Confessions of the Son of a Pack Rat

 J. Mark Lowe

A Friend recently visited me, and left feeling she needed to help me organize my chaos.  I told her - It's really not chaos, but stories left to me by my ancestors - waiting to be shared.  At this time of year, with all the hustle and bustle, we often think about how we are going to tighten up for the new year.  I made a decision to put my Christmas Tree on the front porch instead of in the living room.

“You’re just like your Grandmother,” my Mom used to exclaim over the piles that were created in my bedroom, when I was a teenager. She often told me of cleaning Mama Lowe’s house, her mother-in-law. Papers piled on every piece of furniture were just moved in order to dust. I knew my father collected papers. We inherited my grandmother’s trunk, which ended up being my great-grandmother’s stuff. Just like a treasure chest sought by pirates, this leather and wooden portmanteau was filled with clippings, photos, letters, old ledgers and dust. 

Uncle Obie 
Samuel Obediah ‘Obie’ Martin
was a missionary to India
from 1916 through the 1930s.
He was an uncle to J.W. Lowe 
a great uncle to writer.

My Dad enjoyed going through these old and new pictures and telling us the wonderful tales and stories about these individuals. There was Uncle Obie, the missionary to India; Aunt Esta, the assistant to Congressman William Natcher; football pictures from Jo Byrns High school (the undefeated team of 1959-1960); and a box of hair, flowers and obituaries. Unfortunately, when I realized the individuals in those photographs weren’t identified, my Dad’s memory was not as vivid. The stories he shared continue to be told in the family. There need only be a mention of the railroad, and the colorful stories surrounding his adventures at Granny Martin’s come to mind. I realized long before my Dad died, that all of his children had inherited different aspects of his pack-rat-itis.   My Mom often lamented that she did not remember names from the past as well as our Dad.  Knowing my love of history and stories of the family, I eagerly and proudly accepted the inherited role of pack rat from my father.

However, my Mom did seem to know from where and from whom every piece of furniture in our house originated. These pieces weren’t valuable antiques or rare family heirlooms. “That lamp was a gift from the ladies of the So-Sew club in Cedar Hill, those little ceramic shoes belonged to Aunt Ruth, that old table on the front porch came from Uncle Joe and Aunt Thelma’s Used Furniture Store in Bowling Green – It was our dining table when we first married.”  Perhaps my mother was a pack rat herself. It seemed that she valued the memories connected to these pieces and was quick to recite these stories. Note: That is the table where my Christmas Tree is displayed on my front porch this year. 

With my Mom’s passing, I began to clean out drawers that never seemed large enough to contain all of her clothing. She was a pack rat. My Mom kept every greeting card received by the family from the 1940s until her death. There are cards from my long deceased grandparents, and even my great-grandmothers. The rough handmade cards we children prepared for Mother’s and Father’s Day. Notes written from many of the neighbors and family members that I remember, but who are long deceased.  Those of you who knew my Mom know that she enjoyed traveling. Another drawer was filled with the postcards identifying the Lowe travels beginning in the 1950s.

A picture from Christmas 1962 - Dad is on the couch to the right. Our neighbor, Geneva Joiner Armstrong is setting on the left.  My big brother, Joe has his back to the camera, and brother, Denny, is over by the Christmas tree - which is aluminum.  I notice those two pictures over the couch which were fabric scenes of quail, which has been stitched around and stuffed. It was a stylish craft at the time. This is why I can't get everything done.   

Imagine being the youngest of five children.  My life experience began at the time of my birth.  My siblings have an entirely different view of our family because they bring different life experiences, and often remember family events before I was born. My parents  shared an even different perspective based on the timeframe of their lives. I often heard the stories of the depression by my parents. My Mom shared the story of being hired out as a housekeeper at age 13 to a family in the neighborhood. Her vivid memories of that time were connected to the lives of her children, when she proudly introduced her children to Franklin and Zelma Moss  on visits back to Kentucky. 

One of my vivid memories of the past is a classroom where we discussed the coming of the Year 2000.  At the time, I was 13 years old.  The teacher asked us to consider what we might be doing in the Year 2000.  I could not even imagine being over twenty years old.  I often thought of this dilemma and even wondered if I would be alive to see this day.  We view events of time from our personal perspective and often have trouble imagining how others view their lifetimes and the events they witness. It is almost Christmas in the year 2024 and I find it difficult to fathom the changes that have occurred in my lifetime. 

It is through the collection of pack rats, like my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents that leave the stories of the past for historians like you and me. The historical societies, museums and archive throughout this county are eager to help keep those stories alive. Your family history is America’s history. In addition to your family memories, you may find that your family has documents, artifacts and memorabilia that relate the stories of individuals. Become an educated pack rat. Ask questions of older relatives and friends, but be sure to share your family stories with younger members of the family. 

In our dining room, my Mother displayed a plate with a young girl sitting at a table of food.  On this plate was printed the prayer,  “God is good, God is great, Let us thank Him for our food, Amen.”  Because I grew up with this plate and learned my first prayer for thanks from this plate, I thought this plate was one of my childhood gifts.  A few years ago, I asked my Mother about this plate.  She explained that my eldest brother, Joe,  had given it to her as a Mother’s Day gift when he was in elementary school, several years before I was born.  In reality this plate had a much different history than the one I had created in my mind.

A 1964 visit to the Lost Sea near Sweetwater captured J.W. and Christine Lowe with their son, Mark in the cave. Frank and Lucille Chester Jones were behind them. This picture is a reminder of that visit, the people I knew, and the experiences we might soon forget. 

If you have stories that you think I should share, drop me an e-mail at marklowe@kytnresearch.com  If I don’t get back to you quickly, it is because I lost your note in my stacks. Becoming a pack rat was a natural tendency for me – both of my parents (J.W. and Chris) were pack rats.  I hope you are enjoying every moment of the holiday season. (knowing this is hard time for many- thinking of you, too.)  Remember to stop and smell the cornbread dressing, or orange cake, or fresh fudge.  I appreciate you sharing a moment with me.   Now  I need to move that stack out of the way.