The immigrant ancestors that make up the lineage for the Robinson side of my kin entered America in VA. very early on. Having read hundreds of documents in regards to the family genealogy compiled by my Aunt Barbara when she joined the "Daughters of the American Revolution", "Colonial Dames", and "Pioneer Families", I cannot help but be moved by the surnames that make up my Momma's people that trickled down to me. Smith, Johnston, Custis, and Robinson. From Scotland and England these seekers of a "better way" came. From VA. they eventually made their way across this land that was raw and new. My Momma's daddy was born in Indiana of all places, where his daddy's daddy had settled, and made a fine livin raising breeding stock for market to family still livin in the UK.

Like many families in the South, my Momma's haven't strayed all that far from where they finally settled in the past. In fact I was born just 40 miles from one of my Confederate gr gr grandpa's homeplace. Some reading this might remember an article I wrote some time back entitled "The Bend in the Road" where I retraced directions given to me as a child by Grandpa Robinson, as how to find the old homeplace and gravesite of my Confederate gr gr grandfather.

It is safe to say that my Grandpa Robinson influenced, guided, and nurtured me more than any other individual. I spent more time in his company for the 23 years together on this earth that God blessed me with than even my own daddy.

Grandpa Robinson was an impressive man in many ways. In physical stature 6' 2" somewhere around 225 pounds, all muscle. His hands were massive, calloused from 50 years of carpentry. He never learned to drive an automobile, nor did he ever own a power tool. He carried the tools of his trade in 3 wooden boxes that attached to an A frame devise that slung to his back. People yet to this day recall seeing my Grandpa walkin in my hometown to and from work with his tools on his back. He was such a master craftsman, that he was one of the most indemand carpenters of the richer patrons of our community. Unfortunately, most took advantage of him. Why is it that seems so common even today? A poor hard workin man, with a superior skill, and taken advantage by those of means. It is a memory that remains fresh in my mind as if it were just yesterday that I last saw him. He has been with our Lord for 33 years now.

Besides his carpentry skills, grandpa had many admirable traits. Well read, a most competent man of letters (I still read letters he sent home to Illinois that were written while he was working in California during the great depression carpentrying on movie sets for a dollar a day). If I had 10% of his writing skills, I'd be at least competent in that category.

To say he was a musician, doesn't do him justice either. He played guitar, fiddle, harmonica, and could take a handsaw and bend more lonely, mournful notes on it than I can create on a pedal steel today with all the toys available to me. His voice, though quiet, could be heard displayin perfect pitch as he would sing a repetoire of songs that not only included every hymn known to man, but songs such as " Rose of Alabammy", "Drummer Boy of Shilo", "My ole KY Home" and of course "Dixie", all the while he worked. My momma tells a story of one of the Dr. families at home that hired him regulary to do projects around their 3 story mansion (it still is standing and members of the same family lives there still) anyway as Momma relates the story, when grandpa would be in their employ, she would walk to work with him, and the lady of the house would pay her nickles to play piano and sing for hours, with grandpa joining momma during a work break and accompaning her on the harmonica that was always was in his shirt pocket. I have that harmonica in my possession, and on occasion pull it out and attempt to play it. Attempt is the appropriate word, although I understand the basic principles I just can't do it justice. Perhaps, it's just a mental block I have from rememberin how he could make it talk.

There are three specific locations that remain to this day as places where my memories of Grandpa Robinson are most vibrant. His room upstairs at the old house.......Hotter than hades in the summer, and cold as cold can get in winter. One wall lined with guns on carved gun racks, some going back as far as my Confederate gg gg grandfather, some that grandpa himself made. On another wall, pictures of his12 children and countless grandchildren, as well as a picture of his parents, and one of my grandma at age 16. The remaing two walls were filled with books and reading materials from the floor to the top of the 12' ceiling of the old house. Now, I pride myself in having a library of around a thousand or more books and publications, but grandpa scavaged every book he could come across. In fact he would loan reading materials to other folks, ( a tradition that both my Momma and I carry on today).

His workshop, and material storage building, was the site of some of my favorite times with him. Originally it was a WBTS era blacksmiths shop, with the forge and anvil still there until it was torn down by developers in 1968 to put up an A&P grocery. In this old dark and musty building, I sat for hours watching him build cabinets, and such. Most of the time for me in that shop was spent learning basic wood working skills, but more interesting to me was the history lessons I recieved. Grandpa loved history, and if there was such a thing as a working man's doctorate degree in history, well, he could have won it hands down. Early on I got intense lessons in American history from the foundations this country was built on, to the truth about the WBTS, Spanish American War, WWI and WWII. He had it all down, and Grandpa was incapable of tellin a lie, so to me it was taken down and might has well been written in stone as the gospel. (Thank you grandpa R.)

Most prominent memories from my childhood with grandpa are those sitting on his lap in the massive old rockin chair from VA. in front of the huge coal stove in the parlor.(The rockin chair is now in the possession of my eldest daughter Rhiannon in NC.) I did this up until about the age of 7 or so, when I became too lanky and long to further do so, so he made me a stool to sit beside him. For literally hours on end he would read to me from the Grit magazine,(remember them ?) or the Readers Digest, or from an ancient dog earred and tattered leather bound book of English and Scottish poetry that had been his mother's. During these marathon readin sessions, he would (when I was smaller) take a flat butter knife and scrape the insides of apples and serve it up to me on the end of the knife. When I got older he would peel em for me with his Barlow knife. I was always amazed that he could curl the peel in one continuous piece. These I would take out later to the chickens who seemed to love the peels as much as I did the apples.

Now I hope these memories from my past haven't bored anyone to tears or God forbid to sleep. What I do hope, is that what they have done is demonstrate how two ancestors I loved dearly, instilled values in me that are most certainly from the Old South, and the Old West, two times in history too often butchered by so called historians, and both most guilty of unfair portrayal of my people, be they red or white. Just think about it, I have been blessed (in my opinion) cursed by most yankee folks standards, to be a child sired of Confederates and Indians. These are not what are generally considered qualities that modern society would believe one should brag , boast, or be LOUD n PROUD of........well guess what? I could care less what people of that ilk think about me or mine.

The traditions and traits that my two grandfathers passed on to me have made me the man I am. A simple man yes, but one of strong faith and convictions to do what is right, and who will stare down any enemy if possible, and if it goes further than that well, Katie bar the door if ya mess with my family cause you've got a scrap on your hands. I believe I have passed on these traits to my three daughters as well. I pray these lessons and values serve them as well as they have me.

If there is one last wish that I would have from this piece is that perhaps it might stir fond memories of the readers' own grandparents, parents, siblings and children. That is something that both grandpas Warren and Robinson would approve of.

Blessings to all, I shall remain a Confederate warrior till death and beyond for I know no other way to be.

T. Warren KAW/OSAGE/ Border Ruffian/ Copperhead/American