For years North Carolina has been considered a hotbed for Southern folklore. Those of us drawn to “fact or fiction” are familiar with the Maco -Light (Joe Baldwin), the Indian legend from the Dismal Swamp, and the Beast of Bladenboro. At your next social, light some candles, pour some wine, grab an afghan and indulge in North Carolina folklore. Trust me, if the young and old do not experience chill bumps, check your driveway for a UFO. My hometown was no different from numerous small towns with its own in-house unexplained happenings.
Two of the best storytellers were my grandfathers, Troy and Joe (my namesake). Both were very different personalities. Troy was more of a “devil make care” personality. He loved his moonshine and at times his long periods of absence from the family, but was lovable and easy to forgive. His stories usually began with ” true story”, which we swallowed line, hook, and sinker. Joe on the other hand was a quite man of few words. Almost mysterious in his appearance, tall and thin with the ever present five o’clock shadow. Joe wore his Indiana Jones hat low almost covering the piercing blue eyes. His voice was much like his demeanor, soft and slow. This made his stories more believable requiring you to hang onto every word.
Troy at times would be asked to perform an unusual service for a dying man. Just before they experienced what was referred too as the death rattle ( last breath) , the family asked if he would shave the person in preparation for the undertaker. According to the story this particular person had wronged his neighbors, abused his family, and lived on the wrong side of the law for his own selfish gain. Troy had almost finished shaving the man, when his eyes opened in terrifying horror His last words were, ” I see the devil coming for me”. He died minutes later.
On the mill village almost every neighbor was considered family. Being a close knit community, when a family member was near death comfort was offered by sitting up with the family. It was a somber ritual that could last well into the night. The sitting room was dimmed with very little conversation . Every thirty minutes or so, a family member would quietly check to see if the relative was still breathing. The focal point of the sitting room was the mantle. Here was the history of the family in pictures, usually comprised of a single family picture. Late in the evening suddenly a small dim light appeared from nowhere in the sitting room. It moved around the room, bobbing up and down heading toward the mantle. The mysterious light settled on the family picture directly on the face of the dying family member. Within minutes of this unexplained happening, the family member passed away.
Joe lived a stone’s throw from the cotton mill. Just down the small dirt road was an elderly lady that walked her milk cow to a pasture every morning and returning for it later in the evening. Weather on the porch on not, you could always tell when the lady was passing by the constant clatter of the cow bell. The mutual greeting in the evening was a slight wave or a nod of the head just to be neighborly. Sitting on his porch after work, Joe realized he had not seen the little lady for a few weeks. It was later he got the word she had passed away and the family sold the milk cow. Years after her death, Joe was sitting on his porch as night was settling in. At first he heard the rattle of the cow bell, then an apparition on the little lady walking her milk cow. As quickly as it appeared it was gone. The apparition was so real, Joe walked to the small dirt road to see if there were hoof tracks. There was nothing to be found.
Joe's Bakers Dozen 