POLLARD COMMUNITY Per "Jessamine County, Kentucky, 1798-1993" submitted by Victor Comley The community, located in the southeast part of Jessamine County about seven and a half miles from Nicholasville, did not have a name. It did, however, have a focal point, a store, owned by my great-grandfather, Mildord Fain. Legend has it that the postmaster came to the store to act on his official duty of naming the post office in the area. "How 'bout Fain," Milford suggested. The postmaster told him that there already existed a Fain Post Office in Eastern Kentucky. Milford's father, Pollard, walked in and introduced himself and the postmaster declared it the Pollard Post Office. Thereafter, the community was called Pollard as well. Pollard is hilly, rugged and scenic. It's air is so pure that I feel healthier and younger after breathing it. Families who have called it home include: Fains, Reynolds, Stinnetts, Millers, Johns, Lockers, Comleys, Hagers, Sebastians, Peels, Mackeys, Lowry, Trues, Houses and Taylor. The store that Milford owned was operated first by Monroe Miller, then by Garland Reynolds and finally by Roscoe Mackey. It closed about ten years ago. In the early 1930's, there was a grist mill and a blacksmith shop, both of which were operated by my father, Calvin Comley. Mt. Beulah Methodist Church provided Pollard residents their religious training. Kissing Ridge is a section of Pollard that got its name from a statement by Kess Burgin. It seems that Bob Wylie's good looking daughters liked to party and play "spin the plate." Kess Burgin remarked, "There sure is a lot of kissin goin' on on this ridge." Another Pollard personality was Uncle Wilbert, who, upon being worked over by a life insurance salesman diligently trying to sell him a $10,000 policy to be paid his beneficiary, said, "no, when I die, I want it to be a sad day for everybody." Some folks called Granny Bea's house "The local Gossip Place." this, simply, wasn't so. Rather, it was "The Commuijcation Center." Granny Bea, who smoked a clay pipe, sat in her comfortable rocking chair. When she heard that a local young lady was having an affair with a married man, she would recall that the young lady's mother had been a "rounder." Granny Bea would take a puff on her pipe, rock a couple of times and say, "If the mare paces, the colt will pace." I recall a story told by Will Johns who, one morning, saw a tin cup atop his front gate post. He walked to examine it and found a note inside that read," Place fifty dollars in this can and leave it in this same place by midnight or your best building will go up in flames." The note was signed 'The Nitehawk." Will's brother-in-law, a deputy sheriff, and another deputy lay in wait as the appointed hour approached. At midnight, they heard someone at the gate grab the can and run. They pursued, shooting at the can snatcher, but were unable to catch him. They went to Lexington and returned around daybreak with two bloodhounds. The dogs took one sniff at the gate, turned and led the officers to The Nitehawk's house , where the criminal's wife was picking buckshot from his behind. He was sent up for two years, but after about a year, Grandpa Johns circulated a petition to get him released. The petition was successful and The Nitehawk returned to the community to lead a long and productive life, forever grateful to his benefactor. Uncle Larkin Fain bought the first car in Pollard, a 1926 Model T Ford. He never learned to drive it, so my father, Calvin, took possession of it, driving to Nicholasville and Lexington several times a week. One day someone asked my granddad Owen (Calvin's father) if Calvin was plowing for the spring crops. Granddad said, "No, that plow's got no windshield." The first "store bought pies" came to the groceries about the mid thirties. They were packaged in a thin pasteboard bottom that looked just like the pie crust. Mr. Ed Mulcahy bought one to try, and after eating it and the pasteboard, he pronounced it "good, but the crust's a little tough." Uncle Roland told of his first experience with a pay phone. He said he read the directions which said, "lift the receiver, place a nickel in the slot and tell the operator what number you want." The word 'number" was faded and illegible. When the operator kept saying, "number, number please, Roland said, "number nothing, I want my peanuts." I probably could go on and on with more Pollard stories. Certainly there are many.