One of the few things I can remember about the great-uncles, John and Jack, was that one of them wrote a book. I was tremendously impressed by that fact. Somebody I actually knew, someone in my own family, had written something and it was actually in print. I knew that, because I had seen it with my own eyes. It was called The Forgotten War and the Veterans. Just couldn’t remember which of the brothers had written it. I knew it wasn’t Papaw (James) but that left Uncle John and Uncle Jack, who seemed to me similar in more ways than name. White-haired gentlemen with a strong family resemblance. 
Fast forward to this Christmas.
One of my presents this year was from Glenn, who managed to unearth the copy we both remembered from the dining room buffet, where odds and ends always seemed to gravitate in our household. That is where the telephone was. Which probably explains why the back cover of The Forgotten War seems to have been used as a scratchpad/address book. Otherwise, it is in surprisingly good condition for a 1950s paperback.
The Author was J.R. Yates, which would seem to be Uncle John, and it is actually a collection of essays. For anyone who is interested, I’ll take a stab at getting it on here. Eventually.
Here is an excerpt from the title section:
THE FORGOTTEN WAR
By J. R. YATES
On a recent visit to Cuba, and upon entering the Harbor at Havana I passed over the place where on February 15, 1898, the U. S. Battleship Maine sank and took down with it the lives of 266 officers and sailors More than 55 years ago on a Sunday morning the people of the United States were astounded to read in the morning papers a report carried under glowing headlines by every daily paper in the United States. “‘The Maine Sunk ”
The consternation with which it was received by the American people can be compared to that which they received on another Sunday, December 7, 1941 The report of the assault up- on cur naval base and facilities at Pearl Harbor.
The story of this disaster and the succeeding events which led up to a declaration of war with Spain the following April have been told many times. and it would perhaps be point- less to refer to it now were it not for two facts.
First, well over half a century has elapsed since the disaster occurred and as the years mount up fewer and f ewer people are aware, or even interested, in these events And they are becoming continually dimmer in our recollection as those who participated ln them pass from the field of World actlvltles.
The elapsed time since the sinking of the Main will be more clearly in mind when it is realized that of the entire membership of the present Senate, 40 had not been born February 15 1898, and 21 more of the members were in pre-school age (Under 6 years ) Only 18 of our present members had reached an age where they have any recollection of the war events of that date, and only two members of this body served in the Spanish-American War Further indicative of the passing of the years is the fact that of the 294,- 000 that fought through the Spanish -American War, Including the Philippine Insurrection, and the Boxer rebellion, there was only 74,881 of us left Aprll 1, 1953 We veterans are checking out at tie rate of 7000 per year. A little more than one-fifth are living today, and of course, as we grow older the death rate will be accelerated.
And the other reason why I feel justified in asking more of your time while I recount some of the facts and conditions surrounding the Spanlsh-American War is that so many of our citizens have a great misconception of that war and of its magnitude and are prone to dwarf the conflict in comparison with other wars in which we have been, and are engaged.
Immediately after the sinking of the “Maine” a board of inquiry was matlgated by the American Government, and a similar one by the Government of Spain for the purpose of determining the cause of the explosion which sank the battleship.
(Any oddities of punctuation, capitalization, and spelling should be excused as my unfamiliarity with a bit of technology that allows a scanned page to be translated to editable text. Some of the ways it reads text are howlingly funny, but that it actually works is pretty amazing.)
Oh, and the white-haired gentleman was quite the dashing young soldier.
Family treasures are a breed of its own. Thanks for sharing.
My father (Jethro) bought Uncle John’s house after his wife, Emma died. Our family moved in during the summer before I began the third grade. It must have been about 1952. Uncle John left many of his things in the house including a sword he brought home from the Spanish-American war, several rice-paper pictures, two pair of wooden Japanese-type shoes and a large, round hat you see in pictures where people are working in rice pattys or driving water buffalo. He had many fascinating books in the built-in bookshelf next to the fireplace– (which Daddy didn’t use until my sisters and I left home). We read books like, “The House of Green Gables”, “Little Women”, “Eight Cousins” and many more I can’t remember the title. I do remember seeing the book he wrote. I thought I had a copy but can’t find it now.
Uncle John was an interesting man although I was too young to appreciate him. When he came to visit us in the summer from Cumberland Furnace, he took us to see the Vols play baseball at Sulphur Dell, or during school he drove me and Margaret to Glenn Elementary in his model A Ford. I must say Margaret and I were totally embarrased to have anyone see us in such an old car so we asked to be let out a block away. Oh, the pride of youth! I wrote a paper on that experience in a college class and won an award, of all things!
Moving to his house was like living in a fairy-land. The house was hugh (to me) and Margaret and I ran around calling out to each other so we could hear our echo; that was before the furnishings were in place. Uncle John sold most of the acerage he had in fruit trees–apples, pears, peaches– and some construction company cut a street down the middle and built houses on either side. The acre-plus yard left with the house was full of exotic plants including rubarb! I had never before seen such a plant. Mother made rubarb pie a few times but I wouldn’t touch it because it looked awful to me–all reddish and slimy, yuck. The front yard had two weeping mulberry trees with limbs flowing over to the ground just like weeping willows. In the summer the leaves would fill out and the berries grew sweet and delicious. Margaret and I played “dolls” inside the tent-like opening and actually slept under there several times when the summer heat drove us out of the house. We didn’t have air-conditioning.
Uncle John was a truck farmer and sold the things he grew at the original Farmer’s Market that used to be at the back of the court house in downtown Nashville. I remember very well going there with Mother to buy bushels of corn, tomatoes and peaches she canned for the winter. One of the two green houses was still in good shape when we moved to Jones Avenue. I still remember the smell of hot steam walking down the concrete steps. Underneath the glass A-line roof, pipes lined the walls and there were old, rickity wooden tables laden with clay pots full of curious plants, some broken ones with dirt spilling out. Uncle John grew flowers to sell at the market as well as produce. It was a fascinating place for a child to grow up. Both houses finally began to be a hazard as the glass broke and fell in. My dad filled them in with dirt about the time I was fifteen or so. I was sorry to see them go–I was sorry to leave Jones Avenue period.
I loved your house. The piano in the living room. Your mother must have worked so hard on that floor: it was always like glass. I can remember taking off my shoes and running to slide across it.
Was the closet in y’all’s bedroom as enormous as it seemed to me as a kid? I know three girls sharing might have strained its capacity. Especially with those circle skirts and huge petticoats.
Yes, the piano was purchased by her father for my mother when she was six or seven years old. She waxed the floors on Jones Avenue with Johnson’s Paste Wax on her hands & knees on Friday’s. I can’t remember if it was every week or once a month. But I do remember coming home from school and loving the smell of the freshly waxed floors– it was heavenly. They were so slick my Dad fell once going around the corner from the dining room. Luckily he wasn’t hurt.
There was a walk-in closet in both bedrooms. You probably remember ours as no one hardly ever went into Mom’s and Dad’s closet. It got really crowded with “can-cans” for three girls plus the skirts and blouses to go with them. Mother ironed for hours and hours– our things as well as Dad’s white shirts he wore to the shoe factory. I truly do NOT know how she did it!