Lochinvar Tour
April 22, 2007
Antebellum homes are a rarity
in Pontotoc and Pontotoc County Mississippi. Of the few that have survived,
only the resplendence of Lochinvar rivals that of its storied past.
Robert Gordon, a Scottish emigrant, had promised his young wife, Mary Walton,
a mansion to rival any of those of her ancestors and relatives in Virginia.
Construction of Lochinvar began in 1836 and required two years for completion.
I feel sure young Mary was not disappointed with the results.
Twice in her lifetime, Lochinvar was almost destroyed, first, by fire during
the Civil War and later by a tornado. Robert Gordon’s son, James Gordon
was a colonel during the Civil War. His kindness to General Colburn of Indiana,
a P.O.W., was rewarded with his being presented the General’s personal
sword and a note of thanks, both of which were sent to Robert’s Pontotoc
home. When Union soldiers were about to torch Lochinvar, Mary Gordon, confronted
Colonel Grierson’s adjutant, Lt. Woodard, with the sword and note. The
Lieutenant spared the house from flames and posted a guard to prevent a straggler
from destroying the house.
An F-4 tornado almost completely destroyed Lochinvar in 2001, ripping away
the roof and most of the second floor of the historic home. Many feared the
home could not be restored, but once its current owners, Doctors Forrest
and Janis Tutor, decided to rebuild, it was only a matter of time and money
until Lochinvar regained its glory. It took two carpenters five years to
complete the work. Now, in its restored state, Lochinvar has a slightly different
look than that of the original plantation home. The roof is no longer gabled
at the ends, and the observation tower that rose several feet above the roofline
was not reconstructed.
Between these near-catastrophic events, Lochinvar experienced extended periods
of neglect and abuse, but in 1926, J.B. Fontaine purchased Lochinvar with
an eye on preserving it. J.B. and Katherine Fontaine lived in the home
approximately forty years, before selling it to its present owner in 1966.
I first saw Lochinvar as a youth, probably riding the countryside with a
gang of friends. For the years I've known of Lochinvar, there have been tales
of ghosts associated with the spirits of soldiers of the Civil War who died
while hospitalized at Lochinvar. These tales often describe sounds associated
with chains being dragged along a wooden floor (prisoners had been kept there,
too) and of eerie lights appearing on the grounds. I’ve never experienced
any such sounds or sightings, nor has anyone I know, but legends don’t
require validation for perpetuation.
As a fundraiser for the Pontotoc County Historical Society, Lochinvar was
open for history buffs and the curious last Sunday, perhaps for the last
time for those of my generation. The owner, Dr. Forrest Tutor is eighty,
and he’s on record as stating this may be the last open house he will
host. Several years ago, I missed a similar opportunity to tour Lochinvar,
but I vowed not to miss this one. In my vow, little did I realize I would
be helping manage the visitors.
Virginia Dillard is a master volunteer coordinator, and while she didn’t
spearhead the fundraiser, she was instrumental in several aspects of
coordination.
"I’m worried about someone falling on the steps down there. There’s
not a railing, you know, and I can just see some elderly person falling while
going up or down those steps," she shared. "If you could be there to help
folks on the front steps for a few hours, I’d really appreciate it."
"She’s good," I remember thinking, "really good."
And, I responded that I would indeed help. After all, what able-bodied gentlemen
would not heed so gracious an invitation?
Last Saturday morning, I stopped by to visit Miss Virginia.
"Come in," she called from her favorite chair, when I rapped on the backdoor,
"we’re in the middle of a crisis. You know Dora Day don’t you?
Dora do you know Wayne?
Dora, who was seated on the couch, answered yes as did I to Miss Virginia’s
questions.
"Help yourself to some coffee, and help us figure out where we can get a
thousand party cookies," Miss Virginia stated.
I reached for a ceramic cup from a cabinet above the electric percolator
that she insists makes better coffee than the more modern coffeemakers. I
poured my coffee, sat at her kitchen table, and listened to their cookie
plight as I sipped my coffee.
It seems there was a miscommunication of the cookie order for the Lochinvar
tour, and instead of the cookie dough being quartered before baking, it was
halved, resulting in half-moon shaped cookies that were larger and less elegant
than desired. However, before I left, Miss Virginia had the crisis under
control, having talked to the manager of the Kroger bakery, who assured her
the cookies could be produced by five o’clock that same day. Dora’s
blood pressure was close to normal, and I felt my mere presence had provided
the needed calming effect for the crisis. (laugh)
Earlier, my wife Barbara had been enlisted by the historical society to assist
with the tour by serving as a guide in one of the bedrooms upstairs. She
was to be on duty from three until four o’clock. My obligation was less
specific, but having been asked to be on site at 1:30 p.m., I made sure Barbara
got me there by one o’clock.
Upon our arrival, cars were already parked adjacent to the tree line beside
the meadow on our right.
"You may want to pull over here and
let me out," I suggested. "I’ll make a picture of the re-enactors camped
over there."
Three young men in Rebel attire had erected pup tents, hoisted a flag
representing the 15th Mississippi regiment, and were amusing
themselves with a deck of playing cards. Rifles, racked teepee style, stood
ready for action if a need arose. No Yankees showed up while I was there,
but several times during the afternoon the trio fired their rifles to add
to the engaging atmosphere of a long ago afternoon.
A large crowd, perhaps a hundred people, had spilled off the porch and filled
the sidewalk as I approached the historic mansion. I was making my way along
the driveway when someone made the decision to start the tour early. Sammie
Jaggers asked me to work at one of the registration tables until Miss Virginia
arrived, which I did.
There were two men in Confederate
garb already on the steps to provide assistance to those needing help, so
I sought another job. The owners, Forrest and Janis Tutor were graciously
greeting folks in line and the couple remained outside most of the afternoon.
Forrest wore a long white coat and looked the part of a Southern gentleman.
Janis was dressed as a Southern lady. She appeared to be having such a good
time passing registration forms on clipboards and greeting visitors in the
long line that when a camera crew called her aside, I took over her job.
By this time, the line had grown much longer than when I first arrived. I
had a great time talking to the folks lined up to pay at the door. Most of
these told me they would have bought a ticket in advance had they known such
a long line awaited them. Those with tickets were quickly advanced to the
front of the line. Had I been entrusted to do so, I could have sold a lot
of tickets at premium prices to folks who grew tired of standing in line.
A water stand or a lemonade stand about a hundred yards deep in the line
would have worked wonders for morale, but the weather was not so warm as
to dehydrate anyone.
By three o’clock, folks were asking
me how many had been through. I explained that a previous estimate of
one-thousand was probably a good one, though I suspected the true count might
be higher. I don’t know how much my time estimates helped those waiting
in line, but I often guessed that the wait might be thirty-minutes to the
door from a given spot in the line. My daughter later told me she was in
line for fifty-five minutes before reaching the porch.
For a long time, I was puzzled as to how there could be as many people in
the house as there were still in line, but that was before I toured the house
and saw first-hand the capacity of the large rooms measuring 22’ X
22’. Additionally, the back porch could accommodate a hundred, possibly
more, and with some folks taking time to visit the Gordon cemetery and the
stump of the giant Bodock tree destroyed by the tornado, I could imagine
how several hundred could be accommodated beyond the front door at any given
time.
At four p.m., the cutoff time for the
tours, people were still in line. I assured them they would be allowed to
tour the home beyond the published time limit. But, having finally made my
way to the end of the line getting folks registered, I turned in the clipboards
and stepped inside for my first look at fabled Lochinvar.
I was wowed. Lochinvar is a splendid rendering of the antebellum South and
quite likely will be for years to come. The rooms were filled with all sorts
of antique furniture and furnishings. Most of the historical society members
whose job was to provide information on the furnishings of each room were
dressed in appropriate attire of yesteryear. I made several photos, some
of which turned out okay, but I purposefully chose to concentrate more on
remembering than photographing. Unfortunately, some of my remembering is
as blurred as a few of the pictures taken.
Interestingly, Dr. Tutor asked the
carpenters working on the restoration effort to fashion, for his eventual
use, a wooden casket using lumber from trees on his property, including the
Bodock tree that was destroyed. Jon Hardin, member of the local historical
society, drew basement duty, and was happy to answer questions concerning
the handmade coffin. Jon noted the lid of the coffin was not hinged but it
could be removed by sliding, as its builders employed a tongue and groove
technique to secure the lid.
For me, seeing Lochinvar was the opportunity of a lifetime. Becoming a servant
for a few hours only added to my enjoyment. Dr. Tutor indicated he has no
plans to open his home for another tour, and whether or not his heirs do
so or not is mere speculation. That scary old house isn’t scary anymore,
and since my granddaughters have seen it for themselves, any ghost stories
I might tell them are not likely to have much of an impact.
Bodock Beau
Humor Section
I have a theory - there are no new jokes. Instead there are simply the ones
we've not heard or the ones that have been recycled. Which category works
for these?
Dad Sleeps Naked
"Late again," the third-grade teacher said to little Sammy.
"It ain't my fault," Miss Crabtree. "You can blame this on my Daddy. The
reason I'm three hours late is Daddy sleeps naked!"
Now Miss Crabtree had taught grammar school for thirty-some-odd years. So
she asked little Sammy what he meant by that, despite her mounting fears.
Full of grins and mischief, and in the flower of his youth, little Sammy
and trouble were old friends, but he always told the truth.
"'You see, Miss Crabtree, at the ranch we got this here lowdown coyote. The
last few nights he done et six hens and killed Ma's best milk goat."
"And last night, when Daddy heard a noise out in the chicken pen, he grabbed
his gun and said to Ma, 'That coyote's back again, I'm a gonna git him!'"
'"Stay back," he yelled to all us kids! He was naked as a jay-bird, no boots,
no pants, no shirt! To the hen house he crawled, just like an Injun on the
snoop. Then he stuck that double barrel through the window of the coop.
As he stared into the darkness, with coyotes on his mind, our old hound dog
Zeke had done woke up and come sneakin' up behind Daddy. Then we all
looked on plumb helpless, as old Zeke stuck that cold nose to Daddy's
backside!
"Miss Crabtree, we been cleanin' chickens since three o'clock this mornin."
Shared by Ed Dandridge
Ketchup Or Mustard
A man was walking on the beach and found a bottle. When he opened it, a genie
appeared.
"Thank you for rescuing me," the genie said. "For your kindness, I’ll
grant you three wishes."
"For my first wish, I wish for $1 million," said the man.
"For my second wish, I wish for a Lincoln Continental."
Then the man piled all the money into the trunk of the car and was going
to drive to the bank.
He turned on the radio and began to sing along, "Oh, I wish I were an Oscar
Mayer wiener..."
Laugh Letter Newsletter - April 2007
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