Melissa, Ler's follow the rivers. Matheny is on the Laurel Fork, which empties into the Clearfork at Oceana, which empties into the Guyandotte at Baileysville. Distance-15 miles. As the crow flies, Baileysville is about 10 miles southwest of Matheny. Sun Hill is about 4.5 miles north of Baileysville. Merry Christmas, STAN On Dec 20, 2007, at 5:43 PM, Melissa Ardito wrote: > I love your stories. Where is Matheny is relation to Sun Hill or > Baileysville? That is the usual area of my Shannon's. > > STANLEY BROWNING <[email protected]> wrote: I know I promised > a memory of pie socials (politically correct for > "pie suppers"), but I think it best to set the stage a bit. We will > return to pie suppers after Christmas and we have had our pie. > > The Matheny Chapel Church was the social center for our community. > It was the only place outside school where youngsters could meet with > others of their own age. Girls and boys from the top of Jesse > Mountain and Glen Fork to Turkey Dip, and from the mouth of Coon > Branch to lower Turkey Creek and Brenton came to the church on the > pretense that they were seeking religion, while, in truth most of > them were seeking companionship from the opposite sex. A young man > was willing to withstand the boredom and could feign attention to a > sermon that lasted half an afternoon if he was to be rewarded later > by walking home with the girl of his choice, even if it was under the > watchful eye of her parents, which was a given in most rural > communities. > > People joined a particular church more as a matter of convenience > than because of their beliefs. Other than the way they called their > pastors, the Matheny Methodist Church did not differ much from other > evangelical churches of the time. They taught the same plan of > salvation and practiced immersion as the means of baptism. There > were no churches other than the Methodist church at Matheny in the > late thirties and forties, so it was natural that residents of the > community would choose to affiliate with the church closest to them. > > The Matheny church was very small by today's standards. It was a > typical rural church house with wooden frame construction and weather- > boarding on the outside. It initially sat upon posts about 18 inches > high, but in its later years strong winds dislodged it from its > perch. The one door to the church was on the end facing State Route > 10, only a few steps away. We sat on straight-backed wooden pews. > All Sunday School classes met in the single room that was the church > house, and afterward the preaching service was held in the same > place. Our church had a steeple and a bell that signaled the > community when services were about to begin. > > The people in charge of church services changed over the years that I > attended Matheny Chapel, but not much. I don’t know the official > names of the church offices, but Uncle Lon Scott always seemed to be > in charge. During my teenage years, Chess Stewart was Sunday School > superintendent and his wife Louetta was the organist. Tom Duty was > song leader. > > Homer Stewart, who was only slightly older than his charges, was one > of those who taught our teenage Sunday School class. I must say I > could have enjoyed Sunday School if I worked at it a little bit. > > Perhaps I should recuse myself from writing about the church > services. I am not sure I can be objective. I attended mainly > because it was expected of me. I didn’t want to disappoint my Aunt > Ruth. Even the girls at church were not as interesting as playing > ball or fishing. As a teenager, I was the classic example of one > stricken with severe attention deficient disorder. I am not talking > about the gospel; the gospel was not the problem. It was the > mindless way it was so often served up. It was according to formula. > I sat there on those hard wooden pews, my limbs grew numb, my butt > hurt, my thinking slowed and only a sharp pencil placed under my > chin kept me from fading away completely and becoming a gospel > zombie. I longed to be fishing or playing baseball. > > But if I was going to be put to sleep in church, I preferred that it > happen during the music. The songs sounded like funeral dirges sung > by a herd of cows that were ,themselves, only half awake. We needed > some pep; some rhythm. Both Tom and Louetta (God rest their souls) > would be kicked out of the “club” today for the way they strung out > those old hymns. > > Those were the days when they literally passed the hat to “collect > the offering.” After the donations were counted, Uncle Lon would > rise and thank the church for the amount given. If Aunt Ruth was not > at church and I was supposed to be, she always quizzed me on the > amount of the offering as a means of checking up on me. > > I can’t say that I never lied to my Aunt Ruth, but if I did, it was > not a common occurrence. > > STAN > > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to WVWYOMIN- > [email protected] with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message > > > > --------------------------------- > Never miss a thing. Make Yahoo your homepage. > > ------------------------------- > To unsubscribe from the list, please send an email to WVWYOMIN- > [email protected] with the word 'unsubscribe' without the quotes > in the subject and the body of the message