1932 photo of J. C. Mayfield, age 17
By Joe Mayfield
Today the divorce rate is at an all time high, society almost expects a marriage to fail, and strong family values have changed drastically. We no longer see as many healthy families as we once did, instead you’ll see the husband going to the grocery store by himself, or a wife running an errand alone, rather than going to do these things together.
Have you ever seen an older couple seated at a table in some restaurant, watch the wife, she’ll look to see if the table is clean on her husbands side, and when their food arrives, the husband will hand his bride the salt or pepper, knowing how she likes her food seasoned. They will have a special look for each other, although it may not always be a smile, they’ll seem interested in what the other has to say. They have the utmost respect for their other half, and they probably recall when they didn’t have the money to go out to eat, when times were hard. One can easily see the need they each have to be with each other.
In the 30s young men and women courted by seeing each other in church, or attending a church singing, or it might be dinner on the ground after a revival, but always in public, never going somewhere alone. Young men living in the country had to walk everywhere, their family’s mule had to rest so as to be strong for plowing the next day.
Such was the case with J. C. Mayfield, 2/11/1915 to 11/4/1998, as he courted Lenora Jab Dowda, 11/28/1914 to 3/21/1992, they established the important traditions of religion, communication, responsibilities, and along the way they fell in love. After courting for three years they were married in 1936, he was 21 and she was 22, and their first home was located at the corner of what is now Blountsville Street and Whaley Ave. N E in Hanceville, Alabama. (The Vernie Clapp house).
Setting up housekeeping was meek at best, there were no Wedding Showers for gifts from friends during those days, and their families would share such items as flat ware, a couple of iron skillets, some sheets made from flour sacks, a few quilts or what ever they could spare.
As Jab, my mother, would relate the story to me over and over with a sparkle in her eye, We loved each other, and we’d be hungry together if need be, just so long as we were together. (They called each other, mother and daddy) J. C., my Dad, worked at the Heading Mill in Garden City, Alabama, then helped his father-in-law, W. W. Dowda, clear new ground, and pull up tree stumps until sunset.
The following are my Mothers words; she loved to tell me this story. “I planned to surprise Daddy when he walked through the door with a good home cooked meal. I had been planning this for days, we had enough food so I could fry a hen, have mashed potatoes, with cornbread, and a few other things. I even had a small candle to place on the table, so we could blow out the lamp, and have our first home cooked meal by candle light.
“I knew how hungry he would be, and I wanted him to be impressed. The job turned out to be bigger than I had expected, there was flour everywhere from preparing the hen, and the stove kept going out, so I had to keep going outside for firewood, my Mama always took care of the stove while I was growing up.
“Anyway, I remembered to check the flute in the stove pipe, and adjusted it a little, add more fire wood, then went back to cooking. I had the cornbread in the oven, and the chicken and potatoes setting on the table, and was feeling proud of myself. I had timed it so everything would be done just before Daddy walked in the door, which would be in about five minutes, I checked the cornbread one last time, and when I closed the oven door, there was an explosion from the stove pipe.
“Suddenly the entire kitchen was filled with black soot; it covered the table, the fried chicken, the mashed potatoes, me and the floor, and it was still coming out of the stove pipe and blowing all over the house. Then Daddy walked in the door, and I started to cry, oh how I cried, I set down at the table, looked at Daddy, then at the falling soot. I didn’t know what to do or say. I had tried so hard to make everything perfect and it had all gone wrong, And then I remembered there was nothing else fixed for Daddy to eat, and that just made it worse.
“Daddy ran over to me, put his arm around me and said don’t cry Jab, it’ll be okay, this is not so bad, we can clean it up, just don’t cry anymore, okay. When he said that I knew he was trying to make me feel better, but I couldn’t stop crying. Then I ask, but we don’t have anything else fixed to eat. He told me that he could fix the stove pipe, and open the flute, then the stove would work again, then we’ll just take our time and clean up the house. (The flute had closed, causing the stove pipe to blow out of place)”
They were married for 56 years, the last nine and a half years of her life was spent in the Hanceville nursing home, due to a series of strokes, and for nine and a half years Daddy was in her room, each day, talking to her, or feeding her, remembering all their good times, they always had to be together.
Published U.S. Legacies Feb 2005
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