10/2/12 10/2/12

Why am I interested in my ancestors?

Why Am I Interested in My Ancestors?By David W. McMillan, Ph.D.

I was the son of a perfect mother. I was the little brother of a perfect, dead at nineteen, frozen in his perfection at nineteen, Bill. And I was not and am not close to perfect.My father wasn’t perfect either, nor was my brother Toney nor my sister Betsy. But from where I sit at my family’s table, we were all supposed to be. My father was strong and powerful. To me, Yul Brenner in the King and I personified him. My brother Toney was movie star handsome, 6 foot 2 inches, tanned, blonde and graceful in every movement that he made. My sister was born with Down syndrome and she had an excuse.

10/1/12 10/1/12

Arkadelphia, Arkansas: Home

Arkadelphia, Arkansas: HomeBy David W. McMillan

To me Arkadelphia is the family’s home. This is the place where most of Poppa Taylor and Mary Francis’ children lived. Though I don’t know, it appears to me that Horace took over things in Sparkman after Poppa Taylor’s death and prospects in Sparkman were not the best for the Taylor women. Perhaps someone who knew Sparkman can tell the story of that place and how it was dear to them.

9/30/12 9/30/12

Betsy McMillan

Betsy McMillan, The Remarkable Girl

By David W. McMillan, Ph.D.

ONCE UPON A TIME IN A LAND WHERE PEOPLE NEVER WALKED LIVED A FAMILY OF TREES. THIS FAMILY WAS A FOREST. LIKE ALL SPIRITUAL FAMILIES, THEY WORSHIPPED GOD. TO THE TREES, GOD HAD THREE PARTS: THE EARTH, IN WHOM THEY LIVED AND WORKED AND HAD THEIR BEING; THE LIGHT THAT SHINED ON THEM AND MADE THEIR LEAVES GREEN; THE WIND, THAT BECAME THE LANGUAGE THEY USED TO SPEAK TO ONE ANOTHER. IT RUSTLED THEIR LEAVES, MAKING NOISE THE TREES USED FOR WORDS. IT BLEW THEIR BRANCHES, CREATING POSES THAT SHOWED THEIR FEELINGS FOR ONE ANOTHER.

9/28/12 9/28/12

Jane Cole Dedication

A Dedication to Jane Cole

1914-2007

By David W. McMillan

Jane Daniel Cole had one special talent that I clearly recognized. That talent was discernment. She had a sense of beauty, symmetry and balance. She knew how to define appropriate. In her day she was an expert on the finest furniture, which for her was antique furniture. Perhaps she inherited interest in antique furniture from her mother. From her mother she also inherited a sense of refinement and loyalty to family.

9/25/12 9/25/12

Aunt Selma

AUNT SELMA

By David W. McMillan

Her smile was as wide as her face. They all had false teeth, but when Aunt Selma smiled, she would risk her teeth falling out because she loved joy more than discretion. I loved Aunt Selma and her humor - but I loved her most because she loved me so. Each time I was with her she would tell me a story about something I said or did. When I was three years old, I can remember her telling stories about David. Of course, I loved her creating such a legend and keeping it alive.

9/24/12 9/24/12

My Brother Bill: Black Titlest 7

Black Titlest 7

By David W. McMillan, Ph.D.

It was Saturday, 8 A.M., August 14, 1960. As I was waking I could hear the rumble of voices downstairs and the opening and closing of the front door. These were the same sounds of my parents having a large party, but it was eight in the morning. These sounds were exceptionally loud because I could hear them over the drone of my window air-conditioning unit.

With the crystallized remains of sleep in the corners of my eyes I stumbled out of bed, put on some shorts and wandered slowly to the stairs in the hall outside my room with the fist knuckles of the back of my hand rotating in my eye sockets, scraping the sleep out of my eyes. I heard mother’s footsteps running up the stairs. When I pulled my fists out of my eyes my mother met me out of breath at the top of the steps.

9/23/12 9/23/12

Memories of Bill Vestal (1920-1976)

Memories of Bill Vestal (1920 to 1976)

By David W. McMillan

Roland Pattillo asked Jerry Vestal, Bill’s son, to write a page or so about his father. Jerry felt he couldn’t reduce his experience with his father to a page or two. He asked me if I would share my impressions of his father.

9/20/12 9/20/12

The tree that didn’t understand

THE TREE THAT DIDN'T UNDERSTAND

BY: DAVID W. MCMILLAN

DEDICATED TO ELIZABETH D. MCMILLAN,

(APRIL 6, 1911 - OCTOBER 8, 1992)

AND TO HER OTHER CHILDREN

TONEY, BETSY, JILL, MARIETTA, KEVIN AND CARTER

AND HER ADOPTED DAUGHTERS

KENNY BURTON, KATHY ULRICH AND MARY WHIPPLE

ESPECIALLY MARY ELIZABETH WHIPPLE WHO SHARED HER NAME

AND EMILY WHIPPLE WHO CAME TO SEE HER

TWO DAYS BEFORE HER DEATH.

9/15/12 9/15/12

The Ravine

The Ravine

It is pronounced Raa'veen, not Ruh veen'.

The Ravine was behind my Grandmother's house. It's five acre woods seemed to be a jungle to me at ten years old. A small creek bubbled through its gorge. The creek was full of tadpoles and the underbrush contained a few harmless snakes and rabbits. But to me the Ravine contained dangerous tigers, bobcats, wolves and fox. The snakes I saw were all rattlesnakes and the rabbits were wolves. When I told my tales to adults they never seemed very concerned. In the Ravine the reddish clay mound rose fifteen feet above the creek below to form what seemed to me to be a cliff. The trees were mostly pine trees with a few cherry bark oak mixed in. The trees were so straight that they looked like giant strings flowing down from the limbs that were somehow caught in the clouds. In the summer the cool breezes blew up to Grandmother's house from the Ravine were always smelling of pine tar.