Seen and Heard Around
the Streets of Monroe
By Henry Belk
Said a Monroe man the other day “The War Department did the
proper thing in deciding that soldiers should be allowed to retain their
uniforms.” Proceeding he related how the old Confederate veterans regarded
their uniforms as one of their most cherished possessions, and how some of them
requested that they be buried in them. In later years, said one man, the
soldiers will organize as did the Confederate veterans, and then they will want
their uniforms. There are families in the county today who still have the
uniforms of some departed kinsman and guard it as one of the family treasures.
And now that the War Department has decided that the soldiers shall be allowed
to retain their uniforms, the khaki shall be placed beside the gray.
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In light of recent events, wonder if Doctor Hale, the
newspaper man reported to have been in the pay of the German government, feels
very hale and hearty and if Mr. Hearst doesn’t feel rather funereal.
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And now trouble is brewing for China, the breweries of the
United States having been shut down one of the King Brewers of California
announces that in a few days he will sail for China, where he will build a $2
million brewery that shall brew beer for the teeming millions of yellow men.
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Monroe men no longer to into a grocery store and purchasing
a dozen eggs pay for them with change in their pocket; they write a check.
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“Take him for all in all, we shall not look upon his like
again,” said a Monroe man Saturday, quoting Shakespeare to describe Mr. W.J.
Pratt, who died suddenly Thursday night. As the people think in their hearts
regarding a man so is he, usually, Mr. Pratt’s place in the hearts of the people
of Union County can not be filled by another.
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Liquor, monkey rum, mokum and other intoxicating concoctions
from the foundation for many a story and also many a murder. Liquor is the
foundation on which this story is laid. A graveyard composes the framework. Two
men from the lower part of the County came to Monroe in the days when every man
drank. After they had assimilated a little more of the fire-water than they
could walk straight with, they started home as the shades of night were
falling. Their journey carried them by the negro church Zion, about seven miles
west of town. Adjacent to this church is the usual graveyard. Now as the two
men approached this graveyard they suddenly decided that they would show how
little they regarded the spirits of the departed by inviting them out for a
friendly chat. So approaching, one of them called out “Now, if there are any
haints in there come out, we want to make your acquaintance.”
A few hours
previous to the arrival of the men at the church, a negro from South Carolina,
on his way to visit relatives in this county, had lost his way and crawled
under the church for protection from the elements to spend the night. Disturbed
from his slumber by the sound of the men calling, he raised himself on one
elbow and demanded “Who dat?”
The men who were anxious to make the acquaintance of the
spirits were a little taken back at this but at length decided that the stuff
they were drinking must have been of a bad grade and that their ears were
playing them false. So one of them called again, “You haints come on out now we
want to see you.”
The name of the negro under the church was Henry. Mistaking
the word haint for Henry he called out, “Yassah. I’s comin’, Boss.”
Needless to relate the men didn’t wait for his arrival, and
report has it that the saloon keepers of Monroe lost two good customers from
the incident.
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