friends


23
May 15

The story of Billiter Street

Once upon a time Adam came over to see us. Being the history major that he was and the genealogy buff that he is, he has traced his ancestors migration to the new world.

He is descended from Richard Mynatt, who came over to the colonies from England in 1749. Mynatt, the son of a sailor, was a 20-year-old cook who signed a four-year agreement of servitude with Thomas Lee. He would go to Virginia and become the head cook of Stratford Hall, the birthplace of Robert E. Lee. (Thomas was his grandfather.)

When Thomas Lee died, Mynatt’s contract was passed to Philip Ludwell Lee. When Mynatt’s servitude was up, he asked for his freedom and the money he was owed. Philip said no, so Mynatt went to court. He became the first indentured servant in America to win his freedom in court.

Philip would serve in the House of Burgesses, but died before the Revolution. Two of his brothers, Richard Henry and Francis Lighthorse, signed the Declaration of Independence. Stands to reason that Mynatt knew them.

Now, Adam has been to Stratford Hall. He’s climbed into the attic space where Mynatt lived for four years. Some of his recipes are said to still be on file there.

But that might be about the only thing Mynatt left behind. He moved a few counties to the north when he gained his freedom in 1754. He started a family and later worked as a courier for George Washington, serving two tours of duty, in the Revolutionary War. Richard’s eldest son, William, is also on Revolutionary War rosters.

In 1787 Mynatt sold his Virginia land and moved the family to east Tennessee, where he bought several hundred acres of farmland. He worked as a doorkeeper for the Southwest Territorial House of Representatives.

He died in 1823 in Union, Tennessee and is buried there, in a family cemetery. He was 96 or 100 years old, depending on which record you like. He and his wife, Sarah, had 10 children.

Adam has been to the Mynatt cemetery. But he’s never been to where the ancestral roots began. Adam has found the document that showed Mynatt’s immigration and servitude. It lists the road where Richard Mynatt lived in England, in London.

Let’s find it on a map, we said, when he came to visit.

As these things do, one search led to a neighborhood, which led to looking over every street in the area and there it was. Billiter Lane is now Billiter Street. And it was very close to where we were.

So we went for a visit.

It is a small little road, and of course it looks nothing like mid-18th century London.

This is the oldest building on Billiter, and it is from the 1860s. No one Richard Mynatt knew when he left for the colonies would have ever seen this place. Nor would their grandkids. What I’m saying is, it has been some long time since Mynatt left.

It is a small little road. This is a photo taken while standing on one end of the modern Billiter. You can see the other end from here.

It was cool to see where it all started. A young man who left for reasons lost to history, worked hard and turned himself into a free man, a successful land owner in the new world. He worked on the edges of history and raised a family. And here’s one of his great-great-greats now, wondering where on this street an English sailor raised a future American cook.

And that’s the story of Billiter Street.


9
May 15

Brown shoes in my size, the second hardest thing to buy

This morning it was laundry. This afternoon it was errands. I had to buy shoes. Buying a specific kind of shoe in my size — and at a price I want to pay — is sometimes very difficult. This is one of those times. But, on the third store, I picked up some nice brown casual shoes that might feel comfortable.

Since we’ve started doing triathlons I’ve come to think of the comfort of my feet as a very important thing.

I also bought some new running shoes this week. I just eclipsed 400 miles in the old shoes and they were letting me know. Three times in a row I went for a jog that turned into an aching-calf shuffle. Well, you don’t have to tell me a fourth time. So that’s two new pairs of shoes in one week.

Didn’t get all of my errands done. The loafers took too long. So we’ll push that on to next week. Today there’s baseball. And then dinner, with friends. And we met our friend Sally Ann and her niece.

SA

We all dined with our friends Jennie and Jeremy, who we bumped into by chance:

TWER

Oh yes, I bought a selfie stick today. You’ll soon see why.


8
May 15

Last day of class

Last two classes of the term today. I gave a quiz consisting of when their finals were due and so on, the traditional end-of-term easy few points. I gave my not-at-all famous end-of-term speech. The brain is like any other muscle, I say, and you must use it. In our case, write. Write for publication. Write for yourself. Just write. Writers write.

There are a few other points in that speech. Thank you for your patience, I hope you’ve learned as much as I have. (I always learn a lot, even as the person leading the room.) Deadlines matter, I remind them. And I remind them again that it is OK to be passionate about where their interests are taking them, and so on.

In the second class a student pulled up Boys II Men and I tried to hit the back post of the song with the speech.

I forgot about the last chorus and missed the post.

But the speech is good.

Afterward, as I was wrapping up still more grading and various on-campus errands I ran into one of our students who is leaving us at the end of this term. He was there with his father. The student gave me a hug and introduced me to his dad. That’s not a bad way to wrap up classes.

And I got home just in time to shoot this from the car, hustling as I was to the ballgame. There’s nothing quite so nice as a good sunset on the plain. This blurry, out of the car window, cell phone shot isn’t representative of that, but the feeling of being home can’t be described in words or pictures anyway:

sunset

At baseball, it was time for rally sunglasses. Almost everyone in our section participated:

rally

Shame the rally sunglasses didn’t work. Ah well. Get ’em tomorrow.


6
May 15

End of the Crimson-year party

Two classes today. Stayed late to go over some things with a small handful of students before their final. Drove off to get the sandwiches I always buy at the end of the year: Roly Poly. Got stuck in traffic and when I got back on campus the end-of-the-year party was already underway.

We had two staffs in there this year, the outgoing and part of the incoming. It was a lively, chatty, fun affair. The has-beens told the up-and-comers secrets about the job. Some of them lingered and told stories about what it meant to them, which was lovely.

I walked them all to the door, and gave each one a little letter. Each one was different, but each said how thankful I was of the effort they’ve put in, how proud I was of the work they’ve done. I hope they are proud too.

And then there were just a few of us. And I realized that, with Sydney graduating, our newsroom lost its institutional memory of Purvis, the rock:

Crimson

The short version: On our way to a conference last year, Clayton, the then-sports editor, was reading interesting facts about every town in Mississippi we passed. Our favorite was Purvis, basically because of everything he read aloud from Wikipedia.

So on the way back from Purvis, and getting a bit punchy, we stopped there for this picture, Sydney, then-news editor, Zach, then-editor-in-chief and Clayton, who was the sports editor. Because we were punchy we dug up that chunk of asphalt from off the side of the road. Clayton or Sydney one named it Purvis. It now sits in a place of honor in the Crimson newsroom.

Crimson

And now they’re all off into the great wide world.

A little bit later Sydney walked out of the door. She was in the hallway looking in and three members of next year’s staff were in the newsroom were looking out. There was a joke or two and a bye and then she walked down the hall, through the fire door, down the steps and she was gone.

I closed the newsroom door. Emily, the new editor-in-chief who served so ably as the news editor this year, looked at me and we both took half-a-moment to compose ourselves.

And I thought, you get into all of this — the late nights, the too-cold office, dealing with people who don’t understand what you’re trying to do, thanking people who do understand, the good leads, bad headlines, working through stories you don’t care about, wondering each week what they left uncovered — you do all of this because you figure that you have something to offer students. It is something important, you figure, just as it was important when you learned the same things when you were in their place. It is important because the work they’ll one day do with it is important and civic and useful. And so, then, you are useful and maybe formative. And that is worth every 2 a.m. that you find yourself still in a cold office, because you are there for them. Only when you watch them go do you really realize what they did for you.

All of that was in my head as I cleared my eyes and watched Emily clear her eyes and then launched into the first meeting with the new staff.

I’ve taken to looking at this newsroom as both a laboratory and, these last two years, as a spectrum. Sydney and Zach and Katie before them started something these people will continue and improve upon. I have high hopes for that because here’s another group of young people who are sitting in the newsroom at 7 p.m. on the Wednesday of the last week of class.

That’s passion.


5
May 15

The last Tuesday of the year

We had the departmental picnic this afternoon. We hold it indoors now. Two years in a row we could have drowned students in the rain. Today was lovely and warm. The picnic is great fun. You get to see all of the seniors pick up all of these awards that go onto their resume. Top of the this, best of the that.

And there are awards for underclassmen, too. I gave out one to a freshman and he got a standing ovation. He deserved it.

I got to give out the SEJC awards the students won in February. I gave a special award to our editor, Sydney. I always give a very brief speech for that one. I’d been thinking about what to say, and I kept thinking about when she was in my class her freshman year and about the young woman she’s become during her four years with us. We always miss them after that. So I flubbed the speech because it got almost-dusty in the front of that room.

When the picnic was over and everything hauled away and put back in to some semblance of order we all returned to the routine. This was the last night of this year’s newspaper. This is the last time they’d be together like this. We’ll meet tomorrow, but it will be different. I should have been grading — because this stack of papers is finally getting manageable, I’ve been on a roll — but I just stayed in the newsroom with them for much of the night.

Crimson

Crimson

Crimson

Crimson

We’ll lose four of the editorial staff to graduation. Sydney will be editing for Starnes’ newspapers. She had an internship there and they were wise enough to be impressed by her and offered her a job at the beginning of her senior year, I think it was. And now she’s going to be an editor, working on five community papers, in her first newspaper job. Rachael, who ran features this year, will go to grad school. Halley will be a media buyer in town. Adam, who ran a solid opinion section this year, will be heading to Ireland in a few weeks on a Fulbright scholarship. One of our underclassmen is transferring. Two more will stay on, Emily as the new editor-in-chief and Samantha will return to rule her fiefdom as photo editor.

As a group they did us all proud. Good journalism, taking slings and arrows and commendations and never getting hung up on any one thing or another, always ready to turn out the next good product. They did what I asked of them, don’t repeat mistakes and get better each time out. And they did it all with cheer and fun. Though not all of them would admit it out loud, they had a great time.

I’m glad they were at the Crimson. I can’t wait to see what they all do next.