About 1950 when the area had a moderate snowfall, the employees at the bank decided they would play a trick on my dad. They made snowballs in advance for some fun they planned with him. They had quite a pile of snowballs. As he was walking over from the store to the Bank of Varina on his regular morning visit, they surprised him with a barrage of snowballs. He was quick to return fire. It turned into quite a snowball fight. Back and forth the snowballs went. He never let up. He was making snowballs as fast as he could. Dad thought he got the best of them while loving every minute of it. He laughingly told the story for years afterwards. My dad always loved to see it snow, and he loved getting out in it.

     My brothers, Sherrill, Belvin and Waverly, had been warned by their dad not to go to Bessie’s Beach fishing because he was afraid they might drown there. They were looking for a way around the warning. It dawned on them that if they took me, their five year old sister, that it might make it possible to escape the punishment they had been promised if they did go.

     Bessie’s Beach was a pond, or fishing hole, behind where the present Smithwood Street development is located off North Main Street. It was some distance North- West of the present F-V Post Office. A lady named Mrs. Betsy McLeod, or “Bessie”, fished there almost every day, weather permitting. It was her rest and vacation spot – thus the name Bessie’s Beach. Betsy worked for Mrs. Amorette Ballentine Judd as cook and house keeper. Mrs. Judd was the wife of Dr. James, “Jim”, Mahlon Judd the first resident doctor in the area. Dr. Judd’s home was on the corner where Kentucky Fried Chicken is now located. 

     From Broad Street where my brothers and I lived, Bessie’s Beach was just across the railroad and a short distance behind Parker’s Knitting Mill on the Parker farm. For three energetic boys, it was an intriguing and tempting place to visit. Even the smell of the air around the pond seemed distant and removed from everyday life.

     The warning not to go there loomed large in my brothers’ minds, but they apparently thought the plan to take me might soften our dad’s reaction if he found out. Maybe they thought they would suggest that their little sister really wanted to go, so they thought it would be nice to take her.

     It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and perfect for an adventure. They made me feel important by suggesting that I go along with them. The four of us set off with great expectations. We crossed the railroad and Hwy 401 (15-A) then over behind the Charles Parker home place and down the second set of tracks toward Bessie’s Beach the desired destination.

     It just so happened that being on the railroad gave and open view all the way to the Broad Street business district. Someone crossing the intersection spotted the four of us, with fishing poles, skipping along from cross tire to cross tire. This person immediately notified our dad at Varina Supply Co. What had seemed remote and distant was now suddenly open for the whole world to see.

     We had just arrived at the fishing spot and had begun to get our gear together when we heard our dad off in the distance calling to us. The pond was not accessible by car, so he could only drive so close. The boys, startled and shocked, grabbed up their fishing poles and started running. I followed close behind. We headed back along the railroad toward home. Out of breath and scared out of their wits, the boys made it back in record time with me at their heels. Shortly after we arrived at home, our dad pulled into the driveway. He was not happy. 

     Dad said to my mother that he would punish the boys, and she could punish me. They began discussing the method of discipline. My middle brother, Belvin, knowing that I was an innocent victim in this escapade, helped me dress so as not to feel the effects of a whipping. He instructed me to put on two pair of jeans, and then he told me to put a book in the seat of my pants. Next he showed me where to hide under the house. I did exactly as he told me but to no avail. 

     My mother called me out from under the house. She asked me to take off the extra pair of jeans and to remove the book. She then proceeded to give me a light spanking. She, too, understood that I was enticed to go along as a scapegoat for the brothers. But the boys did not fare as lightly. My dad saw to it that they did not go back to Bessie’s Beach. If they did, neither he nor I was ever aware of it. 

     The memories of childhood are precious and wonderful. But they are often fraught with pain and regret. Just maybe we could consider them learning experiences. Now and then we hit a snag, a bump in the road, such as mine and my brothers’ ill-fated trip to a long-ago fishing hole. 

Addendum: Charles Parker, a grandson of Dr. and Mrs. Judd, contributed to this story. He said Mrs. Betsy McLeod was renowned for her pie making. Her pecan pies were the best that he had ever eaten anywhere. He also said that Betsy McLeod later worked for some of Mrs. Judd’s daughters, (his aunts) but she continued to fish on Bessie’s Beach as long as she was able. Mrs. Betsy McLeod died in 1950. Dr. “Jim” Judd died in 1947, and Mrs. Amorette Judd died in 1956. Charles went on to tell that vandals destroyed the spill pipe to Bessie’s Beach sometime in the early eighties. This caused a deluge along the creek and into Sunrise Recreational Corp., better known as Fishes’ Pond on East Academy Street. The dam was never rebuilt, and Bessie’s Beach ceased to exist after this chaos and destruction. Today the area near where Bessie’s Beach was once located is an apartment complex.

     Having just celebrated Fathers’ Day with my five children and their families, I was reminded of a day in particular that had brought special meaning to me in the past. Fathers’ Day in the forties and fifties did not have the same significance that it does today nor did it have the fan-fare. Yet we honored, respected and sought the approval of our fathers just the same.

     Soon after my mother’s funeral, my brother, Waverly, and I went to clean out the old home place on Broad Street in the Varina section of town. My father had died twenty years earlier. Dreading to go into the empty house, Waverly and I decided to walk around behind the house. It was there that I noticed the under-pinning of the house and the room that was beneath the back porch. It had been years since I had been under the house. 

     On impulse I decided to see what might have been left there in the past. I told Waverly to wait for me. So I went slowly underneath the house toward the brick room my dad had hired someone to build for me years before to house my plants in the winter–a green house of sorts.

     When I was about twelve years old, I liked to grow plants in pots and planters and sometimes baskets. I had acquired a porch full of interesting flowers. Most I had grown from cuttings that I had begged from relatives, friends and neighbors.

     My dad had wanted to encourage me in this endeavor of plant growing. For that reason, he hired someone to build a brick room underneath the back porch which was about five feet off the ground. This was to be a place to keep the plants from freezing in the winter time. He had the room built with a window to the outside to bring in sunlight. He also had a door built to open underneath the highest part of the house for access to the room. This plant room, or green house, had a dusty dirt floor.

     Out of nostalgia I decided to go into this room to look around. Upon entering the long-forgotten green house, my eyes scanned the area in all directions. Anxious to move on I turned to leave. In doing so I noticed half buried and barely visible in the shadows, a rusty old watering can. My dad had surprised me years before with that watering can from his store, Varina Supply Co. The memories came flooding back. I thought of the many times he had reminded me to put the plants away for the winter, and the times he had asked me if I were keeping them watered. It was one of his favorite conversations with me.

     My dad had wanted to teach me the fundamentals of growing things so that I would have a love for nurturing all things green. This was one of his great joys! Even though he ran a store and was a good business man watching things grow and produce on the farm was really his first love. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of him and his many ways of supporting my childhood project. I also thought of how I wanted to please him by growing those plants.

     I brought the watering can to my home and placed it on my front porch rusty and battered though it was. From time to time I even use the old watering can. It has been twenty four years since I found it under my parents’ home. It reminds me not to forget to water my, now, small collection of plants. It also reminds me of my father’s love and encouragement, and it reminds me of the things that were important to him.

     It was the summer of 1949; World War II had been over four years. But farmers were having trouble getting workers for harvesting tobacco. Many of the young men were back from the war, but they were busy going to school on the G I Bill. 
My dad, Herbert Akins, decided it might be helpful if I worked with one of the families on the farm handing leaves of tobacco that summer. The past summer, I had helped the Cotten family on Broad Street in Varina near where we lived. So, I had a little experience in harvesting tobacco. 

     The farm was about three miles out of town near where James Slaughter Road and Herbert Akins Road are today. One of the farm families lived near where the new Herbert Akins Road Elementary School is located. There were a number of tenants on the farm, but my dad was particular about where he thought I should work. His idea was for me to work with someone who would treat me well and would use clean language. He wanted me to work with a family that he trusted and respected. He thought I should have a good summer, but he also thought the farm family should have a good worker.

     My dad selected this one particular family, and what a great family they were! Not only were they kind and helpful, but they took me into their lives and invited me to have lunch (dinner) with them each day. It was always a delightful meal with plenty of fresh vegetables picked right from their large garden. They served their food “family style”. There were dishes brimming with vegetables. It was easy to get “seconds”, as every delicious item was continually being passed around the table. Eating with this family was not only to enjoy country food, it was a bonding experience!

     As soon as we had eaten, the mother in the home made a pallet on the floor using several quilts. She spread them out in a cool place inside the house, or if there were a breeze, she took them to the porch. She insisted that I rest and take a nap. I usually only rested, but occasionally I did doze. This family saw that I had plenty to eat and plenty of rest before I went back to the barn to hand leaves for the afternoon. 

     Under a shelter attached to the tobacco barn, there were usually two “loopers” and four “handers”. These were women and girls most of the time. The loopers tied, or looped, the string around the bundles made of three leaves as the handers pass the tobacco quickly to them. A tenacious looper could string five to six hundred sticks of tobacco in a day with the help of two persistent handers. Two experienced stringers would fill a barn in a day. Sometimes those of us at the barn would “catch up” or finish handing all the tobacco before the next slide came in from the field. This was like coming upon an oasis in the desert; we could rest and refresh ourselves for a short time.

     The tobacco that came from the field was called “primings”. Priming tobacco involved picking the individual leaves as they ripened. These leaves were placed into a wooden slide usually pulled by mules (later tractors). When the slide was full of tobacco, it was brought to the barn for the Loopers to begin the methodical task of tying it onto the tobacco sticks. In the forties and fifties the ripened leaves were primed by hand. Priming, most often, was done by men and boys. It was hot and strenuous work. Later the farmers used priming machines.

     There were several tobacco barns near the fields where I worked. The barns were fired with long wooden logs placed in brick furnaces. These furnaces produced heat to dry out the tobacco and bring it to the desired temperature called “curing”. Sometimes we would put ears of corn into the furnaces to “roast” while we worked. If we caught up with our handing, the corn was a welcome treat later in the afternoon when we were hungry for a snack. 

     For a short time, the barns were fired with Buck-Eye Burners. Such burners were rather cumbersome and did not last long. But they did burn oil and were easier on the farmer than the wood-burning furnaces that had to be stoked night and day giving little sleep to the farmer. 

     In the fifties, Varina Supply Co., the store that my dad operated, started selling Henry Vann Oil Burners. My dad had my brothers install these burners. My oldest brother, Sherrill, had recently returned from military duty in the US Marine Corps, serving in Okinawa and Japan, but was now attending NC State. He was only available to work at certain times, but my other two brothers were home for the summer. At the dinner table, after a day’s work, they would give a report to my dad about the installation of the burners. I remember my youngest brother, Waverly, explaining that Belvin, the middle brother, was sitting in the door frame of the barns, watching, while he did all the work. Waverly was not happy about the way things were going. Dad had to have a talk with them about improving their work habits and cooperating with each other. 

     Before the summer was over they had installed Henry Vann Oil Burners in all the barns on the farm. From that time until my dad’s death, these burners were used to cure the golden leaf for market. My dad died in 1965. He never had the opportunity to convert to “bulk barns” as many farmers later did. Bulk barns are heated with propane gas I understand, and are an improvement over oil.

     In that long ago summer, as I worked on the farm, my dad came by each day to spend time at the barns. He wanted to see how I was getting along and how I was performing. He would visit with the workers before heading back to the store in town. He always inquired of the farmer, for whom I was employed, if my work was satisfactory. The farmer always gave a positive answer. (Did he have a choice?)

     After curing, the tobacco would be put into a pit that was below ground to get the tobacco to become pliable enough to grade and tie into bundles. (I never helped with this part of the harvesting.) Grading and tying was done during the fall when school was in session, and it required a certain skill and “know how” about selecting the quality of the leaves. The leaves that had “come into order” were tied into neat bundles. Once this process had taken place, the bundles of tobacco were taken to the tobacco markets in town to sell. That was the best part of all-when the tobacco was sold and money was available to the farmers and to my dad.

     My dad loved coming to the farm and seeing how things were progressing and talking to the farmers. He had been reared on a farm near-by. He enjoyed the operations of farming – it was invigorating to him. He loved to see the tobacco harvested and cured and prepared for the tobacco market.

     Working in tobacco is not only gummy and sticky, but adding to that, it can be a wet and dirty job if it happens to rain. Tobacco priming and the work at the barn started early in the morning and lasted until late afternoon making for a long and tiring day. But In the midst of all the hard work, the family I worked with that summer made harvesting tobacco enjoyable and rewarding. They made me feel welcome and needed. 

     When I look back on that eventful summer, I am grateful that my dad knew just the right family to select — a family where I would be able to learn the fundamentals of harvesting tobacco, yet I could be helpful to the farmer as well. He also knew that I would learn something about making and saving money of my own. But most importantly he knew where I would be cared for well, and he knew where I would be happiest. His selection proved to be right!

     Growing up in the 1930’s and 40’s in the small town of Varina of parents who were determined to survive The Great Depression, I learned early to appreciate the history of “old stuff’. The outdated things in my dad’s store always fascinated me. For that reason, when the building was sold and the furnishings auctioned, I had more than a nostalgic interest in them. One item in particular was dear to my heart! I had to be at that auction; and a certain item must come home with me!

     Varina Supply Co., owned and operated by Herbert Akins and Newton Hopson, was located in the heart of Varina—just across the Durham and Southern Railroad, at the time, from the Broad Street Business District. It was better known to me as simply, “The Store,” or “My Dad’s Store”.

     This mercantile business, or “Jot ’em Down” store (as Lum and Abner called them) carried most everything you would need from the cradle to the grave. Dad’s business partner, Mr. Hopson, and he started the business January 1, 1924. They sold over the counter drug items, groceries, candy, plugs of tobacco, notions, shoes, hats, horse collars, and household items like mops, brooms, washboards, tubs and galvanized pails. They sold feeds and grains and farm supplies of every kind. They also sold gasoline!

     The gasoline pump was near the front entrance to the red brick building-just outside the double glass doors. This gasoline pump had a large glass top with gallon markers painted on it. The customers would tell my dad, or Mr. Hopson, how many gallons of gas they wanted; and one of them would hand pump that much gas into the glass container on top of the pump. They then would release a small valve and gravity did the rest! The gas would flow down a hose into your car. Getting gas that way was a time consuming method, but demand for gas wasn’t nearly as great as it is today. Invoices found in the store, dated 1928, from the Gulf Refining Co. showed the wholesale price of gas to be 21 cents per gallon.

     The name of the store, VARINA SUPPLY CO., was prominent on the outside of the building with a large Cocoa-Cola sign painted onto the bricks underneath the store’s name. Over the years this store became the unofficial headquarters for the town of Varina. The middle of the store had a “potbelly” stove, where the local gentry and farmers gathered to discuss the affairs of the day. Topics usually included tobacco, which was the lifeblood of the town. Of course, the most exciting part of the year was when the tobacco market opened and money was once again available! If prices were subdued so were the people. When tobacco was selling well, everyone, including my dad and Mr. Hopson, wore a big smile! There was a gala atmosphere all over town that was not evident any other time. There was also an aroma of tobacco wafting through the town. You could smell it everywhere you went!

     But none of the above really mattered to me growing up, for my dad’s store was simply a place where I could get candy, often without even asking-just by appearing! It was the candy display case, with its special enticements, which was the most important part of the store as far as I was concerned. In that showcase were lemon drops, peanut plank:, Mary Jane’s, licorice, rock candy, and suckers called “brickbats”, Tootsie Rolls, and peppermint sticks. Added to the candy case at Christmas time would be ribbon candy, orange slices, chocolate covered cherries, coconut bon-bon’s and cream centered chocolate drops. Displayed on top of the case were Muskat cluster raisins. In my mind I can hear the clang of the sliding glass doors now as my dad would push them back to reach in and begin filling a small, brown, paper bag with some of those treats for me to take home or perhaps eat as I walked back down Broad Street. Within that showcase were represented all the good things of life for a five to twelve year old.

     That little brown bag made me feel like Queen for a Day! Even now I can picture myself “walking on air” back across the railroad toward Stephens’ Supply Co. where Mr. Isaac Stephens kept watch over his store while Mrs. Jewell Ballentine Stephens worked the postal window at the U.S. Post Office in the corner of the building. Jewell knew everyone who came into the post office. In those days before the fire, Stephen’s Supply building was attached to the Bank: of Varina. Jewel’s husband, Mr. Bruns Stephens, served as Cashier of the bank of Varina in the 40’s and 50s. Arlee Cotten Holleman assisted Mr. Bruns Stephens and served as Cashier for several years also. Leaving that side of the street, I was careful to cross over to Thomas’ Drug Store on the corner and wave to Mr. Willie Thomas and his brother, Mr. John Thomas who were busy filling prescriptions as they talked to Dr. Glenn Judd who at that time had his office over the Bank of Varina. I then continued on past the Varina Barber Shop with a sign in the window that read, ” Clarence Hare cuts hair!” The next building on the street was The Varina Garage and Machine Co. run by Mr. A.D. Averette and Mr. A. V. Autrey. They had a car repair shop together, and later Mr. Averette ran a hardware store in the same location. Clutching my little bag of treats, I proceeded on down Broad Street past Bullock’s Meat Market run by Mrs. Alice Bullock and her daughter Shena. Russell Goss would sometimes be on the street in front of the Carolina Feed & Fertilizer store where he worked with Mr. Marvin Stephen. They were the first in town to sell Christmas Trees brought in from the mountains! Next was The Varina Theater right in the middle of town. I would check to see what movie Mr. Lewis Wade would be playing on Saturday and what serial would be continuing to keep us children and teenagers coming back. As I continued on my way, I passed William Wrenn’s Insurance Agency with Mr. Wrenn behind the desk. He always had a friendly “Hello” as I passed. I always gave Mrs. Kannon a wave as I passed K. Kannon’s Clothing Store. This store was run by a first generation couple from Syria. The apartment, over the store, was home to Mr. and Mrs. Kannon and their two sons, Phillip and Michael. I was making good time as I neared Poe’s Grocery and spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Charlie Poe through the screen doors which were covered with Merita Bread advertisements painted right on the screens. Near the end of the street, Delma and Reno Cotten, or others of the Cotten boys, were often standing near the window and would greet me as I passed Cotten’s Furniture Store. Still to come was Parker’s Furniture Store with Mrs. Leola Reagan helping customers or working on the accounts receivable as Mr. Parker busied himself with other duties in the store. Parker’s was the last store on the street at that time. This building had at an earlier time been the Varina Hotel where Mrs. Euel Perry was manager.

     Later Mr. Charlie Poe moved his grocery business farther east down the street to a new building and Mr. Charles Holleman occupied the space left by Mr. Poe. The U. S. Post Office moved east to the very end of the business district as well. At that time the post office was under the special supervision of Postmaster Margaret Seagroves and Helen Honeycutt who were keeping the mail in its proper place for the merchants and residents of the area. Usually, I asked for the mail as I passed them, and they always obliged with a smile and a kind word. We never had a P.O. Box until mail was delivered to the home after the consolidation of the post offices in Fuquay Springs and Varina.

     As I headed for home with my little bag of goodies, I would often glance over my shoulder, and I would still see my dad watching from a distance as he stood in the open doors of the store. Looking to the right I would give a final wave to

     Katherine Brown, her brother Olan Brown, and her father, Mr. John Brown, as they stood on the receiving deck of the Varina Depot. Nearing the bend in the road on East Broad Street, I was only a short distance from my home now. I began to anticipate with pleasure what was in the little brown bag. I could hardly wait until I reached home to begin opening it. I was never disappointed!

     The store building and all that was in it was sold in January, 1966 after my dad’s death. The auction created quite a bit of interest because of the age of many of the items in the store. As I said earlier, one item must come home with me, and I made sure that it did!! My favorite purchase was the showcase for candy which I still use as a cabinet for dolls. The N. C. Department of Agriculture borrowed my “prized possession” in 1990 to be used in the Goodness Grows Country Store at the N. C. State Fair. Seeing the case displayed so colorfully and filled with all kinds of “goodies” made my heart leap with excitement once again!!

     I shall never forget those simple and friendly days of growing up in Varina and knowing all the merchants along the way as I ran errands and visited my own dad’s store. The warm feel of belonging as I walked with that little brown bag of sweets will always be with me as I look back to that special time.

     The wonderful memories of my dad’s store and all that it meant to me as a child growing up have remained strong in my mind over the years. Now I enjoy passing on the stories of that innocent, carefree, and happy time to my children and grandchildren. What a legacy of hard work, perseverance and dedication to pass on to future generations! It was all made possible because two striving businessmen were willing to stay the course through those early, struggling depression- years. They refused to give up even though times were difficult and life was hard. They continued their hopes and dreams working together for almost forty-two years.