These are Whitehouse/Westside – Riverside ladies. My relatives and ancestors.
From the baby Suzanne, in her mother Naomi’s lap. To her mother Nell Sallas who came out of the woods and moved uptown to Riverside. To her mother Mary Elizabeth Lowe to her mother Eliza Parrish Lowe. Five generations of Westside girls.
Nell was a quiet lady. Like my grandmother, her sister. Stoics.
As a small child, I played Bingo with those two at the Jacksonville Trail Riders, on Halesema Rd. The bingo hall resembled a military bunker. I had actually forgotten about those excursions, until now. Old memories resurface. They began the games with a prayer and a bowed head. This was part of my introduction to the world of Baptists. We were Catholic. The neighbors were pagans as they were not a part of the One Holy Apostolic Church and we were unsaved because the pagans thought that we did not know that Jesus died on the cross for our sins. That’s what the neighborhood kids explained to me as we raced our stingray bikes. My mother reiterated the pagan concept as we passed the little corner church. I asked questions. I wanted to know.
As a child, Whitehouse/Westside religion confused the heck out of me. And to tell the truth, it still does. My sister came up with the term BapCats for our children. The next generation. How could it be any other way?
The prayer was said and then it was on to the gambling. Those nights with my Grandmother and her sister Nell at the Bingo hall are cherished memories.
My grandmother, Bess McInarnay drove a big black Mercury. I remember the emblem well. She was often the designated driver. Not that anyone drank on these old lady escapades. Her and her girlfriends would load up at 3129 Phyllis St. and hit the road to church. Playing Bingo and Bunko all over the place. They were really wild.
One day we were driving down Blair Rd. and right in front of Caleb Baptist Church, I told her, “Grandma, can’t you go any faster, I could walk faster than this.” She stopped the car and said, “Get out.” – I shut up.
That’s one of the limited times I heard her speak. I can remember almost every word I heard her say.
The woman to the left of Nell, Mary Lowe, was born in 1861, the year the civil war began.
Tracing the family member’s names and trying to get things straight on who shot who. Things get tricky.
These family members use the same names over and over. The further you go back the more confusing it gets.
Eventually I am going to invest in Ancestry.com.
As for me, I went into the public school system in the ninth grade, at Joseph Stillwell. It was shocking after nine years spent in parochial school. My husband jokingly calls it provochial school. We walked in regimented lines at St. Matthew’s. When the bell rang, you quietly rose from your desk and proceeded to your next class.
At Stillwell, the bell rang and I would run for cover. I thought they were crazy and come to find out, they were. We’re all a little bit crazy and a little bit sane. It’s according to which day it is and who you’re talking to.
I remember a classmate that rode my bus. Her last name was Parrish. I didn’t know we were distantly related.
But now I do. If you are from Whitehouse/ Westside and your name is Peterson, Hysler, Plummer, Whitaker, McInarnay, Sallas, Boree, Swilley, Sweat, Parrish, Eagerton, Lowe, Brown, Tanner, Connell, Goodwin, Goodbread or Bowen. We likely share DNA. All thanks to that little lady, Eliza Parrish Lowe. (and Sam)
My mother, Hilda McInarnay Eagerton told me that Eliza, her great-grandmother had told her – she didn’t know where she came from. That she knew she was on a boat, on a river, for a long time.
The way my mother could cook Cajun food. It would make your tongue want to slap your brain. So, I always imagined Eliza on a flat bed traveling the Mississippi.
Thanks to the internet, I now know it was the St. Mary’s River. She landed on the corner of Normandy Blvd. and Blair Rd.
She came from Madison County, Florida.
How does that happen?
And why did they never leave the farm?
I guess that makes me a true native of the State of Florida.
And proud to be a Westside girl.
No blue bloods here. I have actually come to call myself a Redneck by default. A Cracker by birth. And a Peace Seeker through reading, writing and education.
If you know anything more about Eliza or the other ladies let me know. We all have stories.
The Westside is the Best Side.
Fish Eye Farm 