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"FRANCIS BEATTY FISHBURNE"
October 4, 1873 - December 13, 1925
by Charles C. Fishburne, son
The fifth child born to Rev. and Mrs. Charles Carroll Fishburne
of Timmonsville, South Carolina, was special by many standards.
He was very considerate of others, especially those of his family,
and those who were disadvantaged; he was dedicated to his career
as a railroad man; he had the highest integrity; he did a marvelous
job choosing a wife; and he was my father.
Insomuch as I had been around for only a bit over six years when
cancer took him away from us, most of this record comes from others,
primarily my mother. Several memories, however, do stand out:
The dark conductors' uniform he so often wore; his conservative
habit of shutting off the car engine two blocks from home and
coasting on into the driveway; the night our train to Charlotte
ran over a cow, and as our train moved away from the scene, Daddy
called out to passers-by, "There's fresh meat on the track back
there!"; between trains at Augusta he would play a checker game
"blind" while in the barber chair getting a shave, and always
beat his 'seeing' opponent; and letting me stand up on the front
floor of our slope-nosed Franklin and stare out the front while
he was driving.
Daddy was born into a family rich in devotion to God, and to family
relations. His father was a preacher, at times a 'circuit rider'
and thus spent many days away from home. His father died at age
42, leaving his mother to raise nine children. She was master
of the situation, however, and did well in raising her brood.
Two of my father's brothers died before age 20 - one from sickness
while a student at the Citadel, and one drowned while trying to
save another boy's life. Through the determination of his mother
and the other children, two of them completed college: Caroline
became a teacher, and Skottowe became a physician. I'm told that
Daddy also wanted to be a doctor, but left school early to help
support the family. I remember visiting my grandmother in the
house Daddy had provided for her and his unmarried sister, Lalla,
in Columbia, SC. It was standard procedure for my close brother,
Francis, and I, when arriving at her house, to run down the hall,
climb into a chair, and help ourselves to the contents of the
cookie jar on the shelf.
Daddy began his long-time service with Southern Railroad as a
'call boy', which we would now refer to as an 'entry-level' job.
The call boy was used before the advent of the telephone to ride
his bicycle to the dwelling of each member of a train crew to
tell them to report at a given time to handle an outgoing train.
This 'boy's' responsibility was to see that each man was "awake
and had his shoes on" before leaving the man's dwelling. Daddy
had progressed through the ranks to senior conductor at his death.
The Fishburne and Bellinger families had many family ties. One
branch of the latter had moved to Texas, but kept in touch with
their South Carolina cousins. Daddy met Anita Legare Bellinger
of San Antonio, either on a visit there or on her visit to SC.
This relationship flourished until about 1901, when on a trip
to Texas, he took her for a buggy ride, armed with a diamond ring,
and told her that his mother would surely like for her to live
in South Carolina. I'm not sure if she asked for a clarification
of this invitation or not, but she ended up wearing the ring.
I believe he realized, as I do, that he was marrying a gem of
a lady. By the way, Virginia, my wife, who is also a gem, had
the diamond from mother's engagement ring mounted in my wedding
band several years ago.
Railroading was important to Daddy, and he tried to do a good
job at his work. He was known in railroad circles as 'Cap'n Fishburne'.
Memory was very important to the passenger conductor then. There
were no destination slips such as conductors now use to clip above
each seat to show a person's detraining city. This information
had to be remembered by the conductor. Daddy told Mother that
he had to be able to take up tickets from passengers through a
ten-car train (500-600 persons) and remember the destination of
every passenger on board. This development of memory was the key
to his later skill as a checker player. He was a (or the) founder
of the Southern Checker Association, and had the distinction of
being the Champion Checker Player of the South nine times. A small
gold checkerboard with several additions, which I have, testifies
to this. He was skilled in playing 'blind', as mentioned before.
In this method of play, a player does not see the board his opponent
is playing on, but must remember the position of each checker
on the board, as well as the moves which his opponent and he make.
At one exhibition, Daddy played 12 games blind at one time, against
formidable opponents. Five of the games he won, with the remainder
all being 'draws' (ties). In another exhibition he played a 50-game
match with the champion of the USA. His opponent won two of the
games, he won one, and the remaining 47 were draws. His colleagues
in the checker association wanted to send him to England to learn
chess. He declined, however, not being willing to leave the family
for an extended time.
Soon after marriage, Daddy thought it time to invest in an automobile,
so he asked advice of his brother Skottowe, the physician, who
had a car. He was advised to get a Ford. Daddy thought this was
somewhat of a put-down, so he bought a Chalmers, which was 'up
the line' a few notches.
Daddy's railroad experience did not involve any serious wrecks,
fortunately. The worst such was a derailment in which the entire
train was thrown over against an earth bank by a buckled rail
caused by rail expansion on a very hot day. All aboard were able
to leave the train by crawling along under the tilted cars, to
the end of the train. In the worst disaster he witnessed, his
brakeman was crushed to death between the couplers of two cars
when they were moved together by mistake.
Inasmuch as tickets for the young were cheaper than for adults,
parents would often have the children slouch down in the seat,
posing as a younger child. Daddy said that after selling tickets
to such a family, he would say to the sloucher, "OK son, you can
straighten up now."
In those days, every passenger train had a 'news butch' on board.
This was a young fellow who roamed the train selling drinks, snacks,
and candy. Daddy said it was a status symbol for a young 'buck',
especially if girls were around, to snap off the cap of a cold-drink
bottle with his teeth. (I'm sure the local dentists reaped a profit
from this trick in later years.)
There was no fear at that time of kids being molested or running
into trouble, so when we were on a trip with Daddy, he would let
us walk through all the cars. The diner was always of special
interest. We thought those little blocks of sugar served at each
table were super, and the diner crew always paid attention to
'Cap'n Fishburne's boy'. Once when our train arrived back in Columbia,
I was caught by surprise several cars away from Daddy's work place.
When I looked out and saw our station and him walking toward his
locker room, I panicked and began madly trying to get those heavy
coach doors open. At age five, tho', I was doing more crying than
pushing, and I was sure I'd be on that train by myself all the
way to Charlotte. Fortunately, a kind gentleman sensed the problem
and opened the doors for me. When I caught up with Daddy, he told
me that I should have known our train was pulling into Columbia.
At age 5, however, I guess I didn't yet have that conductor smart.
Daddy tried to prevent sickness by an exercise which most of us
would class as self-torture. Every morning he took a cold bath.
Often, to save time getting to his train in the morning, he would
put water into the tub the evening before. In winter this could
result in a film of ice to break through in order to bathe. The
house must have had no heat during the night for the bathroom
temperature to be below 32 degrees.
He believed in sharing with those in need. My uncle Skottowe's
brother-in-law was Mr. Mel Green, husband of mother's best friend.
The Greens operated a one-man dairy farm, and at times weren't
too well off. Daddy was concerned enough with their need to tell
his banker to allow Mr. Green to draw on his account whenever
he needed. He was also concerned about the underprivileged. After
reading an account of a black boy being arrested for being up
a utility pole to watch a ball game over the fence, he asked his
friend, the newspaper editor, if he could write an editorial.
The gist of his writing, which was published, was that if this
had been a white boy there would have been no arrest. He got calls
from people all over the state, telling him that he should back
off, that he was stirring up trouble.
Daddy had mechanical ideas, evidently, which led him to design
and have built an automatic transmission for his automobile. It
worked fine in forward gear, but failed in reverse. He didn't
live long enough, tho', to solve the problem.
In his late forties, he developed a tongue disorder, which proved
to be cancer, resulting in several operations. After one of these
surgeries in New York City, he and mother were walking across
the Brooklyn Bridge. Unable to talk, he was writing notes to mother
on a pad. It being in the time of World War One, the bridge was
heavily guarded. Seeing the note-writing going on, one of the
guards challenged them for spying about the bridge details. It
took some explaining before they were allowed to proceed.
My oldest brother, Bellinger, decided in his late teens that Florida
was the place for the future. After a few months there, playing
in a band, he wrote Daddy to come on down there because everything
was booming and he could make a fortune. Daddy replied that he
hadn't lost a thing in Florida.
He had insurance policies for life as well as hospital care. After
his first cancer surgery, however, the insurance company paid
the bills, then canceled the policy. This was before the days
when such action was outlawed by legislation. Daddy was so infuriated
by this underhanded way of doing business that he canceled all
of his insurance policies. Consequently, Mother was left after
his death with scant income by this action on his part.
At the time of my birth, 1919, my folks did not attend any church.
My mother was familiar with much of the Bible, however, and spent
many hours discussing spiritual matters with two of her close
friends. I don't remember my father being interested in this way,
though. Evidently mother was not sure of his spiritual standing
before God, but she took comfort in his comments by letter while
he was away on a trip. He wrote that as the train one day passed
a clear stream, he thought of the request of the man to Philip
as recorded in the book of Acts: "Here is water, what hindereth
me to be baptized?"
I never inquired of mother why our family didn't attend church
those years in Columbia which I remember. Oddly though, I found
out 60 years after her death. Virginia and I were visiting cousins
in South Carolina - Dr. and Mrs. Marion Davis - when we learned
the reason. It seems that while my father and mother were attending
a large church in Columbia, a need developed for additional Sunday
School class rooms. My folks were active in contacting the members
and in raising the required funds. Before construction began,
however, a group of the church folks decided that a new organ
should take priority over the class rooms, and that the money
raised should be used to purchase the organ. My daddy took serious
objection to this, explaining that the donors had all given money
for the class rooms, and that they should not be betrayed in this
way. As a result, my folks terminated their membership and ceased
to attend any church.
Years later, another interesting chapter of the story developed.
The organ which had been replaced by the 'shady' purchase at the
Columbia church, was put in storage. After many years, it was
decided that it should be sold, so advertisements were sent out
and it was sold to the St. Matthias Episcopal Church in Summerton,
SC. Oddly enough, this is the home church of my cousins - Marian
and Del Davis, who gave me this account. Summerton, by the way,
is the town where daddy's father pastored his last church and
where he passed away.
My father invested in several ways - rent houses and enterprises.
Soon after his death, however, the depression hit and these investments
dried up, leaving mother with meager income. She had purchased
a house in Asheville, NC, where we moved to be near her invalid
sister. Had it not been for the federal government launching the
Home Owners Loan Corporation, enabling her to pay off the mortgage
at $8.30/month, we would have been out on the street.
Daddy passed away at our home, 2820 Blossom St. in Columbia. My
only memory of this is being at the home of a neighbor while the
rest of the family went to the funeral. This was my first brush
with death, and for a long time I was sure that soon Daddy would
be home again. Burial was in Elmwood Cemetery, Columbia. His death
was, of course, a tremendous blow to my mother, after a marriage
of just 24 short years.
Children of my father's parents:
- Mary Isabel Bellinger Fishburne
- Charles Carroll Fishburne, b.
Jan. 31, 1865
- Jane Sally Fishburne
- Caroline Legare Fishburne, b.
Feb 17, 1871
- Francis Beatty Fishburne, b.
Oct. 4, 1873
- Skottowe Bellinger Fishburne,
b. 1875
- William Roach Fishburne
- Lucius Bellinger Fishburne
- Edward Stokes Fishburne
Our family:
- Skottowe Bellinger Fishburne,
b. Feb 11, 1905; d. Feb 13, 1984
- Francis Beatty Fishburne, b.
July 13, 1915; d. July 13, 1988
- Charles Carroll Fishburne, b.
Aug. 24, 1919
Resources:
- My mother, Anita Legare Bellinger
Fishburne
- A Little History of My Life,
1947, by Caroline Legare Fishburne Davis
- Dr. Marion Davis, Manning, South
Carolina
- The Fishburne Family of South
Carolina, by Henry G. Fishburne, Sumter, South Carolina
November 2000
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