Scuffletown, KY - Mom's Side of the Story

Growing Up with a Preacher Man 

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Scuffletown, KY - Mom's Side of the Story

____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

This post was updated Feb. 28, 2024

I have always thought - from the time I could think - that my parents were an odd match. Now that Dad has passed and Mom is in the nursing home, I was right. They were an odd match, which probably made them perfect for each other.

I've talked a lot about Dad's history in this blog and on Facebook, but I have talked very little about my mother's side of the family. Still, I've always been weirdly proud that my Aunt Betty McLean Kroeger (1938-2012) was born in what is now a ghost town. She was proud of it, too. Click on photos to enlarge

Scuffletown and surrounding area
Google Maps with correct attribution

Scuffletown's problem is that it was on the Ohio River, which was always flooding the town. This is what caused its demise. I always thought it was the building of the twin bridges from Evansville, Indiana over the Ohio River going into Henderson, Kentucky. By building the twin bridges, people in Kentucky no longer needed the Scuffletown ferry to get them to Evansville. You see, people from Kentucky would take John Pfingston's ferry into Cypress Beach, located near the Newburgh Overlook, and from there would take a train into downtown Evansville where they could shop. This, to me, sounds delightful. The flooding, though? Not so much.

Mom with her mother
Downtown Evansville, Shopping
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Scuffletown basically was owned by a man named Will Dempewolf. According to an article in The Warrick Press, 29 Aug 1985, Dempewolf owned 1,284 acres in Scuffletown. Many of the residents worked on his farm as tenants. My grandfather operated the Scuffletown General Store, which was also owned by Dempewolf. The ferry, operated by my 2x great-grandfather, was also owned by Dempewolf.

Mom with her brother, Rufus Jr.
Scuffletown, KY
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

My mother talked very little about Scuffletown, where she lived with her parents until the 1937 flood drove them out. After the flood took everything in Scuffletown, the McLean family moved to an area called Vanada Station in rural Warrick County, Indiana, close to Newburgh Indiana. I remember that my mother only really talked about two things in Scuffletown. One was about how much drinking went on; and the second was how all her friends there were of African-American descent.

According to Wikipedia,
this was the founding family of Scuffletown
Public Domain via Wikipedia

Scuffletown was indeed a drinking town, as it was the stomping grounds of so-called "riverboat men." Because there were no locks or dams on the Ohio River at Newburgh, which was then called Sprinklesburgh, the water over the Ohio sometimes got pretty low. Low enough that the riverboat men would have to lay over at Scuffletown, waiting for rain. While waiting, the men drank... a lot of whisky. It feels that Mom told me that her Uncles were all alcoholics. But I was young when she told me this. I know there were alcoholics in the family, but I don't think it was her Pfingston uncles. (It was recently confirmed that many were.) It was just the riverboat men in general, drinking a bunch and probably fighting. I can't imagine being so young and exposed to all this rowdiness. It certainly made an impression, for my mother never touched alcohol that I know of in her whole life. And Dad was polar opposite of what she would have witnessed growing up in Scuffletown. He grew up in a very religious household where drinking was thought of as quite sinful - the devil himself, actually. This may have further attracted her to him.

From L to R
Great-grandmother Flora Vogt Pfingston
Grandmother Anna Bell Pfingston McLean
My mom, Mary McLean Howard
Great-grandfather Arthur Edward Pfingston
In front of Anna Bell's house in Warrick Co., IN
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

The second thing I remember her talking about more than anything was how many African-American friends she had growing up and how they would do each other's hair. Growing up in a little town in Northern Indiana that was completely white, I was intrigued by this.

It is striking, though, that her mother, my grandmother, in the Evansville Press dated 29 Sep 1931 named the names of the four white families that lived with them in Scuffletown: Howard Buley, Lon Meredith, John Beach, and Alvin Watkins. Anna Bell then stated that "nine negro families make up the rest." That was the ending sentence of the article.

Today, there is nothing at Scuffletown but bottomlands. According to Wikipedia, in 2001, the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service suggested making this area a nature preserve, but that hasn't happened.

I have also read that the Henderson, Kentucky Public Library has recordings of some of those who lived in Scuffletown. I will have to make a trip there to see if my grandparents were counted among those recorded.  I'm also wondering if any of the African-American families who lived there were recorded. I would love to hear their side of the story.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Three Changes After Dad's Death

In memory of William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)

__________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

I've noticed three changes have occurred since I was able to finally get my dad into Newburgh Healthcare. Once he was safely in there, I could breathe again. I knew he'd either start to feel better, or he would die in peace. The latter is what occurred.

Sleep experts say your bedroom should be dark. To that end, I painted our bedroom "Ice Cave." Although internet swatches of this color show a lighter blue, its true color is actually very dark and deep. I bought a black comforter, pulled all the light wood furniture out and put black furniture in. It is very dark in there now, and I love it.

I have this weird feeling about other people's bedrooms. I'm sure it's something from my childhood, but I've always felt that bedrooms should be private, personal, and intimate. To that end, I've always kept this room dark, even in the day, so that no one visiting would be able to see it, even with the door open.

Oddly, after I got my father in Newburgh Healthcare, I couldn't stand to look into that dark room and not be able to see anything in it. I have lamps that I put in that also have dark shades when they're turned off. Now, I leave one of the lamps on during the day, so that when I look in, I can see the bedroom. Click on photos to enlarge

The stuffed animals are unapologetically mine

As a minimalist, (who has 6 stuffed animals in her bed) I have very little sentiment toward things. I have a few family bibles, but that's the genealogist in me. I have a few of my daughter's trinkets she made when in grade school. For whatever reason, having too much stuff makes me feel insecure. It's crushing. My daughter has inherited this trait from me.

So, when Dad gave me the quilt Mom had made for my daughter, but then decided to keep for herself instead, my daughter and I thought to sell the quilt. Neither of us wanted it or needed it. And it takes up so much room in my closet.

The shadowed area is my shadow

After Dad died, however, we have decided to keep the quilt. Just like that, the feelings toward it inverted. Even my attitude toward all the work my mother - a maximalist - did. This oil painting that Mom did many years ago is now proudly displayed above my piano.

The third thing for me that changed was my entire routine. For example, I used to love to watch The Drew Barrymore Show. I haven't watched a single one this new season and oddly, I no longer have the desire to. I have the tv off most of the time during the day now. While that used to be my modus operandi anyway, after living with Kenny these past 7 years, I had become comfortable with the TV blaring. I have lost that comfort. Give me quiet and let me read.

In a nutshell for me, after losing Dad:

1. Some things become bothersome - like my bedroom being dark during the day.

2. Things that meant nothing increase in value - like the quilt and the oil painting.

3. Routines change - I now have the TV off during the day.

My daughter adds a fourth bullet point: "Seeing someone lose their life leads you to reevaluate your own."

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Loucille Craig Cole, My Very First Best Friend

Growing Up with a Preacher Man

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Loucille Craig Cole, My Very First Best Friend (1904-2000)
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

I don't know how old I was when I became aware of Loucille Cole, our nearest neighbor. She, of course, attended my dad's church, as she lived as close to it as we did. Click on photos to enlarge

Top Arrow: Loucille, Middle Arrow, Church
Bottom Arrow, Us
Courtesy of Google Maps
Proper attribution given

It may have been that my parents naturally chose her to be my sitter, whenever they wanted or needed to go out somewhere. Whatever the reason, I consider her to be my very first truly best friend.

An unexpected find from Dad's old slides!
Look at those cars in the parking lot
Loucille Cole
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Her house has since been torn down, but I remember it vividly. Below is a crude drawing of her floor plan, but you get the idea. She had 3 rooms in her home plus a very small bathroom. 

It was in the living room where we would watch TV together. She's the one who introduced me to The Doris Day Show and told me that "Que Sera, Sera" had been one of Day's biggest hits. We watched The Brady Bunch together. That's the only two shows I can remember watching with her.

I remember that she always made her bed. And I believe she had that metal dining table that so many households had in the 1960s. Her kitchen countertop against the wall, where you could look out the window, scrolled around at the front door, turning into three small shelves. I only remember two things on those shelves. One was a small, doll-sized bathtub that I had given her, which was full of rocks I thought were pretty. I had given them to her as a gift. The other was a pair of scissors. She always said, "Those were Joe's." Joe was her late husband.

Loucille is on the right
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Loucille Cole was born Loucille Craig 08 Mar 1904 in Quebec, Tennessee. That's more than I ever knew about her before. I don't know why she and Joe came to Monticello. Her husband was Joseph Lewis Cole, and he was born in 1882 in Tennessee. They were married in 1922. Joe was 40. Loucille was 18. As far as I know, they had no children. Joe was a laborer.

She would talk about Joe, not so much of him but of his things. Like the scissors were Joe's, or that she went to visit Joe's stone in Chalmers, Indiana. I was a child and that she was a widow had no bearing on anything I could relate with. She seemed happy; that's all that mattered.

She had four trees in her yard. She had a glorious weeping willow tree. And then she had three fruit trees: cherry, apple, and pear. She would let me pick as much fruit as I wanted, and I would take it home, and pretend to serve it in my pretend kitchen that was in my playroom in our walk-out basement. You would think that my favorite fruits are cherries, pears, and apples. Alas, they are not.

On one side of the parsonage where we lived, we had a gully where wild pokeweed grew. This might be one of the reasons I absolutely love pokeweed and upset my first husband when I planted some in our yard. I don't really know if this is Loucille's doing or not, but she would harvest our pokeweed and cook it up. This fascinated me as a child, but as an adult, I am not at all surprised that she would have been able to make a tasty treat from a so-called weed growing wild in our yard.

Pokeweed
Courtesy Pixabay

Loucille was patient, loving, kind, and compassionate, everything I Cor. 13 tells us to be. I don't remember her ever being upset with me, but she did lose patience with me once that I remember. Here's the story:

When I was in middle school - or Jr. High as it was called then in Monticello - we were required to take Physical Education (PE). I hated everything that had anything to do with PE. Firstly, we had to dress out in little blue one-piece outfits. I was overweight by this time, had a terrible opinion of myself and my body, and this little blue outfit did nothing to help my self-esteem. The worst part, though, was at the end. All of us girls had to strip down to nothing, parade in front of the PE teacher and her assistant to get to the shower, where we were all supposed to wash ourselves, parade back to the dressing area, still naked, wrapped in a towel, and get dressed in an area that felt no bigger than one square foot. It was ridiculous.

I asked about it once, because I felt it was wrong. I was told, to my consternation, that this was perfectly normal behavior between girls and women. Take that in for a second...

And so, I tried an experiment, and while Loucille was in the bathroom, I barged in. She very politely and kindly asked me to give her privacy. Such were the contradictions of my childhood. Needless to say, I haven't barged in on anyone else ever since.

Who doesn't love fried chicken? And Loucille made the best. I remember one time, sharing a meal with her in her kitchen - what a gift - I asked her if I could use my hands to eat. I'm not sure if it was chicken or if it were something else, but I remember her answer loudly and clearly, and still use the phrase to this day. She replied, "There's nobody here but us chickens." <3

Loucille didn't drive, but she worked at Bryan's Manufacturing, and some kind soul picked her up and brought her home every day after her shift. Bryan's Manufacturing was a big employer in Monticello, and I have no idea what was made there. She had retired by the time we left in 1977, but I'll never shake off the guilt of all those we left behind to search for that shiny star we thought we'd find in Evansville. Not that I didn't find shiny stars, because I did, but we left so abruptly. I don't even remember saying good-bye to her.

One last memory of Loucille is that when she came to see us, which was often, she would open our back screen door ever so slightly and say "Yoo-hoo!" We practically lived in our walk-out basement, and so she knew which door to open and say "Yoo-hoo!"

Loucille later moved to Logansport, I believe, to a niece's home. But I'm not sure. I'm just trying to remember what my parents told me years ago. Loucille died in 2000 at the age of 96.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Louisa Bowles, the Belle of French Lick, Indiana

Knights of the Golden Circle Series

Louisa Bowles, aka Eliza Carlin (1814- aft 1860)

___________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

Jonathan Lindley and his caravan were not the only people coming into Orange County, Indiana in the early 1800s. Another early settler of Paoli was William Augustus Bowles. He is not to be confused with his famous uncle of the same name, although they had much in common. They were both born in Maryland of privilege, and they both sought to form their own states that would be out of the control of the United States government or any other government.

In his lifetime, the younger Bowles would corruptly receive the rank of Colonel in the Mexican American war, in command of the Second Indiana Volunteer Regiment. Later, he would achieve the title of Major General in the Knights of the Golden Circle (KGC).

Bowles Family, Maryland Branch

__________

To understand the man Bowles, one must know of the family structure into which he was born. Bowles is a part of the Maryland branch.

William Bowles’ grandfather, Thomas Bowles, emigrated from England to the United States in 1758 and settled in Frederick County, Maryland.1 Thomas was well educated and apparently wealthy or possessed the means to acquire wealth, as he purchased a large plantation in Maryland.2 Thomas Bowles was father to at least a dozen children, three of whom were notable. 

His eldest, William Augustus, was a loyalist to the crown during the Revolutionary War. Afterward, he collaborated with the Native Americans trying to form his own state that would have its own government. He aspired to be the state’s Director General. In reality, Bowles was nothing but a freeloader and a pirate: looting ships, stealing cargo, and torturing crew members.3 After forming a Seminole army to declare war on Spain in 1800, he was betrayed, arrested, and imprisoned. He died from starvation in 1805 at Castillo Morro in Cuba.4

Another son of Thomas was Evan Bowles. Evan became a surveyor for the government. He surveyed Louisiana, eventually purchased land there, and built a large sugar cane plantation. By the 1830 census, he owned 31 slaves.5 

And finally, Thomas’s son Isaac would become the father of William Augustus Bowles, the founder of French Lick, Indiana, and the subject of this work. It was this William Augustus Bowles who became the Major General in the Knights of the Golden Circle.

Introducing: William A. Bowles

__________

William Augustus Bowles, the nephew, was born in 1799 in Frederick County, Maryland, the eldest son of Isaac Bowles and Mary Bagford. It is likely he was named for Isaac’s brother William Augustus, who in 1799 was at the height of his legendary popularity. When his parents moved west to Indiana, Bowles came with them and settled in Fredericksburg, Washington County, Indiana. The Bowles family were Tories, loyal to the crown before and during the Revolutionary War. After the war was won by the Americans, many Tories felt safer in the newer western territories.6

We know little of Bowles in Fredericksburg except that he was a physician by this time, and he had two daughters with his first wife Louisiana Ferguson. In 1820, he was indicted for grave robbing.7 On the surface this might seem grotesque. For a doctor, however, this was one of the only ways to secure a corpse for study. In 1838, Louisiana petitioned the court for a divorce, which was granted.8 

Bowles is an enigma, a true jack-of-all-trades and perhaps master of none. He dabbled in the sale of liquor, was a medical doctor, a druggist, a politician, and even a pastor at one point. He was also in the hospitality business, having built the first French Lick, Indiana, hotel. One of his greatest accomplishments, however, may have been his marriage to his mysterious second wife. She came to Paoli as Eliza Carlin. Her real name, however, was Louisa Bowles, from Louisiana, and she was William Bowles’ first cousin.

It is interesting to note that William Bowles came from Frederick County, Maryland to Fredericksburg, Indiana. Also, his first wife’s name was Louisiana, and his second wife was born in Louisiana.

Introducing: Louisa Bowles (aka Eliza Carlin)

__________

 Franklin, Louisiana, initially established as Carlin Settlement, was named after Benjamin Franklin and located in St. Mary Parish. It became the parish seat in 1811. It was here in 1814 that Louisa Bowles was born into the elite and powerful sugarcane planter class.

Louisa’s father was Evan Bowles, the Anglo-American surveyor turned sugarcane planter and uncle of William Augustus Bowles, of Paoli, Indiana. Louisa’s mother was an American born Frenchwoman named Dorothea Carlin. Dorothea’s father was Joseph Carlin, a French-born soldier, for whom the Carlin Settlement was named.

The French were there first, but the Anglo-Americans began to arrive shortly after the Louisiana Purchase of 1803. Although not particularly accepting of each other, they soon realized that, politically, their two cultures must meld in order for their political power to be retained. Therefore, the two cultures began to intermarry and intermingle.9 Joining together, the Anglo-Americans and French Creoles found that they could form significant unions to make their plantations large and powerful. An example is the intermarrying of the Duffel and Landry families. By their intermarrying, they together formed a large sugar conglomerate in Ascension Parish.10 

Sugar cane was a tricky crop and cultivating it was a backbreaking job relegated to slaves. They prepared the ground each year for planting. After planting, because weeds grew quickly, the slaves weeded continually. Rats, who also loved sugar cane, had to be killed. After harvest, the cane was processed quickly, for it soon became useless. Slaves worked around the clock in 12-hour shifts. It was hot, dangerous work.11

When Louisa’s father, Evan Bowles, died in 1831, he left his plantation to his wife, Louisa’s mother, Dorothea, and to his only son, Thomas. His death also created a family emergency. Louisa needed a husband. Alexander Fields appeared seemingly out of nowhere, arriving in Franklin, Louisiana, from Longmeadow, Massachusetts. Louisa and Alexander were married.

In the 1840 census, Alexander is with Louisa and their two daughters. They had no slaves at the time of this census. Louisa’s brother, Thomas, who had no wife or children, was likely with his sister Eleanor, and her husband Simon Mathison as well as Dorothea. They had 49 slaves.

Thomas then died in 1841. He left his portion of the plantation to the sister, Eleanor, with whom he lived. The greater portion of the plantation, however, belonged to Dorothea, who was “interdicted,” meaning she was somehow impaired and unable to make legal decisions. Thomas, for some reason, left two different wills. One of the wills appointed his brother-in-law, Simon, as executor with Eleanor the sole heir. The other appointed his sister both sole heir and executrix. Alexander Fields jumped on this indiscretion in an attempt to make himself the inheritor of Thomas’ fortune. After a legal battle that left the judges incredulous, Alexander lost. In the final judgement, “…the assumption that the representative of the deceased partner can, at his pleasure, take the ownership and possession of the partnership property from the survivor, is unsustained by reason or authority.”12 At one point, Alexander even tried to go through Louisa to obtain the property. The outcome was the same: “He is there still, and cannot, by hanging to the skirts of the plaintiff, get into this court and assert his rights…” 13 In the end, the property was sold.

This was not the end of Alexander Fields and his seemingly unhappy marriage to Louisa Bowles, however. By 1843, less than two years after her brother, Thomas’ death, Louisa was married to William August Bowles in Paoli, Indiana, under the name of Eliza Carlin. On the plantation, Louisa would have had no say whatsoever in her future. With her father and only brother now deceased, her fate was in the hands of her uncles and husband. It may be that her uncle Honoré Carlin, her mother’s brother, paid a dowry to the only unmarried relative that would be willing to marry her and take her away. Indeed, Paoli, Indiana, was well over 900 miles from Franklin, Louisiana. At any rate, Louisa Bowles, now Eliza Carlin, would live out her life with William Augustus Bowles, until she divorced him right before her death.

Because sugar was in high demand, good sugarcane planters in Louisiana became quite wealthy. One such planter was Louisa Bowles’ first husband, Alexander Fields. By 1850, after he had divorced Louise, he had 27 slaves, was listed on the census as a planter, and had an overseer. He also owned $20,000 in real estate. He was married to his second wife now, with whom he lived, along with his two daughters from Louisa. Louisa’s mother, Dorothea was also in the household with Alexander. On the 1850 census, she was marked as “insane,” a blanket term used to describe many different sorts of maladies. It is quite possible that Honoré also cut some deal with Alexander for the care of his sister, Dorothea, and for the exile of his niece to Paoli.

__________

1. Kroger, Carol. “Thomas Bowles - Children Moved from VA to OH, IN, IL.” Genealogy.com,

2002, www.genealogy.com/forum/surnames/topics/bowles/1803/.  Accessed 16 Oct 2020.

2. Farquhar, Thomas M. The History of the Bowles Family. Philadelphia, 1907, p. 142. Archive.org: https://archive.org/details/historyofbowlesf00farq/ Accessed 17 Oct 2020

3. Pickett, Albert James. History of Alabama. Sheffield Alabama: R.C. Randolph, 1896, p. 412. Google
eBook.

4. Farquhar, p. 172.

5. LaPorte, Tom. “Evan Bowles of St. Mary's Parish, Louisiana.” Evan Bowles of St. Mary’s Parish, Louisiana, 2018, www.bowlesfamilyhistory.ca/evan_bowles_of_st__marys_parish_louisiana.htm.

6. Morgan, Robert. Boone: A Biography. Algonquin Books: 2008, p. 283. Kindle download.

7. Goodspeed Brothers. History of Lawrence, Orange, and Washington Counties, Indiana: Higginson Book Company, 1884, p. 740. Google eBook.

8. Ibid, p. 748.

9. Russell, Sarah. “Intermarriage and Intermingling: Constructing the Planter Class in Louisiana's Sugar Parishes, 1803-1850.” Louisiana History: The Journal of the Louisiana Historical Association, vol. 46, no. 4, 2005, p. 415. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/4234137. Accessed 23 Oct. 2020.

10. Ibid, p. 419.

11. “Enslaved People's Work on Sugar Plantations.” The Saint Lauretia Project, University of Glasgow, runaways.gla.ac.uk/minecraft/index.php/slaves-work-on-sugar-plantations/. Accessed 26 Oct 2020.

12. Robinson, Merritt. Reports of Cases Argued and Determined in the Supreme Court of Louisiana. E. Johns & Co., 1843, -p. 42. Google eBook.

13. Ibid., p. 42.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

My First Piano Teacher, Betty Jane McMillan Kovatch (1922-2008)

Growing Up with a Preacher Man 

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

My First Piano Teacher, Betty Jane McMillan Kovatch (1922-2008)
___________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

My piano teacher growing up was Betty Kovatch. This woman had a profound influence on me, and it wasn't always good. But... it wasn't always bad, either.

My mother enrolled me in piano lessons when I was 5 years old. I don't know why, and I don't know how I came to be taught by Betty Kovatch. My mother always felt that signing me up for lessons was one of her greatest accomplishments. For me, the lessons have been both a blessing and a curse. I have been a professional musician for most of my adult life. Sometimes I wish instead, though, that I had didn't know how to play the piano. I love telling stories, history, and writing more than anything. I have no regrets in the end.

I first met Betty Kovatch in or around 1966. She lived at 301 Bluff Street in my childhood hometown of Monticello, Indiana. I still remember what the entirety of her house looked like. A huge rectangular living room with the "idiot box," as she called it, in one corner and a spinet piano in the opposite corner. In a cabinet, she kept her John Thompson method books, and my mother bought from her "Teaching Little Fingers to Play." I remember coming home from that first lesson and asking what my assignment was. Well, there was no assignment, and I was so disappointed. Click on photos to enlarge

301 Bluff Street
Courtesy Google Maps
proper attribution given

Mrs. Kovatch, as I will refer to her in this story, was a chain smoker and had 2 Siamese cats who would hide whenever I was there, except for the one time I spent the night. She would smoke half a cigarette between lessons, always back in her kitchen. And sometimes she would bring back the most amazing looking coffee drinks with her to sip on while she taught. I was always so jealous that she had a drink, and I didn't.

A couch partitioned off the teaching area of her home, and students would walk in at their appointed time without knocking. I was always a little early - story of my life - and so I would wait on that same couch. Socially, I was awkward, and one time, I heard Mrs. Kovatch laughing with another student, and so I laughed as well, because I thought I was just being part of the group. Mrs. Kovatch didn't say anything to me at that time, but she called my mother later to tell her I had laughed at a student. I got into so much trouble and the next week, I was forced to apologize to Mrs. Kovatch. It was really hard for me to do that, and it was so embarrassing. No one told me what I had done wrong or even what I was apologizing for. Besides, shouldn't the apology have been given to the other girl I supposedly laughed at? I would have never done this to any of my piano students. It's hard enough being a child as it is.

 I owe the musician I am today to Dr. Douglas Reed, who was my organ professor while studying at the University of Evansville. When I first reached Ball State University in 1979 - with a full scholarship - I didn't even know what a chord was. I didn't even know fully what staccato meant! My students learn about intervals in their very first book; indeed, it is how I teach children to read music. Staccato/legato is one of the first technics they learn, and granted, I might not tell them that staccato means half the value of the note, I will certainly let them know later when they become more advanced. And the same with chords. And it's not because I'm a great teacher - which I would like to think that after over 40 years, I am pretty good at teaching - it's the method books that I use. It's in the method books where all these things are introduced. The method books guide the teacher to teach correctly and in order. The John Thompson series of method books, unfortunately, were not great. They did not guide the student or the teacher through anything. It was merely one song after the other and hopefully you were able to play it by the next lesson. More often than not, I couldn't, and it was, Mrs. Kovatch said, because I didn't practice enough. She was correct.

When I finally reached the University of Evansville, I remember vividly my first lesson with Dr. Douglas Reed.  In that first lesson, I badly bungled a run. And I thought, "Oh no, here we go. He's going to accuse me of not practicing when really I had practiced quite a bit to prepare for that lesson. But after I finished playing, he looked at me thoughtfully and said, "Let's look at the fingering on that run." Mind blown.

One more comparison between my two most important teachers - I still to this day, at the age of 60, cannot bring myself to call Douglas Reed "Doug." He will always be "Dr. Reed" to me, even though my colleagues call him "Doug." Mrs. Kovatch, however, in my adult years, I called her "Betty." 

Soon after I started lessons, I participated in my first recital. It was held at the Presbyterian church in Monticello, and I was the youngest student to perform. I forgot what piece I played  because I at first had a different piece. Always anxious about things at hand, I practiced a ridiculous amount of time and learned my recital piece in one week. And so, Mrs. Kovatch gave me another, more difficult piece to learn. I was asked to curtsy after playing my piece, and I didn't know how, and that laughter that people do when a child is doing something cute or, more likely, awkward, I felt like everyone was laughing at me. I felt stupid.

One thing that Mrs. Kovatch was great at was arranging field trips and preparing students for contest. I think we did two contests per year, and they were a lot of fun, actually. I was popular with the other piano students, even though at school, I was unpopular and bullied. She would pair me with older girls to play duets for contest and for recitals, and those older girls would talk to me at school. Sometimes they would even invite me over for sleepovers under the guise of "practicing our duet together." What I mean by them talking to me at school - I had a very good friend that went to my dad's church, who was a little older than I. Although I considered her my best friend, because we did all the church things together, she wouldn't talk to me at school.

The contests were different. Many times, we would all ride together or in a caravan to wherever the contest was. And they were at really cool places, like one was at Northwestern University. I didn't understand at that time what a big deal that really was. I always performed well in the contests. But what was more fun than anything was the fellowship with the other students.

I do remember once all of us eating together in a restaurant and for some reason, I ordered a coffee. I don't understand this, because I didn't become a coffee drinker until much later in my life. Mrs. Kovatch loudly proclaimed that I was too young for coffee and again - stupid me. But one of the girls took me aside later and said, "You should've been able to have coffee."

We lived near Purdue University, and we would attend musicals and plays there. Or we would travel to Valparaiso for concerts. My piano teacher was very well connected and knew loads of people, and she was super outgoing. We were always treated with great care everywhere we went with her.

Mrs. Kovatch loved everything Hispanic and Native American. She claimed to speak fluent Spanish. She adored priests and monks and said that her delicious bread recipe was given to her by a monk at St. Meinrad. I asked her several times for the recipe, but she wouldn't give it to me. Her kitchen cabinets were overflowing with fiestaware, and her jewelry, for the most part, was Native American.

Fiestaware
Courtesy Pixabay

Mrs. Kovatch was always looking to find money. I'm not sure why, because she had a really good base of students, and she most likely worked at a church somewhere. She loved fancy clothes, though, so maybe that is part of it. And she loved to travel. She had a yard sale annually. She would collect items all year long and have a huge sale. In later years, I took part in these sales with her. It was a nice way of making a little extra cash, and I enjoyed having Mrs. Kovatch as my friend.

She continually berated her husband, however, so much so that I was afraid of him. He was always nice to me whenever I was there, but I still really worried about being in his presence. It turned out - studying for this blog - that her husband had been a famous professional football player for the Washington Redskins and Green Bay Packers. In Monticello, he worked for the RCA factory. It turns out, he was a good guy!

John Kovatch

She also continually berated her son. I think it might be that he turned on her, but I'm not sure. For some reason, Mrs. Kovatch latched onto my mother, cornering her when she would pick me up for lesson or by calling her on the phone. So, I heard a lot more gossip from her than maybe other students. It was the decade of the 1960s, though. She stated that her son had become a sun worshipper in Seattle. I was unsuccessful in finding much out about Paul for this blog.

The musical disconnect, I believe, is that I wasn't interested - at that time - in classical piano. I wanted to play the top hits, and I loved Karen Carpenter, because she had a low voice like mine, and I could sing her songs while I played. I wanted to play Disney songs. I wanted to play Henry Mancini, Elton John, and Neil Diamond. She wouldn't have any of it, insisting that only the classics were worthy of being played. Sometimes I look at our current modern society and think of all the musicians working behind the scenes in popular music. That could have been me. Instead, everyone pushed me to go the classical route. It's all fine, though. In the end, my life is good, fun, and happy. And as my friend Lynn said, when addressing a piano teacher's group that I'm in, she congratulated us for picking such a noble profession and lifted us up by acknowledging the many lives we have touched as teachers. That's the best legacy anyone could hope for.

Mrs. Kovatch visited us one time in my current hometown of Evansville, Indiana. She stayed at The Executive Inn, and Mom and I went to her hotel room to visit her. I was working full-time at Schuttler Music as a teacher by then, and I asked her what she thought of the Bastian method book series. Mrs. Kovatch treated me like a child and refused to talk with me about teaching piano. Unfortunately, her behavior toward me that night made me upset, and I only had one more interaction with her after that.

In her later years, Mrs. Kovatch and her husband parted ways. She went to Arizona. I don't know if he stayed in Monticello or not. The last time I talked with her was right before she died. She called on the phone and asked me if I would buy her stamp collection for $500. I told her that I wasn't interested, and it hurt both our feelings badly. Mine, because I hated to see her beg, but money was tight for me at that time, now having a child of my own. Hers, because I wouldn't give in and send her money.

Mrs. Kovatch had big shoes to fill, though. Not only does her husband have a famous rating on Find-A-Grave, her father, Vernon McMillan also has one. Mr. McMillan is famous for having a sporting goods store in Terre Haute, Indiana, where he designed the first football helmet.

Betty died 11 Mar 2008 in Tucson, Arizona. She is buried in Lafayette, Indiana.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

Building the Church Building in Monticello, IN

Growing Up with a Preacher Man 

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

Building the Church Building
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

When we lived in Monticello, I took a lot of pictures. When I first got married, I entrusted those photographs to my parents, who had a much bigger space than I had in my tiny apartment. My pictures ended up in a box with a bunch of other pictures kept in my mother's bottom dresser drawer. I didn't take the pictures to my home when I bought a house, because I thought they were safe in that bottom drawer. They weren't. They're gone now. All gone. I have no idea where they are, and it is a regret. Because one, they were my pictures but two, I should have retrieved them years ago, and I just didn't do it. And now I'm trying to blog about my father's life and have very few pictures to jog my memory.

We moved to Monticello in 1963 and the cornerstone of the church states it was built in 1966, so my father wasted no time in his mission. The church hired an architect to design the church, but it was built largely from sweat equity from the members and by my father. It was a beautiful space, and we were very proud of it, rightly so. The only thing is that they didn't put in air conditioning, because in 1966, it wasn't as hot as it is now. The church had a "whole house" fan and we also had one in our house, next door to the church. During the summer, we would open all the windows and let the whole-house fan run, and it was just fine.

As an aside, it was pretty dark back there, living off the road like we did. So dad put up a dusk-to-dawn light that was visible from the piano room window. That light gave me such comfort. Click on photos to enlarge

The church building itself was beautiful red brick with stained glass windows. The wooden arches in the sanctuary were gorgeous, and the fellowship hall was fitted with portable wall dividers so that it could be converted into Sunday school classrooms. A switch on the wall rang a bell that let everyone know when Sunday school was over. Howard Shine was the ringer of that bell every Sunday without fail. The only thing were those ball lights in the sanctuary. I had nightmares over those things!

The Fellowship Hall
with its dividers

I felt so at home in that building. Not only was my house my home, but the church building was an extension of that home. I remember playing a new Partridge Family album nonstop in the foyer one winter day, when school was out for Christmas. The information booklets that most churches keep for their parishioners to buy/borrow was also on a table inside that foyer. "Good News for Modern Man" and "My Heart, Christ's Home," were two examples.

My father valued privacy/modesty almost above all else, and so the restrooms had a barrier in the hallway to shield their entrance. This was his invention. He had the restrooms put in as far away from the sanctuary as possible, and the nursery was also across from these restrooms. Everything about that building was perfect and perfectly placed. Even though small, we had plenty of room for every activity.

The building always welcomed me and was never judgmental, even when my weight started to creep up, and I started to get bullied at school. I was bullied at the school, but not at the church. As a child, I didn't understand the link between weight and food, and our house was filled with chocolate cereal, donuts, chips, and other unhealthy foods. Additionally, I needed my teeth fixed, which never happened, and I still have trouble pronouncing "s" (even though I had my two front teeth fixed after my first marriage, but they could use a bit more help.) I had to take remedial speech in grade school when what I really needed was just my teeth fixed.

Under my father's ministry and guidance, that building became a home for many of us, though, not just me. And it was BUSY. Many activities went on inside and outside that church building, and we all felt like a family, because we were!

My father certainly had a win with this church. In his later life, he wished he would have stayed in Monticello and retired from there. This would have been good for my mom as well. But we had a wonderful 14 years here and I'll take it!

Pictures are from the Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC

My Parents' Back Story - WIlliam Lester Howard and Mary Eulalie McLean

Growing Up with a Preacher Man 

Rev. William "Lester" Howard (1929-2021)
Mary Eulalie McLean Howard (1933-2021)

My Parent's Backstory
____________________

by Carolyn Ann Howard

After my father graduated from the high school in Alfordsville, Indiana, in 1947, he went to Indianapolis to hang out with his brother, my Uncle Willis. They lived in a boarding house together, and my father got a job at a cardboard factory making 55 cents an hour.  After only a year, he stated he "received the call." This is how at least Baptist pastors say how they know that God is "calling" them to the ministry. Uncle Willis and Dad next got jobs at a Christian Church doing construction for an expansion, paying $1.17 an hour, but that job ended when the summer ended. After that, my father got a job at Standard Brands. 

My father at this point wasn't quite Baptist yet. He grew up in the Methodist Church there at Alfordsville, infused with an unhealthy dose of "holiness." I'm pretty sure some of the Methodist doctrine has changed since the late 1940s, but I know that all the rules my father felt like he had to follow were not part of that doctrine.

After a year in Indianapolis, my father had saved up enough to attend Taylor University. This school continues to this day as a nondenominational Christian college and is located in Upland, Indiana. He attended for one year before his savings ran out. He loved it at Taylor University, and I'm sorry he let money make the decision for him that he could not afford to continue there. That was The Silent Generation. Hard-working, thrifty, loyal. That was my father. 

After the year at Taylor was over, he went back to Alfordsville to live with his brother John, sister Esther, and his mom. Not knowing what else to do, he wrote to the District Superintendent (D.S.) in Evansville and asked if there were any jobs open for a student pastorate. The D.S. gave him the Methodist churches of Gentryville and Buffaloville. Dad was 19, and the pay was $20 a week. A woman in Gentryville by the name of Kate Pittman fixed all his meals for $3.00 a week. They were very good company for each other. He lived in the parsonage at Gentryville. Click on photos to enlarge

In or around 1948
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

Yankeetown sanctuary, now razed
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

After a year, the D.S. felt Dad should be closer to Evansville, since he had made the decision to enroll at Evansville College. His churches at that time were in Warrick County, Indiana and included Yankeetown, Pelzer, Union, and Oak Grove Methodist Churches. It was common at that time for young Methodist pastors in rural areas to have two or more churches.

Dad wasn't happy at Evansville College, though. He didn't like their liberal outlook towards religion, and he thought, again, it was just too much money. Therefore, after two quarters, he decided to transfer to Oakland City College.

My mother went to the Yankeetown church with her family when Dad was pastor there. Dad told stories of eating Sunday dinner at my grandparent's house each week. I'm sure it was my grandparent's plan all along to set my father up with my mother. And my mother was happy for the arrangement. Although she dearly loved her parents and, after they passed, idolized them, at that point in time, she wanted out of their house more than anything else. She was 17. My father was 21.

11 Jul 1951
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

After Dad married my mother in 1951, the D. S. transferred my father to Selvin, Folsomville, Garrison Chapel, and Mt. Pleasant Methodist Churches. It was here that Dad decided to switch from the Methodist Church to the American Baptist Church. He never liked infant baptism, believing that people should make their own decision for Christ and then be baptized, making a public confession at that time. He also thought that communism was infiltrating the Methodist Church, and that concerned my father greatly. As someone remarked to me after Dad died, "So... McCarthyism got to him?" Um, that would be a yes.

Once this decision was made, he quit the Methodist Church, which meant The Methodist Church was no longer there to give him employment. Because of that, my parents moved from Selvin into an apartment on Governor Street in Evansville. My dad got into a lot of debt at this time, buying appliances and other things to set up the household. He felt that he had to work, so he got a job at Briggs, which made Plymouth bodies for the Chrysler Factory that was in Evansville at that time. This was at the corner of Columbia and Evans. He got out of debt, but the schedule was grueling. He worked second shift, and then would drive to Oakland City College, and then would come home and do school work, and then go back to work. My mother, in the meantime, worked at Mead Johnson on their secretarial staff.

Briggs Manufacturing
USI Special Collections via Historic Evansville

Once my father graduated Oakland City College in 1954, he enrolled at Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Kentucky, leaving my mother to live in her parent's garage. She hated this, and one thing Dad was good at was *trying* to make Mom happy. It wasn't long, then, that she was living with Dad in Louisville in seminary housing. It was here that she learned to sew. It was also here that she gave birth to a son, Wayne, whose namesake was after a man my father would never see again. My namesake is similar.

In or around 1951

1956
Carolyn Ann Howard Family Collection

After his graduation from Southern Baptist Seminary in 1958, Dad took a job at Hills Baptist Church in Kirklin, Indiana. American Baptist Churches are different from the Methodists in that the individual churches form search committees to look for a pastor. The pastor applies for the job, and then the search committee decides whether to hire the candidate or not. 

Graduation Photo
Louisville, KY

In 1961, I was born in nearby Noblesville, Indiana as Kirklin didn't have a hospital.

Me at 3 months with unknown neighbor
This is definitely not my mother

From Hills, Dad bounced to Centerville and, stating to me later that he didn't care for Southern Indiana, he jumped at the chance to move his family to Northern Indiana.

At Centerville
In or around 1963

My father evidently forgot about his dislike of Southern Indiana, because 14 years after the move to Monticello, Indiana, we moved back to Evansville, Indiana, which is located on the southern border of the state. Can't get more south in Indiana than Evansville.

© 2022 by December Moonlight Publishing, LLC