By Brenda Cannon Henley
An old thought from my childhood crossed my mind last night and I have given it considerable mulling over time since it did. I have now reached the age when I can think about something for as long as I want, often without interruption or change of course, since my children are grown and gone from home, and I am not working full time. I like this new found ability very much.

I was born and reared in a small town about 30 miles east of Atlanta in the direction of Stone Mountain and the University of Georgia. It was a simple, clean, and wonderful place in which children grew in safety and learned about the world. It was a cotton mill town and the chief employer was Scottdale Mills in DeKalb County, owned by the Scott family. Both my beloved Mama Cole and my grandfather, Marshal Eli Cole, were long time employees of the mill and were friends with many of the Scotts. After I was born, the two of them worked it out so that Mama Cole went in to work on the second shift, around three in the afternoon, while my Granddaddy worked the first shift or early mornings. Because my 4’ 10” grandmother did not take breaks from her work, she asked for and received permission to go in 15 minutes later than most so she could be with me until Granddaddy got home.

I remember the smell of the lint on my grandparents’ clothing and in our home. I found great delight in rubbing my fingers up and down Mama Cole’s arm and seeing the lint form balls. The mill was known for making wonderful fabric from cotton. Mama Cole started to work in a cotton mill when she was only nine years old to help her family. She was so short that she stood on a wooden box that the foreman built for her to reach her looms. She continued working in the mill until she was 86 and Mr. David Scott, one of the owners, came to the house to tell her that she could not longer work full time at the mill. She threw a fit and informed him that she could still outwork three or four of the much younger employees.

Because it was a cotton mill town, much of the activity in the village where many of the workers lived, along with the supers, wound around the mill. The owners had long before my birth built a large general merchandise facility, The Company Store. At one time it housed fresh produce, good meats, canned goods, a huge selection of groceries, cleaning supplies, hardware, shoes, clothing, bed linens, household furnishings, and the post office. The workers, when low on money, could go into the store, buy whatever they needed for their family’s survival, and pay for it at the end of the month. Some accounts were deducted directly from the worker’s paychecks before they ever received them.

I got my first lesson in Budgeting 101 from Mama Cole at The Company Store. I especially enjoyed going there with her because my Uncle Joe Cannon was in charge of all of the fresh produce. He would buy much of it from local farmers and he always had a surprise hidden away for me when we visited. We always saw many of Mama’s friends and sometimes relatives while shopping. I loved standing with my head and hands pressed against the cold meat market in the hot summer days and I was fascinated with the way the butcher cut the boiled ham and big hooks of cheese.

Mama Cole would never charge her items. She and Granddaddy did not believe in owing anyone, and it was a strong belief. She managed her funds so carefully and always paid cash for everything we took home in those big, crisp brown bags. I remember the day she told me to “keep short accounts” with everyone. I did not know exactly what the words meant at the time, but I got the idea she did not want me, or anyone else in our family, owing folks, and if we ever had to charge an item, pay it off soon. She also said, “If I have to be owing, I won’t be going.”

It was a much more simple way to live in those days, and yes, I know I am dating myself with these memories. At this stage in my life, I want only short accounts with God, my fellow man and woman, my neighbors, family, and friends. (We will look at this subject in another column for a more spiritual approach to the thought).
[2-22-2016]

Brenda Cannon Henley can be reached at (409) 781-8788, at
[email protected], or by using the contact form below.

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