A Sad Turn in the Road

An earlier post mentioned the end of Moulton Street. I'll spend more time on that transition since it seems pivotal in this telling of times and lives. In anticipation of the forthcoming demise, an article from the Montgomery Advertiser, 1964, said, "The passing will be mourned by those who cherish Southern tradition, but time and the elements have so deeply scarred the old residence that its destruction would seem inevitable. Patch-work repairs no longer suffice and a general restoration is not feasible, either structurally or financially. Over six decades have passed since it was last painted.
Mrs. Mattie Bibb Edmondson, one of seven generations in the same family who have lived in the house, said she expects to move out in a few months. She will live with her son, George B. Edmondson, at Thorn Place."

Despite their desire, both the house and Nannie grew incapable of tending to the voices of old that had created their persona. However, the eroding exteriors did little to minimize their constant composure and rich intelligence. The demise of the old house circumvented, defined, and ended a long life and at a distance, the old gospel tunes resounded in mournful lyrics and whispered tribulations.

Nannie was a prolific and witty writer. The essay upon her graduation(posted earlier) gives merit to that statement, although her wit wasn't apparent in the flowery dissertation. The next few posts will showcase her wit as well as her grief as she prepared to exit the home of her heart. I'll use her words in a series of letters to let her speak for herself.

From Mattie Gilmer Bibb Edmondson

To Cousin S. P. M.

Last Day of Nov. 1964

Montgomery

Monday

Dear Sarah,
The wind began bombarding the northwest side of brave Moulton, 111, about 4:00 a.m. so would like to go to bed now, about 11:00 a.m…
The stove and refrigerator are already installed in Hootenannie Hall so must try to begin to live there or starve to death. My cot on Moulton is still very comfortable…
Have just phoned T. B. Hill’s office. Wish to make an appointment about re-writing my will. The one I have now is 21 years old. I am not one of those old people who wishes to dictate to my heirs after I am dead. Life has taught me that I don’t have the wisdom to read the future. Did I tell you the old gas chandeliers in the old parlors are beautiful since they have been cleaned. Pure brass. Hope to get mine in the funny, funny little parlor before long.

Devotedly yours,
Nannie of Hootenannie Hall

 Hootenannie Hall refers to Nannie's new home on Thorn Place in the side apartment of her son's home that happened to be my home too. I was in college when the actual move transpired.

Nannie continues in another letter to her cousin in Birmingham, Alabama, to speak of the unfathomable challenge before her. I realize now what she must have been feeling, but back then she rarely verbally lamented her grief to me. Oh. The "Missie" of whom she speaks is me, the not-so-beautiful-but-sho-is-sweet- one.  Read on to hear it from Nannie.

Montgomery

Friday, the 13th

November, 1964

Dear Sarah,
How in the world am I to catch up on writing you of my struggles of moving? Susie Porter(daughter) arrived by plane three weeks ago. She spent the first night here but went to the Whitley for the two other nights when was in town as the furniture men took the bed in Mamie’s room. I have slept on a cot for weeks having had my bed moved when men were moving my heaviest pieces of furniture. I am virtually policing the place until I can get most valuable moved. The weather has been kind to me but rain would be welcome if not followed by a freeze.
Continued…
Missie arrived tonight for week-end. She needs a new white formal to wear Elite Night at Montevallo, having been nominated as a beauty. She may not be beautiful, but she ‘sho’ is sweet.
Even the doctor I went to today spoke of Missie’s pleasing personality. When I told …that my only trouble was old age, he exclaimed, “Horrible! It always kills you!”

More from the horse's mouth and pen tomorrow.