knoxcotn-digest Saturday, August 18 2001 Volume 01 : Number 186

 

 

 

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Date: Wed, 15 Aug 2001 15:27:24 -0700

From: "Charles Gaylor" <mtgaylor@bellsouth.net>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] Tillery info

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I am Looking for John Lewelln Tillery's forefathers. also about his =

wives. his birth date is Oct 16 1816 Death April 24 1896 I know he =

was married to Sarah Russell and Priscilla Smith I think he also was =

Married to Mary Ann Elindia Smith also there was maybe another wife in =

there also any one with any info about him or any of his family bros =

sis.children and anyone else all would be appricated. =20

Margaret mtgaylor@bellsouth.net

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<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>I am Looking for John Lewelln Tillery's =

forefathers.&nbsp; also about his wives.&nbsp; his birth date is Oct 16=20

1816&nbsp; Death April 24 1896&nbsp; I know he was married to Sarah =

Russell and=20

Priscilla Smith I think he also was Married to Mary Ann Elindia Smith =

also there=20

was maybe another wife in there also any one with any info about him or =

any of=20

his family bros sis.children and anyone else all would be=20

appricated.&nbsp;&nbsp; </FONT></DIV>

<DIV>&nbsp;</DIV>

<DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>Margaret&nbsp;=20

mtgaylor@bellsouth.net</FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML>

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Date: Wed, 15 Aug 2001 16:05:53 -0700 (PDT)

From: JESSICA LINSTROT <jml2575@yahoo.com>

Subject: Re: [KnoxCoTN] Re: Lack of e-mail from you...

Hi Carrie,

I just started with this list this week, and today

I've rec'd approx. 10 msgs...!

Regards,

Jessica

- --- Cllghf67@aol.com wrote:

> Hi List,

> I haven't gotten any email from this list for a long

> time. Have I been taken

> off the list?

> Thank you, Carrie

>

>

>

 

=====

Regards,

Jessica Linstrot

Geneological Research

for surname:

Walker --> TN

Davis --> OH

__________________________________________________

Do You Yahoo!?

Make international calls for as low as $.04/minute with Yahoo! Messenger

http://phonecard.yahoo.com/

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Date: Wed, 15 Aug 2001 20:49:24 EDT

From: AhhaTex@aol.com

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] (no subject)

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subscribe

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Date: Thu, 16 Aug 2001 20:03:03 -0400

From: "Linda Edwards" <linda@footballgiants.com>

Subject: Re: [KnoxCoTN] Mail or no mail?

I would like to hear from anyone concerning the last name of Dail, probably

in Knoxville. Thank you. l@fbg

 

- ----- Original Message -----

From: Billie R. McNamara <knox@tngenweb.org>

To: <knoxcotn@rootsquest.com>

Sent: Wednesday, August 15, 2001 1:19 PM

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] Mail or no mail?

 

> Our list is still there -- and no one's been dumped from it. We just have

> been very quiet for the past several weeks. I assumed everyone's

> vacationing, gardening, canning, or whatever.

>

> So -- anybody got anything to stir us all up? (without starting a flame

> war, of course <g>)

>

>

>

>

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Date: Fri, 17 Aug 2001 21:50:54 EDT

From: Sis850@cs.com

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] unsubscribe

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sis850@cs.com

thank you

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<HTML><FONT FACE=arial,helvetica><FONT SIZE=4 FAMILY="SERIF" FACE="Rockwell" LANG="0">sis850@cs.com

<BR>thank you </FONT></HTML>

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Date: Sun, 19 Aug 2001 01:30:40 -0400

From: "Billie R. McNamara" <knox@tngenweb.org>

Subject: [KnoxCoTN] 23 June 2001 Sunday Afternoon Rocking

Sunday Afternoon Rocking

The Storyteller (from the Sunday Afternoon Rocking series)

Her eyes would twinkle and her voice grow expressive, with well timed

pauses and whispers and and fast paced excitement. My maternal grandmother

would weave me stories, and all on the spur of the moment, all in answer to

my own questions about "what she remembered" and "who my ancestors

were". I don't think she ever realized she was, in fact, a "storyteller",

for what she was doing was weaving memories into a verbal re-telling to

keep the attention of a little girl. My paternal grandfather was a

storyteller too, but his were just a bit different. On and on his voice

would drone for hours, as he sat in a rocking chair or leaned a chair

against a kitchen wall…remembering. Having not quite the same knack for

drama, but a remarkable memory of events and names and places, the stories

were harder to listen to, but stories nonetheless. If his voice did not

lend drama to the stories, the content of the stories was nonetheless food

for a ripe imagination to paint pictures. At times he would be speaking to

anyone who bothered to listen, and at times he would speak to

me. Sometimes he colored pictures to go with his words by bidding me to

look at and touch relics from his past. And the seeds he sowed droning on

and on about the things he had known have been the fodder for many a

Sunday Afternoon Rocking column, many a story I have told myself.

Many years ago, so long ago I do not care to count the years, as a young

teenager, I was hired to work as an aide in a public library, and I

promptly found in the head librarian a mentor and a heroine. Oh, the

stories she could tell! And she did…every Saturday morning to the children

that arrived on the library doorstep. She took her stories from books and

wove them into something magical and wonderful. One Saturday she might be

dressed as a fairy godmother, complete with a silky pink gown and a

makeshift wand that somehow magically could send "real sparkles" floating

into her adoring audience. Another Saturday she might enchant her audience

with a myriad number of funny voices behind a puppet theater. I was

content to watch, to appreciate…and she was determined I was to be a

storyteller too.

I admit to dragging my heels, to whining, to truly not wishing to be in the

storyteller spotlight. Still she pushed and still she shoved and still she

kept on until the Saturday arrived that I was the storyteller. My first

story was "Chanticleer and the Fox". I am quite sure I was nowhere near

the storyteller she was, that I did not nearly do the story justice, for I

well remember the back of my knees quivering like jelly, and a bit of a

shake to my voice as well. I seem to remember a room of restless children,

and I seem to remember wondering why on earth I had chosen such a boring

story. I seem to remember feeling I had to have disappointed this fine

lady, and I seem to also remember a guilty sense of relief as I thought,

"Surely she will not ask me again." Yet I was booked for another Saturday,

and yet another…until a funny thing happened on the way to the

library. One day in the midst of a story I realized I had lost my own

sense of anything but what I was telling. I suddenly realized the children

were edging closer and closer as I spoke. I noticed their eyes were wide

and not a single little person was doing anything but listening with rapt

attention. And when they roared with laughter at an appropriate point, or

I heard sad "oooohs" at yet another appropriate point, I knew we were

living the story together. And when a story was finished and they begged

for yet another, I was hooked. I was a storyteller. I have been a

storyteller now for close to thirty years.

Many fine storytellers have passed my way in the years since, some who did

not know they were. University students who have never told a story, or

thought they had not, have learned that they can tell stories from

literature with the same rich excitement that they describe locking their

keys in the car on the way to class. A stepdaughter who, as a very young

girl, was first enchanted with my stories when I entered her life after

marrying her father, has now gone on to become a fine enchanting

storyteller in her own right. I made friends who were storytellers, and

one of the favorite people in my life is a lady who can recite the Jack

tales like no one I have ever heard before. I run into grown-up "children"

I do not recognize, many I do not even remember, and they remind me of a

story I told to a group they were in many years ago. They did not forget.

Something there is about a story that is like no other experience among a

group of people. The magic and energy that flows between a teller and a

group of listeners perhaps cannot quite be touched, is not quite visible

and yet is truly there. For a short space of time they are connected by

imagination, seeing the same pictures, pictures that are visible no where

except in the minds of those experiencing. For a short space in time they

share the same sort of world they might share if wrapped in the plot of a

book….only together, at the same time, with the impromptu enrichments of

the teller changing the tone and mood in a moment, and the spontaneous

reactions of the listeners doing the same.

I tell my university students they are all storytellers. They may not

realize they are storytellers, but they are. Not a class is needing to

commence but what someone is dramatically telling those sitting near of a

recent event or occurrence in their lives…complete with all the pauses,

expressions, motions that bring the story to life and keep their classmates

interest and have them asking lively questions. Oh yes. They are

storytellers…if they would but apply that to literature, we can find common

ground. They are storytellers as surely as my grandmother, who

instinctively applied all of those wonderful attributes to her memories and

the history of my ancestors. They are storytellers as surely as the

grandfather who leaned his chair back against a wall and droned for hours,

telling stories rich in content, laden with pictures.

We are all storytellers…and if we would but turn off the television, even

log off the very computer we are reading this on now…there are

listeners. "I want you to tell stories to the children," my long ago

mentor and heroine informed me, "I want you to be a storyteller." I would

like to say the same to each of you. Please tell stories to the

children. Please be a storyteller. Tell them your memories, tell them

about their ancestors, paint pictures in words…and they will never

forget. You can write, and document, and lay up stories on paper that when

they grow into the time of, they may read. This is good and wise. But

there is something you can make sure of now. Something there is about

storytelling that is like no other experience among a group of people. It

is unforgettable. Your children and grandchildren will remember, will know

what you wish them to know…if only you are a storyteller. And because the

content is that which you are already enthusiastic about, believe me…you do

not need to practice. You need only to decide…to be a storyteller.

Just a thought,

jan

Copyright ©2001JanPhilpot

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Thanks, jan)

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End of knoxcotn-digest V1 #186

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