The Smiths and the Rileys

In the summer of 1867, Tarleton Smith, 25, a farmer near Owenton, Kentucky, went to town to buy seed. He finished his purchases and as he started to cross the street, he heard approaching hoofbeats on the turnpike. The ride was coming fast, and soon Tarleton saw a girl in a " red saque" streak by, her eyes were intent on the road ahead. She had light brown hair and in the brief time of her approach and passing, Talt saw that the girl was spirited and pretty. 

"That's the girl for me, " he said aloud to himself. 

He had been waiting for the right girl. He learned that she was Rebecca Riley (Becky), 15, the eldest  of the the four daughters of William Riley, Owenton's miller. Riley was a widower. His wife Joanna Hancock Riley, had been dead for twelve years. He had never remarried. The girl's mother, he learned, had died after or during the birth of her fourth child. 

Grandma Becky always maintained that her mother, Joanna Hancock, was a descendant of John Hancock, that Boston merchant who grew wealthy from smuggled goods and whose flourishing "John Hancock" is the first name among the signers of the Declaration of Independence. 

Talt and Becky Riley were married before the year 1867 was out. About a year later, on October 24, 1868, my mother, Joanna Frances, named after her grandmother, was born. They called her affectionately, Joe. 

The only story I recall being told about my mother's childhood in Kentucky, concerns a near-serious accident that happend when she was perhaps three years old. A large fireplace in the front room furnished heat for the Riley's small house. Mama, it seems loved to sit on her chair in front of the fireplace. One evening the 3 year old rocked too hard and toppled into the fire. Before she could be pulled out, her hair was burned, leaving a large bald spot. When I was a child I was fascinated by this story and frequently when Mama finished dressing to go out, she would casually ask me to see if "my bald spot" was showing.

About ten years and three children later, the Tarleton Smiths, like a great number of southern families, left Kentucky to find better farmland out West. 

They drove in a wagon to Missouri. Going through Columbia Missouri, where Missouri University was about to celebrate its fortieth year, Becky begged Talt "to setter here" and thus assure a college education for their children.

Unfortunately, her yearning was ignored. None of their ten children, except Joe, was ever to see the inside of a college. 

The farm the Talt boughtwash on father west of Columbia in Pittsville, a wide place in the road near rather small town of Holden, Missouri. 

From the first, Grandfather Smith was homesick for Kentucky. He wished they had not come to Missouri. Shortly, they "sold out" and returned to Owenton. But five years later, they made the move back again to Missouri, and this time it was permanent. 

Seven more children were born: Lucy, Riley, George, Elizabeth, Mary (Maymie) , Worthy, and the baby of the family, Winifred, who died of diphtheria she she was two years old. 

The new farm, with the hilltop house and view, was northwest of  Holden, and the Smith family became part of that community . They became active in the Baptist church of Holden. Grandma Becky, however, rarely went to church. The children nearly always brought friends home for Sunday dinner which she prepared. Talt attended church, but he was not deeply interested in religion. I at least, never knew him to make any comment about church matters. 

Talt though, bought a parlor organ and my mother learned to chord as they gathered around the organ to sing. The young Smiths loved to sing. 

My mother recalled that her mother had always subscribed to the Kansas City Star. In the evenings, after Grandmother's long day of work and the children were in bed, she would read the paper often until midnight. 

Grandfather had a smokehouse where he hung the hams which he sugar-cured in the Kentucky way. On the east side of th cottage was Grandma's flower bed of multicolored moss-roses. Children, grandchildren and great grandchildren could be found with their parents coming to Grandma's and Grandpa's off and on during the summer. 

In the front room of the house Grandfather had hung a large picture of William Jennings Bryan, the repeatedly unsuccessful Democratic candidate for president, whom grandfather repeatedly voted for. 




Helen Jo Crissman Life Story, pgs 6-9

We Come From Crissmans




The Pennsylvania Crissmans were of German descent. They were farmers and one of their crops was sugar cane. They made the cane into molasses then hauled the molasses over the mountains west to Pittsburgh where they sold it to whiskey-makers. 

Grandfather, David Schmick Crissman, was born in Sinking Valley, PA. He married Mary Magdelene Thompson, an orphan, who had been reared by a Presbyterian family named, Fleck. The Flecks also had come from Schleswig- Holstein, which at times, had been under Swedish, Danish, or Prussian rule but it is generally conceded to have been under German rule at that time.  

In 1850, after the birth of their fourth child, David and Mary Crissman, decided to go west. Only two of their children had survived infancy and it was these two children who set out with their parents for St. Louis, MO. 

There, Grandfather got a foreman's job working on the building of the Missouri Pacific Railroad. After two years, he had enough savings to buy a farm. He again set out West, where he found what he wanted near Clinton, in west-central Missouri. His farm was about four miles north of Clinton. There he built his home. He ordered lumber from St. Louis to to be sent via the Missouri River to Booneville. When word came to Clinton of the lumber's arrival, Grandfather would hitch up his team of John and Jerry- an ox and a horse- and drive his wagon the 110 miles from Clinton to Booneville and bring his lumber home. There he built a barn and an exact replica of the Crissman family home back in Pennsylvania. 

Flowers were soon growing . An apple orchard began producing. And soon at the Clinton Fair each fall, Crissman apples were taking prize in the category of " Greatest Variety". My father could name more than 40 varities that had been in his father's orchard. 

Missouri, a border state, was largely southern and Democratic. But Grandfather David Crissman, when living in St. Louis had read a Republican paper, The St Louis Post Dispatch, and he continued his subscription to it when he moved to Clinton. He was, for some time, the only Clinton subscriber to the St Louis Post Dispatch. Also, it is said that David Schmick Crissman, was the only person in Henry County to have voted for Abraham Lincoln.  

No Lutheran or Presbyterian church had as yet been established in Clinton, so the Crissmans joined the Methodist Episcopal church there.

After the birth of her twelfth child, Grandmother Mary became an "invalid" , a then not uncommon approach to evading further child-bearing. When Grandfather and the older boys left for the orchards and fields, Grandmother would get up and Frank, her tenth child, stayed home to do the housework. With her little pug dog trotting alongside, Grandmother would lend Frank a hand. Grandmother and Frank became great pals. 

Frank not only did the housework, but Frank was the breakfast cook as well. He would make pancake batter and pour it onto two griddles. Simultaneously, with one griddle in each hand he would flip the flapjacks into the air to turn them. 

Late in 1900, shortly before Grandmother Mary died, my father, now a married man with his own household, took me, hid first child (Helen Jo Crissman born May 17, 1900) to Clinton too see Grandmother. After her death, Grandfather went to live with his youngest son, David (Schmidt Crissman b. September 20, 1870).  Grandfather, though, made occasional visits to us, and we always looked forward to his comings. He died in 1911 , age 86.






- Helen Jo Crissman , Life Story pgs 3-5

Joanna Frances Smith Crissman with daughter Helen Jo Crissman around 1903


 She died before she met my mother, her first grandchild, of cancer. 

She Changes Everything

 

I once had a perplexing discussion with a young teenage girl who asked, 
 
" What purpose do the really old people have in this world "? 

It has been over a year since Dad died, which also marks how long Mom has been in Parc Provence memory care. I have heard the echoes of this teenager's question many times since. 

I see the disease of dementia every day as I punch in codes to unlock the two doors to visit my aging Mama. She still knows me and smiles and waves as I enter the second sealed door to her household dining room. 

She has trouble feeding herself but is persistent with her fork, that she insists on using for everything...even her melted ice-cream. Her hand shakes and she dribbles her food and saliva down her blouse all while trying to wipe her dripping nose. Her posture for even seeing and then swallowing her food is so compromised they have recently added a drug store neck brace and all pureed food to aid her in both. 

As I ask about her day her few uttered words are nearly a whisper of her once familiar soothing voice; she has little wind to force her sound to spill out.  Conversation with her is nearly gone. If I ask her questions like, 

"Did Dad like cars"? 

she answers with a definitive 

" Yes "

and there was that time I asked her if dad was a good kisser and she declared 

" No "

She still knows the real stuff. 

When I leave her she grabs me tight and kisses me with her wet lips and says,

" I sure love you" 

I am her child again. 

I leave and promise her I will come to see her the next day and all the days after that.  
 
When this schedule first began I reminded myself that I was doing what dad would want me to do. But recently my self-congratulating thoughts have shifted to serious questions; Am I here for her or is she here for me? Who is strengthening who?

Granted I feel better every time I see her but, ya know, I've known her my whole life and she's my Mom. Am I feeling something that grows out of my memories of her that fill in the cracks left by her disease? 

Maybe. 

Nurse Cyndy Peterson tells me that as each tenant enters the dining area for meals, Mom hits the table she is seated at and when people look at her she stops and smiles brightly. I've actually seen this smile without the table banging. Her whole face is bright, and most of the light is in her eyes. Mom is making a clear decision to make someone feel seen, loved even. 

When CNA Patty comes into her room Mom recognizes her and sends her a barrage of air kisses. If Patty approaches her she gets the kisses on her cheek. Patty always smiles. I see the love there too.

Sylvia, a household member, deals with anxiousness each night when she hits that difficult sundowning phase. Sylvia pretends she can't walk and wails for attention. Sylvia approaches caretakers with a sobbing voice or demanding screams; why am I here?! , where is my son!!?  and who do I need to pay to take care of the services so I can leave?!! 

Mom takes the fear out of Sylvia. In the midst of one of her tantrums, if Mom can get her attention, Sylvia settles immediately. The nurses have noticed too and I know why they place Sylvia in my Mother's dining area. 

The more I payed attention the more evidence was revealed ; there's front desk Julie and other residents and caretakers who thank Mom for her piano music that fills the small household called Park View. There are the ladies from my ward who offer to visit her while I'm out of town and want to keep going when I return. There's the stranger I met at Jackman's fabrics who knows Mom and shared all the ways my Mom cared for her. And then the Stake YW president who was in Mom's ward 25 years ago who said Mom would bring stickers for her kids or help this young mom when her hands were full in Sacrament meeting. 

Despite my prayers that Mom be relieved of this life, to join my Dad and many people there who love her, I know she is still here for a reason; she has tremendous purpose. I have learned and been changed by her continuing effort to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those who need comfort. She may have forgotten something that occurred 15 seconds earlier but she still knows who she is and what she wants to be when she does finally return. 

it should be noted here that when I asked her if she wanted to sing,  she immediately broke into the chorus of LOVE AT HOME (this was a first since her go-to is usually Blue Skies)