Historic Biscuits

by Brady Hale

The majestic Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia are home to number of small counties and towns. Nestled right in the midst of them all is Franklin County. Named for the great Benjamin Franklin, it’s mostly known for its steep history of moonshinin’ and its proximity to Smith Mountain Lake. Franklin County has always been a rural, backwoods community and remains so to this very day. However, I know Franklin County for something totally different, the birthplace of the greatest biscuits ever made. To make this story make more sense let’s wind the clock back almost a century ago.

September 3, 1919 was a day that I obviously can’t remember, but it is a date that I will never forget. Why, you ask? On that day, some ninety-two years ago, my grandmother, Ola Scott, was born. As was often the case then, she was one of several children -- eleven to be exact, nine boys and two girls. Times were certainly different for her then, no T.V. or video games, not even electricity or motorized vehicles. Chores were aplenty. As most of her brothers were in charge of the outdoor duties of the farm, she and her sister Libby were responsible for most indoor and household chores.

Her early childhood was a typical one for a young girl growing up in rural Virginia at that time. School, chores, and church were the staples of her early life. Then in the early 1930s the deep depression ravaging the country’s great urban areas began to impact the rural South. Times were tough, work was scarce, and money was tight. Feeding a family of thirteen was not easy, and often just basics were available. Chicken and pork were normally staples, but with less money for livestock feed fewer animals were kept, and meat portions were smaller. However, one item was served with almost all meals, biscuits. Easy to make, cheap to make, and quite fulfilling, biscuits were a great solution. Wonderful you might say, a family tradition passed down from her mother to be passed on for generations, but unfortunately not the case.

Beginning in the late ‘30s my grandmother received training from a “finishing teacher.” This was actually was an initiative started by Franklin Roosevelt as part of his New Deal. He felt it necessary to refine the young women of the country in household basics such as cleaning, cooking, and some nursing skills. The warring nations of Europe gave him reason to believe that eventually the U.S. might be pulled into the unfortunate situation, and we needed trained young women to care for returning soldiers. My grandmother quickly enlisted the help of her “finishing teacher” to help her develop the skills necessary for baking the delicious treats. I’m sure you’re thinking OK, just biscuits, not that hard. Well, that simply wasn’t the case. Only a wood burning stove was available, and the biscuits had to be cooked on top. Just getting the temperature of the stove to the correct temperature was a difficult task. But hardest of all was achieving the perfect brownness on top which is what kept the inside so moist and warm.

That’s it -- Grandma’s great biscuits, which I thought were a family recipe, instead were literally the makings of an act of Congress. From Benjamin Franklin to Franklin D. Roosevelt to Ola Scott to me, her biscuits aren’t just good -- they’re historic!

Work Cited

Bowling, Ola S. Personal interview. 3 Feb. 2011.

Note: Brady Hale, who is from Radford, Virginia, is majoring in turfgrass management at Sandhills Community College.

The Civil Rights Movement: In the Words of My Father

by Orin McCauley

When I visit the birthplace of my father, I can still see remnants of the Old South. Cotton fields, dilapidated tobacco barns, and the occasional Confederate flag still line the rural streets. Such sights allows me to imagine Jim Crow police with fire hoses, dogs, and billy clubs attacking protesters. I recall the footage of grown men crying after receiving the news of MLK’s murder. I have always been in awe of the strength black people had to display during a time where they were considered three fourths of a human being. I’ve seen and read about the National Guard escorting little black children to school. Today this seems so unimaginable. Sadly, these events occurred, and my father, Edward McCauley, was there to witness.

When I asked my father to describe his life in rural Mt. Gilead, NC, during the Civil Rights Movement, I did not know what he would say. I hoped that I would not hear that he had not been exposed to the hurt and pain associated with being thought of as “less than.” I hoped that rural little Mt. Gilead was removed from the injustices suffered by Blacks in bigger cities like Birmingham or Cleveland. When I expressed these thoughts to my father, he replied, “Boy, don’t you know the Civil Rights Movement started an hour up the road?” Then he began to tell me about the Greensboro Four. On February 1, 1960, four college students entered a Woolworth’s store in Greensboro. They sat down at the whites-only lunch counter and refused to get up. News of this courageous move by the four young black men in a segregated South soon spread, and the next day more students joined in and sat at the Woolworth’s whites-only lunch counter. The sit-ins, which occurred for several more days, catapulted the Civil Rights Movement in the South.

When I asked my father about the emotions associated with the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., his head dropped. Then he began to speak about the loss of Medger Evans, Malcolm X, and President John F. Kennedy. He spoke about the feelings of anger and despair. He said he had heard the adults in his family and community saying that everyone who tried to stand up for the civil rights of Blacks had been gunned down. They spoke about being discouraged but not being defeated. My father said, “When all them died, everybody kinda knew that equality would be a slow, uphill battle.”

To my dismay, my father was exposed to the pain associated with the Civil Rights Movement. However, the effect it had on him does not sadden me. It makes me proud. I believe he is proud too. He is respectful, strong, and ethical. When I asked Daddy about feeling "less than" as a black man in the South, he quoted James Brown’s 1968 hit, “Say it loud! I’m Black and I’m proud.”

Work Cited

McCauley, Edward C. Personal interview. 6 Feb. 2011.

Note: Orin McCauley, who is lives in Ellerbe, is majoring in business administration at Sandhills Community College.