May 24 '03
Volume 364
New Niece Jacqueline Rhea Palmer
In February, 1973,
a There's a lot I don't remember that took place in the early months of '73. It was the beginning of the bleakest financial year of my career, a year that saw me change career paths twice and included the enlargement of my own family in mid-July by a bouncing baby boy we named Jason. Barbara and I had relocated to Pontotoc from Ripley, MS in the fall of 1970. While living in Ripley, we kept closely in touch with the families of her sister and her brother, but with our move to Pontotoc, her brother's move to Memphis, and later her sister's move to nearby Oxford, we had difficulty keeping up with the goings on in each family. In fact, Barbara's brother, Gene, claims no one ever told him about Baby Girl O'Kelley. His memory is no better than mine is, but I imagine he's right about not getting the word. Until a couple of Sunday's ago, I couldn’t say when I last thought of the niece I never saw, who was adopted at birth. I only vaguely remember the exchange was legal, though outside an adoption agency. Neither can I say how my sister-in-law discovered the husband and wife who desired to adopt an infant, but I'm convinced her advice, advice to which my niece consented, was the best thing that could have happened to Baby Girl O'Kelley, for the lifestyle the birth-mother has pursued throughout most of her adulthood is less than exemplary. It was Mother's Day morning when I opened an email from an individual inquiring "for genealogical reasons" information regarding Virginia Crouch O'Kelley Bratton and Carol O'Kelley Mullins, persons mentioned in the RRN Family portion of Ridge Rider News Online, the Internet version of this newsletter. The email was signed Rhea Palmer. I showed the inquiry to Barbara about the time she left for Sunday School then penned a response to Rhea Palmer before I left to go to church. After church, Barbara commented, "I've been thinking; I'll bet you that Rhea Palmer is the baby Carol gave up for adoption when she and Virginia were living in Oxford. I don't know if we should contact her or not." "I've already responded," I replied hesitantly, hoping I had not fallen into disfavor with my wife, plus I had not even considered the possibility she had just set before me. Moments later, a second email arrived from Rhea Palmer asking permission to share more information with us via phone or email. I printed a copy of the latest correspondence and gave it to Barbara. "Since you remember all this stuff better than I do, why don't you call her," I suggested. I'll have to wait until I see my next phone bill to establish the exact length of the ensuing phone conversation, but it was between one and two hours. I listened to a great deal of one side of the conversation, and from what I could gather I was not in trouble for having let a skeleton out of the closet. Instead, I noticed the tone of the conversation changed from a cautious informational exchange to one filled with laughter, anticipation, and excitement. Rhea Palmer was indeed Baby Girl O'Kelley. Her adoptive parents, Buddy and Jackie Pannell, had not kept from her the circumstances of her adoption and had, in fact, informed her of her adoptive status as early as they felt her capable of understanding. In recent years, her adoptive parents had helped her in her efforts to locate her biological mother. For years, Rhea had searched, only to have her efforts thwarted time and again. Her biological mother was named Hillhouse at the time of the final adoption. Rhea ran down blind alleys searching in Oxford for persons who might have known either Virginia or Carol. Her efforts to locate either her biological mother or biological grandmother using postings on www.anscestry.com or via a general search engine on the Internet had also proved fruitless, until she typed "Virginia O'Kelley" on the eve of Mother's Day and hit the website of this newsletter. There in bold print was the connection she had so desperately sought. Finally, a clue…someone to contact who purportedly was related to her mother. She also saw her mother's name on my website, but it was spelled Carol and not Caryl as was signed on the adoption papers and birth certificate. Rhea's excitement grew as she shared her find with the only mother she had known, Jackie Pannell. Then, the following morning she emailed me and soon learned she was finally on the right genealogical track. When Barbara hung up the phone, after talking with Rhea, I think she was as excited as Rhea was. "It's Ray, not Ree," Barbara explained regarding the pronunciation of Rhea. "She want's to meet us, maybe next weekend, if she can work it out. She lives in Oakland, TN, and she said it wasn't too far from New Albany, and I told her Pontotoc is only a few minutes south of New Albany." I soon located Oakland, TN on an Internet map and saw it was near Bartlett, TN, which is practically a suburb of Memphis, and estimated her travel time at two hours or less. Barbara and Rhea talked again on Tuesday and finalized plans for her to drive down the following Saturday (5/17), to meet us. Meanwhile Barbara had phoned her brother, and Gene also got excited about meeting a new niece in the family, and said he would try to get down from Ripley, sometime Saturday. I had my doubts about Gene showing up, as it's easier to move a mountain by speaking to it than getting Gene Crouch away from home on a weekend, even if it's only for a few hours. At approximately eleven o'clock Saturday morning, Rhea's Ford Mustang pulled into my driveway. Hearing her automobile pull up, I arose from my chair in the computer room which is accessible through the garage and stepped into the garage to greet her. As she walked toward our garage entrance, it was easy to see the family resemblance. I extended my hand in introducing myself, but finished with a fatherly hug. I had called out to Barbara before greeting Rhea, to let her know our niece had arrived and Barbara welcomed her at the entrance to our kitchen with one of those extended hugs that women save for special occasions. It was Barbara who first commented about how much Rhea resembled Cheryl (Carol’s sister). Maybe it was her long red hair, or her cheerful smile and gracious laughter that reminded us of Cheryl, but it could just have well been her inquisitive eyes, or the way she held her head, or possibly her high cheekbones. Yes, there were times when I could see her mother in her face, but time and again I was reminded of her Aunt Cheryl. Cheryl’s personality was always the bubblier of the two sisters, with Carol being something of an introvert in her adolescence, always the quiet one, but one who was quick to laugh when something amusing struck her fancy. Rhea spent the day with us and half the night, leaving around 11:00 p.m. We thoroughly enjoyed her stay. She brought enough family pictures to fill a suitcase but were for the most part well organized into albums and a large shoebox that held vertically filed photos. We flipped through hundreds of photos of her husband and her five-year old son, and an equal number of photos of her parents and grandparents. There never seemed to be a lull in the conversation, and she definitely did not inherit her mom’s quiet nature. Sara Sue came over to meet Rhea, bringing an embroidered apron emblazoned with Ridge Rider News and a cluster of grapes. Rhea met a number of other members of our family, including my son, Jason; my granddaughter Anna and her step mom, Christy; Barbara’s brother, Gene Crouch; her half-sister, Brigitte Rankin, and her great grandmother, Lillie Paseur. Rhea also met Miss Opal Austin while we were at the nursing home and would have met the Cordis Young's, had they not already closed the Laundromat by the time we got there. Even Dot Bell stopped over after spending the day out of town and was as excited as the rest of us in meeting Rhea. Rhea did not meet her biological mother, this trip. Carol and her husband/ partner were on the road last weekend, hauling whatever they haul in an eighteen-wheeler. We’ve scheduled a trip to Southaven next and will meet at Cheryl’s house, but as of this writing we’ve not heard from Carol. Meanwhile, Rhea is trying to sort out and absorb the deluge of information we’ve provided her. I’m certain it’s only a matter of time until she will see the mother she hasn’t seen for thirty years. No one’s giving odds on their reunion. It could be a wonderful moment for both of them, but it could also be an awkward one, too. However, I’m betting Rhea will handle herself in grand fashion. As Sara Sue said to Barbara, "She’s a keeper." Note: Rhea has been asked to submit her account of finding and meeting her biological family.
Mr. Hobbit Imaginary Friend According to my sister, Sarah, children who have imaginary playmates are highly intelligent and creative. I'd tend to agree more with her except she had an imaginary playmate in her childhood. Sarah's envisioned friend was someone she called John Wallace, but that was when Sarah's hair was more blonde than red. She explains that John was a girl and that she was too young to know the difference between boy names and girl names. She also remembers that whenever she and John played, she always won the game or beauty contest. If cooking were involved her mud pies were better. John never stood a chance and Sarah attributes John's evolvement to having an older brother whom she could never out do, at least not in her childhood. I asked Sarah at what point in her childhood she had an imaginary friend. She explained hers was around at an early age but disappeared about the time our younger brother, James, learned to walk which means she might have last seen John at age five. She definitely remembers her friend's demise prior to our family's move from Montgomery Street to Woodland Street. Psychologists explain that children who develop imaginary friends keep them as long as they have need of them. Sarah's son, Brett, only slightly remembers his imaginary friend, one he named Little Boy. Brett didn't keep Little Boy for very long, but he remembers Little Boy was about the size of his little finger. Since he kept Little Boy in his pocket, it's possible his Mom drowned him in the washing machine. The imaginary friend my family best remembers was the one claimed by my granddaughter, Anna Butler. When Anna was about two years old she began to tell us about her new friend, Mr. Hobbit. We were as surprised by the name as her having an imaginary friend and wondered where she might have heard the name Hobbit. Sarah's friend, John Wallace, was strictly imagined and Sarah does not recall ever seeing John. Anna, however, treated Mr. Hobbit like one of the family. We had to be careful where we sat, when Anna was around, for fear of sitting on Mr. Hobbit. He was Anna's constant companion for several years. In his early years, Mr. Hobbit, unlike his grownup-sounding name, was something of a toddler, who needed Anna's help in getting bathed, dressed, and fed. Once, at a football game, Anna enlisted Tracy Robinson to go with her to take Mr. Hobbit to the bathroom. Mr. Hobbit went through several developmental stages, but he was always exactly what Anna needed him to be. At the end of the hallway in our home on 8th Street in Pontotoc, we kept a table made from the base of an antique treadle-style sewing machine and topped with a glass removed from an antique Television set. Above the table were my hunting and fishing trophies, a largemouth bass and a deer head. One day, Anna borrowed our camera and took a picture of Mr. Hobbit standing beside or under the table. Something didn't transfer in the film development process, and all we got was an ill-framed shot of the end of the hallway. Nonetheless, Anna could point out the exact spot where Mr. Hobbit stood. We couldn't make him out, but she could and still can. In fact, when she was over to meet Rhea last Saturday, I showed her the old photo, and she pointed him out once again. Anna hasn't needed Mr. Hobbit around for quite a few years, but I suppose that as long as we save the picture of him at the end of the hallway she'll be able to see him.
Bodock Beau Selected Smiles I don't know if you know it or not, but the editor of this newsletter is afraid of heights. And, he's especially nervous about being high above water, say on a bridge. As he tells it, he was crossing the Mississippi River Bridge at Greenville, MS, the other day and had almost reached the Arkansas side when a flagman stopped him and a couple of vehicles in front of him. He recounted, how he calculated if the bridge were to collapse, he'd surely drown, because he was at least fifty yards' from the West bank, plus he can't swim. Just the thought of a collapse was bad enough, but when the oncoming traffic rolled by, he felt the bridge moving. He said he was nearing his breaking point and was about ready to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way to Arkansas, when his line of traffic began to move. Once across the water, he was able to see why the traffic had been halted. An Arkansas Department of Transportation vehicle was blocking one lane while a work crew installed a new sign. He said he couldn't help but chuckle at the newly erected sign, "No Stopping On Bridge." ----------------------------------- The efficiency expert concluded his lecture with a note of caution. "You don't want to try these techniques at home.". "Why not?" asked somebody from the audience.. "I watched my wife's routine at breakfast for years," the expert explained. "She made lots of trips between the refrigerator, stove, table and cabinets, often carrying a single item at a time. One day I told her, 'Hon, why don't you try carrying several things at once?'"
"Actually, yes," replied the expert. "It used to take her 20 minutes to make breakfast. Now I do it in seven." Submitted by Larry Young A Few Truisms 1. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it will always be yours. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with. But, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats your food, uses your telephone, takes your money, and doesn't appear to realize that you have set it free...you either married it or gave birth to it. 2. Reason to smile: Every 7 minutes of every day, someone in an aerobics class pulls a hamstring. 3. They keep telling us to get in touch with our bodies. Mine isn't all that communicative but I heard from it the other day after I said, "Body, how'd you like to go to the six o'clock class in vigorous toning?" Clear as a bell my body said, "Listen fat boy....do it and die." 4. My mind not only wanders, it sometimes leaves completely. 5. The best way to forget all your troubles is to wear tight shoes. 6. The nice part about living in a small town: When you don't know what you're doing, someone else always does. 7. Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today. 8. Amazing! ! You hang something in your closet for a while and it shrinks two sizes! 9. Sometimes I think I understand everything, then I regain consciousness. 10. I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That's my idea of a perfect day. Submitted by Ken Gaillard Share this article with a friend.
Copyright © 2000 - 2003 RRN Online.
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child was born to an unwed teenage mother in Oxford, MS. The name on the
birth certificate was simply Baby Girl O'Kelley, however the sex of the child
was marked "M" for male and the place of birth erroneously stated, Meridian,
MS. Years would pass before the error was discovered and corrected. The new
mom was my niece Carol Jo, the younger daughter of Barbara's sister, Virginia
O'Kelley. I never got to see the unnamed newborn, as she was placed into
the care of a childless family awaiting the formal and final adoption proceedings
to prevail in a sometimes-sluggish legal system.
