises and sights shut out.

Now, the real truth of the matter is, if I don't present this as straight history, if I use a creative vehicle, then I am allowed to stray a little from the factual - something like poetic license. And if I make a mistake in a date or a name, then I am forgiven. I promise to do my best, however, to stick to the facts.

In 1938, Thornton Wilder wrote a three-act play called "Our Town." The setting is a New England town called Grovers Corners. The stage is bare. There are no scenery, no curtain, no props. The entire play is given movement and commentary with a stage manager who presents characters and events and who participates in the action. The first act takes place in 1901 with the stage manager describing the layout of the town itself and introducing some of the characters. There are Main Street, the railway station, a Methodist church, a Baptist church, the Post Office, the town hall, hitching posts, a grocery store, a drugstore, the school, the doctor's house. Act II takes place three years later, with the stage manager saying that "the sun's come up over a thousand times." The act begins with high school commencement and ends with a wedding. Act III takes place nine years later. Its setting is the cemetery, where there are conversations between the living and the dead.

Now, I am going to borrow some motifs and situations from Mr. Wilder's play, and I think that you will see some similarities. With differences, of course, Wilder's Grovers Corner could be Our Town at the turn of the century. Wilder's play covers a span of only a dozen years. Our play spans almost a century. Act I of the drama that is New Hebron begins around 1903 and covers nearly three decades. Act II takes place at mid-century, covering the years of the 1940's and 1950's. Act III takes place in the present, on the threshold of a new century and a new millennium.

Our stage is bare. We have no props, no scenery, no curtains. So you will have to depend on your imagination and on what the stage manager tells you. Now, I am the stage manager.

Listen carefully and you will hear in the distance the whistle of a train. That's how Act I of our play opens. Look at our town. The year is 1904 - maybe a few years later. The depot stands at the east end of the main street. It will be some twenty years before the school will stand on the hill at the west end of the street. These two structures have always been the anchors of the town. This was the second school of the town. The first one was built in 1907. It was located near the west end of what today is Rose Street. It burned in 1928. On the street between the depot and the school are the post office, the Hebron Bank, several mercantile stores, an ice house, two drug stores, and a hotel. There is a livery stable run by Mr. Thompson. There is a millenary shop owned by Mrs. Berry. She keeps all the ladies wearing the latest in stylish hats.

Years later, pictures will hang in the town hall showing scenes of our town as it was then. There is a picture of the depot, one of the hotel. There is one of the Methodist Church that was built soon after there was a town. The Methodists still worship in the original building. There is a picture of the Baptist Church built in 1906. It burned when lightning struck it in 1917. But by 1918 a new church was built and another in 1950. Both churches had bells to summon worshipers on Sundays as well as to call citizens to answer emergencies such as house fires.

There is a picture of Main Street looking to the east. I can identify some of the stores by signs on the store fronts. The depot is evident at the east end of the street. I am sure I see a train stopped at the station. On the south side of the street, I see Seay Drug Store, Ellis Brothers, Gibson's with its ornate storefront, the Hebron Bank, and Donald's Store. On the north side of the street, I see Brinson's store on the corner just across the side street from the Baptist Church. Then there are Izard's Drug Store, Izard's general store, and farther down the street, the F. L. Riley Mercantile. There is an ice house near the livery stable and the hotel. The train delivers big blocks of ice. Along the street I can see hitching posts with horses and buggies waiting while their owners attend to business inside. It will be a few years before the first auto comes along.

Another picture looks up Main Street to the west. In it I can see the steeples of both churches. Some celebration appears to be taking place. There are hundreds of people dressed in their finery all milling around in the middle of Main Street. We can only imagine what they are celebrating. The picture tells me nothing other than celebration and ritual and festival must have been as much a part of life in this town as were hard work and the business of the day.

The citizenry is made up mostly of farmers and merchants. However, there are also doctors and lawyers and pharmacists, and preachers. Dr. Langston has an office in the back of Seay Drugstore , where he dispenses pills and even performs surgery when necessary. He also makes house calls and delivers babies. Dr. Izard has his office in Izard Drugstore, where his brother is the pharmacist. Mr. Bush has his law office upstairs in the Izard building. All of this on the main street of the town. This street has a corner where men sit in straight chairs tilted back against posts and discuss issues of the day and conduct the affairs of the town. When the weather gets cold, they go inside the stores and sit around the pot bellied stove.

On side streets you will find the blacksmith shop, several cotton gins, and a grist mill. And there is a saw mill. Houses line both Main Street and the side streets, almost all of them with a vegetable garden, a cow, some chickens, and even some with pigs. Every house has its own well and well bucket, its stack of firewood. There are picket fences and front porches where folks sit in the evening time. Kerosene lamps light the windows at night. Featherbeds sometimes sun in the yard. And cows graze on vacant lots. Cotton fields come right up to the edge of town.

How did this town come to be? In 1903 when a branch of the Gulf and Ship Island Railroad was built through the area a few miles north of Grange in Lawrence County, Franklin L. Riley, a merchant of Hebron, two miles to the east, donated land for a right of way for a distance of two miles provided the Railroad would locate a depot on his property. The Railroad agreed and the station was named New Hebron, the daughter of Hebron.

A word should be said at this point about our mother community. Hebron herself was a prosperous community at the turn of the century. It was a trade center settled by people of mixed European blood who in the early 1800's had come into the area from Georgia and the Carolinas and other states. If you read the census, you will find their names and where they came from as well as the names of all family members and anyone else who dwelled in their households. Some had large plantations and built impressive homes. The town was named Hebron probably after the Bible. It is said that the town of Hebron had the first high school between Jackson and the Gulf Coast. A Baptist Church was built in 1822, before Jackson was even thought of as a town, and the original church building is still used. The country store was the center of the community.

What happened to this thriving town of Hebron? As someone has put it, she was summoned by the whistle of a train. Stores and businesses were moved from Hebron in what is present day Jefferson Davis County to the new site with its railroad station. It is said that the town of New Hebron wasn't founded until the first train pulled into the station in 1904.

It was that train that hauled the wealth of timber from the region. It was that train that the people would hear rumbling through twice a day for many years. It was that train that became the object of many stories. One story, declared to be true, is told of Mr. Hartzog, a farmer who lived along the tracks at Grange south of town. One day as the train approached, Mr. Hartzog stopped the train. The ensuing conversation between farmer and train engineer took place: Mr. Hartzog to the engineer: Would you like to buy a pig? Engineer replies: no, I don't need a pig. Mr. Hartzog: Well, would your brother like to buy a pig? Engineer: I don't have a brother. Mr. Hartzog: Well, if you had a brother, do you think he would like to buy a pig?

There was no grand plan, but a new town was laid out, her main avenue being 100 feet wide and side streets 80 feet in width. Business houses sprang up while the track was being laid from Mendenhall to Monticello following the Silver Creek Valley. The town's founder, F. L. Riley, established the Hebron Bank and the F. L. Riley Mercantile Company. He built his house on the main street halfway between the depot and what would eventually be the site of the New Hebron School.

While it was no Macy's or Bloomingdales's, The F. L. Riley Mercantile Co. was the department store of its day, meeting almost every need of the people of the town and the outlying community - food, clothing, farming equipment, school books, household items, medicine, tobacco. Some years ago, when one of the old Riley warehouses was torn down, an accounts ledger was found with entries dated at various times during 1903 and 1904. Some of the entries are as follows, giving you some idea of the variety of goods sold and the prices, not to mention some familiar early New Hebron family names:

E. M. Riley, 1 U. S. history book, $1.00, 1 grammar school geography book, $1.25, 1 practical arithmetic book, $.70

In 1904, Mrs. Belle Lane marked the year by setting out jonquil bulbs just outside of her garden fence. She arranged them carefully so that they would sprout and bloom the date. Whether she was marking the year she moved into her new house or whether she was marking the date of the town's creation is not known.

The lights dim as the first act comes to a close. A train whistle is heard in the distance.

The second act of Mr. Wilder's play opens. The stage manager tells us that "... three years have gone by, Yes, the sun's come up over a thousand times. Some babies that weren't even born before have begun talking regular sentences already; and a number of people who thought they were right young and spry have noticed that they can't bound up a flight of stairs like they used to, without their heart fluttering a little. All that can happen in a thousand days."

Many more than a thousand days have gone by since our play opened in 1903 -- more than 10,000 days. By the middle of the 1940's, our town has seen two great wars and a depression. Her sons and daughters have served. There have been changes. The mule-drawn wagons bringing cotton to the gins have been replaced for the most part by pick-up trucks. They are still piled high with cotton and sometimes the cotton gins run all night long in the fall. Folks are driving Plymouths and Chevrolets and they buy them right here in town.

By the early 1950's, a medical clinic has been built, and one of the town's own has come home to be the people's doctor after getting his medical degree and practicing in other places. Dr. Hutchins still manages to make house calls. He sometimes sits all night by the bedside of dying patients. Not only is there a doctor to tend the living, but there is an undertaker to bury the dead.

In 1950 there are some 25 business houses along and off the main avenue through town, including filling stations, three cafes, and a movie house. Atop the bank is still the name Hebron. The hotel down by the depot still has rooms to let and there it is said that Mrs. Newsom sets the best table in the land. There is a barber shop. The grist mill still operates. The blacksmith shop is still there, but it is no longer a place to have a horse shod. Mostly it mends tractors and farm equipment. There are sawmills around as evidenced by their mountains of sawdust. The town is governed by a mayor, a clerk, a board of aldermen, and a marshal who sees that we behave ourselves.

A reporter from The Jackson Daily News comes to town this summer to look us over and talk with the people. In the August 27, 1950, edition of The Jackson Daily News, Jimmy Ward did a feature article on New Hebron and in it posed the question: What is the Fate of a Town That Hasn't Grown a Bit in Nearly Half a Century? Now most of the citizens hope to tell you that there were only 150 to 200 people here when the town was born, and now there are 300. Mr. Ward's article points out several facts: The branch line of the Gulf and Ship Island affords no passenger service but has a freight each way daily. (And if a farmer along the way has a mind to stop the train and converse with the engineer, I imagine he still could.) Trailways runs two buses through daily. Stops in front of Seay Drug store. New Hebron is said to be the largest municipality in the state without a hard surfaced road outlet. That's what folks here say and they say it out loud, says Mr. Ward. Leading through the town are Highways nos. 42 and 43, graveled and bumpy and dusty. Someone, says Ward, had better get them a hard surfaced road or else deal with them politically. In 1950, there is no central water system, each home having its own well. The town uses Mississippi Power and Light and United Gas. There is a locally owned telephone company which services about 100 people.

In 1950 and before, the telephone service is owned and operated by Mrs. Nolie Hilton, who is both owner and telephone operator, and in charge of line maintenance. Her "Number please" is familiar to all. She can often be seen with her long cane fishing pole walking the streets to inspect and untangle her telephone lines. Now, with its party lines and its efficient information service, our telephone service is quite advanced. Why we had tele-conferencing long before it was even thought of by the Bell Company. And we didn't have to call Information. Information called us.

While in town, Mr. Ward from The Jackson Daily News interviews the town's oldest resident, Mr. Purvis, born in 1861. Mr. Purvis observes that "The world has surely changed. Young folks don't know what tough times are. When asked what he thought of the atomic bomb, he said, "That must be powerful stuff."

How times have changed. How some things remain the same. Can you hear the train whistle from down the track?

Act 3 of Mr. Wilder's "Our Town" takes place in the cemetery of Grover's Corners, as the stage manager describes the scene " -- on a hilltop -- a windy hilltop -- lots of sky, lots of clouds, often lots of sun and moon and stars."

As our town approaches its centennial year, the stage manager takes you to a hill at the northwest edge of town. There your will find the cemetery. It is peaceful and beautiful here. It is a place to reflect, to look back, to talk to the people who lie here, those whose dreams and ideas and energy shaped the life of our town. You will not find the likes of Willie Morris's witch of Yazoo buried here. These are mostly gentle folk.

I walk among the graves, pausing to remember the stories I have heard, stopping on occasion to have a dialogue. It is allowed. I am the stage manager.

Many buried here plowed many a row of cotton and corn. I can hear their questions echo A. E. Housman's poem and the question asked by his dead farmer: "Is my team plowing/ That I was used to drive/ And hear the harness jingle/ When I was man alive?"

Mr. Purvis, your gravemarker says that you were born in 1861. You said almost half a century ago that the atomic bomb was powerful stuff. What would you say now?

Mr. Wells, you were the school superintendent. The building you knew on the hill is no longer there. A modern structure stands in its place. Things have changed. But from here you can still hear the shouts of the school children as they play their games. You would be pleased to know that the young people are doing well.

Mrs. Belle Lane, the jonquils bulbs that you planted in 1904 to mark a special date still come up and bloom in the spring.

Mr. Wallace, we never knew much about you. There are no dates on your tombstone. We only knew that you came from Ireland, that you sometimes slept in the Masonic Lodge or wherever you could, that you labored here and that you died here. Someone put up a marker for you. You were a part of us. You came from the old country. That's where our roots are. You are a cousin to us all.

Carved on Dr. Langston's gravemarker are the words: "If you would seek my monument, just look around." At the grave of Dr. Langston, I stop to ask what he would like to know about the town he left so long ago. His questions: Who delivers the babies? Who tends the sick in the middle of the night? My answer is that babies are now almost always delivered in hospitals and no doctor goes out in the middle of the night to tend the sick. We have emergency rooms for that now.

I continue my walk. Mr. Newsom asks: Do the cotton gins still run day and night in the fall of the year? I remember lines of wagons filled with cotton waiting their turn at my gin. No, Mr. Newsom, you don't see much cotton around here any longer. The land once cleared for cotton once more grows trees. Cattle graze where cotton grew.

Finally, I make my way to the center of the cemetery, where one monument towers above the others. It belongs to our town's founder, Mr. Riley. I am sure that he has questions about the town he left so long ago. He wonders about many things. His questions are many. What time does the train come through? Are my warehouses full? Is my store supplying the people? Is my house still there?

Mr. Riley, there is no train. Its whistle has long been silent. Even the tracks and the depot are gone. Your warehouses have been torn down, making way for a service station and other stores. We have cars instead of horses. So we need fuel to run those cars, not feed and harnesses for the horses. Your store stands empty, but it still bears your name. And, yes, your house still stands on the main street, looking much as it did when you built it, with its wraparound porch and gingerbread trim. Do you remember the young boy who worked in your store? His name was Charley Lee. Your house was bought by that boy and it has been the home of three generations of his family. The old tree in your front yard that the children called the smell goody tree is still there. Its blossoms are still sweet.

They seem at peace about our town. They understand little about our ways and our thinking. I must disagree with a line in Mr. Wilder's play which says: "You know as well as I do that the dead don't stay interested in us living people for very long. Gradually, gradually, they lose hold of the earth...and the ambitions they had...and the pleasures they had...and the things they suffered...and the people they loved." No, Mr. Wilder, I think they do remain interested. Some things never change. You yourself said it best: "We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars...everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings.... There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being."

That something, Mr. Wilder, is the spirit of the people-of those who lie buried here and those who live and will live in our town.

It is growing late and I must go. I start to leave the cemetery. As I near the gate, I am sure that I hear the distant whistle of a train. I turn slowly and look toward Mr. Riley's monument. Mr. Riley, I was wrong. The tracks and the depot may be gone. But the whistle of your train has not been silenced. Some things are eternal.

NEW HEBRON HISTORY

New Hebron, Mississippi

Town History

MR. WILDER, THIS IS OUR TOWN

References

Thornton Wilder, "Our Town," A Play in Three Acts, 1938.

Jimmy Ward, Feature article on New Hebron, The Jackson Daily News, August 27, 1950

Oral Tradition