MOORE NEWS Volume 1 December 23 , 1996 Issue 37 CHRISTMAS GREETINGS TO MOORES EVERYWHERE - - ALL 250 OF YOU AND YOUR FAMILIES. This edition comes early and includes three special Christmas features. The first tells the origin of one of our most loved Christmas poems by Clemente Clarke Moore - 'The Birth of Santa Claus.' Second, you'll find a Christmas surprise from Jesse Moore, presented as 'A Grand- father's Story.' Last, recollections of Christmas Past from the editor, 'A Granddaughter's Story.' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THE BIRTH OF SANTA CLAUS Shared by with us by Mike Mason (MMMsearch@aol.com) via Virginia Roots List operated by the Virginia State Library. Source: The Log Cabin Democrat (Conway, Ark.), written by W.C. Jameson (author & a geography assoc. prof. at the UCA). ******** Santa Claus, as we know him today, was essentially created in Manhattan, N.Y., by CLEMENTE CLARKE MOORE. Santa Claus, that jolly old elf that adorns cards, tree ornaments and the covers and pages of thousands of Christmas books for young and old, was a figment of Moore's fertile imagination. His poem, titled 'A Visit From Saint Nicholas,' consists of 28 rhyming couplets that begin, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas ....' Moore, a prominent theologian during the 1820s, wrote the endearing poem for his six children. He initially denied any association with it. 'The poem, according to Moore's biographers, was inspired by a journey by sleigh to a market to purchase a Christmas turkey.' The real St. Nicholas was originally a Dutch saint. Moore mixed images of the gift-giving St. Nick with the Norse god Thor who was known to drive a sleigh pulled by eight tiny goats. Moore changed the goats to reindeer. Moore also incorporated the chimney-descending abilities of a well known German mythological entity, and added the Italian and French custom of hanging stockings. Santa Claus, then, is a multi-cultural mix, borne of the mythology and custom of a variety of cultural groups, all assembled in Moore's fertile mind in New York. Moore unilaterally decided to set the visit of St. Nick on Dec. 24. Originally, the Dutch St. Nick visited homes in Amsterdam on Jan. 5. The Santa Claus we know and love was first depicted artistically nearly 40 years later in 1860 by Thomas Nast, notable cartoonist of the time who was famous for his illustrations in Harper's Weekly. Moore's poem was first published almost by accident. A friend heard him reading it to his children, requested a copy, and delivered it to the editor of New York's Troy Sentinel who published it in that newspaper. In subsequent years, it was picked up by other newspapers, magazines, and almanacs, and quickly became a favorite among children and adults alike. For 15 years the poem's author was listed as anonymous. Moore's name was first associated with it when it was included in an anthology of New York poetry in 1837, but he refused to claim credit for it. Finally, in the year 1844 he agreed to have his name attached to the famous poem. A few who study such things have expressed doubt that C.C. Moore actually wrote "A Visit From Saint Nicholas,' crediting it instead to a man named Henry Livingston. The majority of Moore scholars, however, are in agreement that he did indeed pen the poem, even though he was regarded as a rather stodgy prig. Regardless of who wrote 'A Visit From Saint Nicholas,' the poem has delighted millions since it first appeared, and it has certainly been instrumental in kindling a special kind of Christmas spirit never before experienced. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A GRANDFATHER'S STORY JESSE KELLY MOORE, JR. (halcyon@concentric.net), a new subscriber, shares this oral history as told in 1933 by his great grandfather. Perhaps it holds the solution of a Moore Mystery. Jesse suggests that this group attempt to prove or disprove the story told by his Great Grandfather who, as you will see, was quoting his Grandmother, born about 1835/40 - Jesse's GGGG Grandmother (is that right Jesse, or did I leave off a 'G?') The speaker is Anderson Moore, born in 1864. His daughter Edna Moore Jarrell, transcribed this oral history as he told it in 1933. ******* This is the History of the Moore Family, as told to me by my Grandmother (Lucinda Miller Moore) this is 14th day of Jan, 1933. A.L. Moore's great grandfather Moore, whose name was James A. was born near Dublin, Ireland; came to this country with a Regm't of Irish soldiers attached to the British Army during the Revolutionary War. In fact, his name was not Moore, but Fitzpatrick, but being Irish and not at all in sympathy with the British cause and enlisting in the Continental Army under Washington and took the maiden name of his mother, which was Moore. Since that time the name of Moore has been borne by all his descendents [sic]. After the close of the Revolutionary War he settled in Pittsburgh, Pa., married and entered into the iron business. This trade not proving profitable to him -- he liquidated his affairs and with his family moved to Tazewell County in Virginia. After a short stay there, he moved to what is now known as Lawrence Co. Ky; where he settled on land that was probably given him as a grant for his service during the war. He is buried at or near the mouth of Little Blaine Creek. Grandmother did not remember his wife's name, but stated that she knew she was Pennsylvania Dutch. He was the father of 15 boys and 2 girls. 1. James Moore- the eldest settled in Tenn. near Nashville; about his family I know nothing. 2. Alec Moore - settled near Lexington, Ky. He was a glass maker by trade and lived and died there, leaving many descendents [sic]. 3. John Moore - who was a Hatter, settled in Cincinnati, Ohio. 4, 5. Chris & Sampson Moore - settled on Beech Fork of Twelvepole Creek in Wayne Co. - then Va. and afterwards moved from there to Martin Co. Ky. on Tug River. 6. Nicholas Moore - settled in Texas and 7, 8, 9, 10. Sam, David, Harry & William Moore - all remained in Laurence Co. [sic] Ky. leaving many descendants who still live there. 11. Nancy married a Mr. Stevens who lived on Twelvepole Creek in W. Va. 12. Isabelle married a Mr. Caldwell of Boyd Co. Ky. The William Moore as given above, was my Grandfather. He was married twice.- 1st to a lady named Thompson who bore him the following children: James, William, Jr., Samuel T., David, John, Nancy, and Betsy. His 2nd wife was Lucinda Burgess Miller - to this union was [sic] born; Joseph, Wesley T. (my father), Ephraim, Garland, and 5 girls - Emma R., Polly, Amanda, Cynthia, and Polina. My father, Wesley T. Moore, married Ledocia McKinster and their children were Lucinda-married Bill McKinster; Juliann - married Cockram; Martha Jane - married Davis Spencer; Mary Elizabeth - married Mont Adams; William Thomas -married (1st wife) Trinnie Thompson & (2nd wife) Amanda Moore & (3rd wife) Sarah (Moore) McKinster -one son was born dead; Dr. James Olive Moore - married (1st wife) Ida Hayes & (2nd wife) Stella Shannon; Cynthia Bell - married George Cramer; Albert H. - married Lizzie Cordle; Lillie - married Scott Thompson; Charles Warren - married Cora Jane Burton. My father, Wesley, served as a sargeant in Union Army during the Civil War. So did the father of my wife (who at that time was barely 15 yrs. old) and was [sic] company clerk in my father's company. I, Anderson L. Moore, was born during his absence in the service in 1864, and he did not return home until the following year at the end of the war. Wesley T. Moore died March 6, 1903 - was born August 17, 1837 - in Laurence [sic] Co. Ky. Ledocia McKinster was born in Laurence [sic] Co. Ky. on Nov. 13, 1840 & died April 28, 1908. They were married in Laurence Co. Ky. on Feb. 16, 1857 (my parents) William Moore married Lucinda Burgess Miller on May 2, 1824 (my grandparents) ****** Jesse Moore submitted additional information. His family believes that James Moore had two brothers who were also conscripted by the British military and who also changed their name from Fitzpatrick to Moore to camouflage their identify, as they had chosen to become American citizens. [Note to all descendants of Rodeham Moore - a granddaughter of Rodeham Moore was named Polina/Paulina/Pelina or variations. Maybe they need to find out where that name came from.] James Moore married a woman of Dutch descent; this woman's name is reputed by some to have ended in -HART. Although this James Moore was for a while in Tazewell County, do not confuse him with the James Moore of Abb's Valley, Tazewell County, Virginia, whose family was slaughtered by Native Americans. This James Fitzpatrick/Moore is supposedly buried at the mouth of the Little Blaine Creek in Kentucky. William Moore, my direct ancestor, was born around 1785 in the area of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and married Nancy Thompson, daughter of Richard Thompson. After spending some time in Virginia, where their first son was born, they migrated to Kentucky. Obtaining their land through the purchase of land grants, they settled on the right hand fork of Little Blaine, which later became known as Mattie, Kentucky. The issue of William (son of James Moore ) and Nancy Thompson, his wife, are as follows: James, born in Russell County, Virginia in 1808, died March 8, 1888 of cancer, married to Mary Catherine Whitt McKinster and lived in the Rich Creek area; James' second marriage was Paulina Thompson on November 19, 1863. John Moore, born around 1811 and having died in 1868, was married to Fanny Murphy and married , second, Rebecca Bowling, May 20, 1851. Elizabeth Moore, born 1813, married Eli Justice. William Moore, Jr. born August 17, 1815, died May 3, 1875, married Delilah Hale on March 17, 1839. David, born around 1818, married Ann Jordan, then, Louanna Berry (Big Granny). Nancy, born 1819, was thought to have married Robert Ball. Samuel L. Moore, born 1824, married Tabitha Hale, then married Susan Ghent on April 15, 1882. Mary "Polly," twin to Samuel, married George Thompson. When his wife, Nancy, died around 1825, William married Lucinda Burgess Miller, "Cindy," born around 1805, died around 1885. Issue of William and Cindy: Cynthia, born 1828 or 1829, married John Spaulding. Julia Ann, born September 16, 1830, died February 17, 1905, married Nancy Thompson, niece of William's first wife Nancy's son January 16, 1855, and died around 1881. Cornelius, born February 1833, married Lura Justice, August 5, 1853. Amanda, born December 1836, died in the early 1900s, was married to Russell Thompson's brother of Joseph's wife, Nancy. Wesley, born August 17, 1837, died March 16, 1903, married Ladocia McKinster on February 16, 1857. Ephraim, born in 1839, went to Kansas a young man, raised his family there and nothing is really known of him. Garland, born in 1841, died May 1,1908, married Aramesia Berry. Pelina "Pline," born 1844, married William Miller. [If possible, Jesse (and a lot of others!) would like tknow how to discover the names of anyone named James Moore/Fitzpatrick who might have be conscripted to a British unit or defected from an Irish detachment of soldiers to the Crown who went to work for Washington. Jesse isn't the only Moore who can benefit from this information. Jesse would also like to verify all the children, as a means of providing validation of the facts as presented and lending credence to information about the earlier family. His Great Grandfather is VERY specific about the early MOOREs. They shouldn't be hard to prove/recant.] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A GRANDDAUGHTER'S STORY Pick a quiet wintry afternoon, light a fire and pull up the rocking chair. Lift a little child to your lap and spread her toes so that each tiny crease absorbs the warmth of the flickering blaze. Rock quietly for a few minutes till you begin to discern the frosty etchings on the window pane and hear the rattle of dry leaves as a breeze rushes through the cove. Reflect for a moment, if you will, on a tale of Christmas Past. America's Great Wagon Road tracked south from Pennsylvania through the Valley of Virginia and traversed my home county in North Carolina. It's told that some of the folks who lived along the Wagon Road wanted to raise their families away from the milieu of American's first thoroughfare. They found a pleasant walnut grove cresting a hill that sloped down to a hollow fed by a river branch. They called their little village Walnut Cove. Maples crowded the hillsides and flashed silver when clouds scuttled across the sky and wind began to stir. Summer tree frogs were so numerous and so loud they were a baby's first lullaby. Higher blue hills in the distance dappled the horizon like the rumpled peaks of an old and comfortable quilt. I spent most of my childhood in this little village in Stokes County where my Grandmother lived. By the time she married and left her home in Rockingham County, the quiet little cove had come to tolerate daily arrivals of Norfolk and Southern trains. The sound of those steam engines huffing up the hill and the wail of their whistles as they rounded the curve before stopping at Walnut Cove were as familiar as the crunch of wagon wheels had been in former days. My Grandmother raised eleven children, three sons and eight daughters. She had been totally absorbed by her family and the Walnut Cove community by the time my Grandfather died, before I was born. I never thought of Christmas Day in Walnut Cove as a unity of traditions. It was just the way Christmas was celebrated at my Grandmother's house. . . . . . . . . I awoke to the sounds of someone building a fire in my room and snuggled down till I could hear the flames crackling in the pine logs and sensed that the chill was gone. By the time I was dressed and downstairs, the kitchen was already steamy and warm, lively with activity. Turkeys roasted in the ovens of the old wood stove. Katie peeled big white potatoes over a bucket to catch the peels while Susie monitored the pots that were already simmering on the top of the stove. Whatever day it was, however important its content, patties of sausage and biscuits were always warming on the back of the stove. Fresh butter and homemade blackberry jelly were on the table. Spicy hams, brought in from the smoke house and cooked the day before, sat on the back porch shelf. Nearby, little puffs of steam rose from the milk that had already been boiled and stood cooling so the cream could be skimmed off. On most mornings, the cream would be churned into sweet butter. But this was Christmas Day and it would be the nectar of a Grandmother's Christmas Gift. Christmas Day in Walnut Cove was as bright and merry and garrulous as you could ever imagine that a Christmas should be. The little town shone with gem-like radiance, morning frost silvering the rooftops and glittering from every clump of greenery. Chilled air moving from the mountains through the valley sent smoke curling up from every chimney in town. The maples' bare branches etched terse tracings against a winter sky. All morning long, cousins arrived by ones and twos and threes, dressed in Sunday clothes and showing off their new toys. Aunts and Uncles, burdened with heavy winter clothing and gaily wrapped packages, hurried into the house to stand by the fire warming their hands. Watching the family arrive, listening to their greetings, absorbing the merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day was as exciting as a visit from Santa Claus. By mid day, the huge family had arrived. They roamed from one house to another -- Uncle Paul's across the street or Aunt Anne's and Aunt Sadie's two doors down, or farther down the street to Uncle Bill's or Aunt Sallie's. It was marvelous to walk into their living rooms. Christmas trees were cut from the tops of the white pines that grew in the pasture down by the branch. The fresh aroma permeated each house. Aunts and Uncles and cousins crowded the living rooms, and spilled into adjacent rooms, everyone smiling and laughing and talking and joking. When I introduced my new husband to Christmas in Walnut Cove, I began to appreciate what had always been mine. He was dazzled - awed - by the size of this family, overwhelmed by the sound of it, enchanted by the merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day. When everyone reassembled at Nannie's house for Christmas Dinner, the furniture was pushed back against the walls to make room for tables and chairs in every room. The big dining room table was reserved for Nannie and her older children; her younger children and the spouses were relegated to the sun porch that opened onto the dining room; grandchildren had places in farther rooms. Someone said the Blessing; at least we presumed so because there was lots of shushing from the grownups' room. We never heard it but knew when it was over by the murmurs of "Amen." The seating order governed the serving order. By the time we children were served, Aunts and Uncles were waiting for seconds. Forty or fifty or sixty people had dinner at my Grandmother's every Christmas Day until she was almost ninety years old. Her sons and daughters tried in vain to convince her that Christmas Dinner was too great an undertaking, but she never agreed to doing it any other way. After everyone had eaten all they could of turkey with dressing and gravy, ham, string beans and mashed potatoes, baked apples and sweet potatoes with marshmallows, squash, biscuits and cornbread, the desserts appeared -- so many different kinds of cakes and pies, I can't even remember them all. Christmas Dinner was a rich and abundant feast of hardy tastes and smells; but one item on the menu surpassed all others. Nannie's Boiled Custard was the very essence of Christmas in Walnut Cove, rich and robust and lusty. She served it from an old pressed glass pitcher set on a tray in the middle of the sideboard. One Uncle checked our distant room every Christmas so he could return and report that we were all done and the Boiled Custard could be served. By 1962, my Grandmother's family had grown to seventy-five or eighty people. She had enriched each life with precious memories of Christmas Day in Walnut Cove -- a special day that frolicked and laughed and hugged and joked and glowed. My children and their children will not know a Christmas as vibrant as it was in Walnut Cove. . . . . . . . . . . When I was a young woman, I asked Nannie how to make Boiled Custard like she did, with lumps. I carefully wrote down what she told me and tucked it away. One summer day, Nannie went to her sideboard and gently lifted an old pitcher from one of its nooks. With her sleeve, she brushed away specks of dust. This was her Mother's pitcher, she told me, so I should always take care of it. I wrapped the old pitcher and put it away, almost forgetting about it. I did not understand then that her gift embodied the essence of Christmas in Walnut Cove. Soon, I was caretaker of my own family's Christmas. I rumbled around and found that old pitcher and shined it up one Christmas morning. By now, it was almost a hundred years old and I was at least the fourth in a line of Granddaughters who polished it on Christmas morning. I did not comprehend the perfection of it's message; but I remembered that the old pitcher had once stood on Nannie's sideboard on Christmas Day filled with Boiled Custard. That Christmas morning, I made Nannie's Boiled Custard and poured it into the old pressed glass pitcher that was her Mother's, and set it on the sideboard. Our sons are young men now with children of their own, and I'm no longer the only Granddaughter in my family. Caroline Browning is almost five years old. Each Christmas, the old pitcher is shined and filled with Nannie's Boiled Custard and we accept it now as our Christmas tradition. Through the years, I have come to better comprehend its message. Maybe I had to know Christmas through my own Granddaughter's eyes before I could understand. In time I added a sprig of evergreen, signifying life everlasting; and I fastened it on with a red ribbon to celebrate the joy of Christmas. Then I set it on a tray on the sideboard. Last Christmas, I learned that Boiled Custard is still a cherished tradition on Christmas Day in Rockingham County. When I asked my informant - to his total and utter astonishment - if Rockingham County custard is lumpy and lusty, he told me that it is. Now I understand. From Grandmother . . . . . . to Granddaughter . . . . . . to Granddaughter . . . . . . how many times? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ANN "Nancy" REDD (ca 1718 - 1800) married Samuel Dalton (1699-1806) Albemarle County, Virginia and Rockingham County, North Carolina RACHEL HARRIS (ca1744-1826) SARAH "Sallie" MATILDA DALTON (ca1754-1841) married William Dalton (1738 - 1819) married Jonathan Hanby (1741-1819) Albemarle County, VA to Smith County, TN Albemarle County, VA to Patrick County, VA MARY "Polly" DEATHERAGE JANE DALTON HANBY (1783 -1817) married Thomas Dalton (ca 1780-1864) married William Moore (1771-1819) Orange County, VA to Rockingham County, NC Patrick County, VA ELIZABETH DALTON (1806-1881) MATILDA CAROLINE FRANKLIN (1803-1835) married John Joyce (1795-1859) married Samuel Dalton Moore (1804-1865) Rockingham County, NC Surry County, NC ELIZABETH "Betsy" JOYCE (1844-1915) MATILDA CAROLINE MOORE (1836-after 1900) married George W. Webster (1839-1877) married Samuel L. Gilmer (1828-after 1900) Rockingham County, NC Surry County, NC EMMA CENTENNIAL WEBSTER (1876-1968) JESSIE SLADE GILMER (1866-1963) married John G. Fulton (1871-1928) married George W. Sparger (1854 -1935) Rockingham County, NC to Stokes County NC Surry County, North Carolina ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ NANNIE'S BOILED CUSTARD Nannie began her instructions by telling me that the secret to lumpy Boiled Custard is to add beaten egg whites at the end while the custard is still hot. SEPARATE the yolks from the whites of 9 or 10 eggs. BEAT the whites until peaks form. LIGHTLY BEAT the yolks and add 3/4 cup of sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Set aside SCALD over a very slow fire 6 cups of milk and cream, stirring all the time. Don't let it boil. ADD the egg, sugar and salt mixture to the milk. When the custard thickens - ADD 3 teaspoons of vanilla extract and the beaten egg whites. CHILL and serve into glasses from an old pressed glass pitcher set on a tray on the sideboard. (I use whole milk and a 1/2 pint of cream. One Christmas, I forgot the cream, the Boiled Custard was not a failure. Sometimes there were other variations - not enough eggs, too much sugar, the mixture boils. Whatever I do seems to be acceptable to Nannie's Boiled Custard. Don't worry about it. Enjoy it!) __________________________________________________ MOORE NEWS: Compiled from email and other sources Distributed by Joyce Browning cJBrown7169@AOL.com 25 December 1996