For a long time it has been my purpose to write of my travels, and to tell the readers of the Public Ledger something of the places which I have visited and of the people with whom I have been thrown. But whenever I undertake to write my memory becomes so occupied with the people in Oxford and with the conditions in the County that other places and peoples are crowded out of mind.
Do you remember the story of the dying gladiator, so beautifully told in one of Byron’s verses? The man had fallen in the arena of Rome. About him were the glory, the splendid, the wealth of the world. He thought not of these, but of his far away cabin home where his wife awaited him, while his children hung about the door in play. Yes, I know just what Sol. Cooper meant when he said, “better to be leaning against a telephone pole in Oxford than to have a million dollars in New York.”
But Oxford is changing. It must change with the passing of the familiar figures who were for so long a time an essential part of the community. Most keenly do I feel the broken health of that beloved physician without whose presence the town could never again be to me the same, and most earnestly do I hope and pray that he may be restored to health and usefulness.
Nor can I forget that many who were near and dear to me when I left Oxford, to be gone, as I thought, but a few weeks, have now passed to the great beyond. How often do I think of a girlish form that passed, moved to and fro, always bright, always cheerful, meeting her friends with a smile, and ever ready with a quick and witty reply to any remark addressed to her; and how keenly do I sympathize with those whose hearts were broken by her untimely death.
How clear in my mind’s eye are the figures of Mr. Zack Lyon and Mr. John Britt as they walked up College Street together; Mr. Britt would stop to play with the little children at the Graded School, while Mr. Lyon, even in a few moments’ conversation, would often let fall some never to be forgotten word of practical wisdom.
And now “Uncle Dick” Usry is gone. Surely he was a more vital part of the town than the buildings he constructed; more to be loved; more to be missed.
And from the County two splendid figures have recently passed—J.J. Allgood and Dr. Eljah Meadows.
Mr. Allgood was a modest and retiring man. I doubt if half the people in Oxford knew him by sight. And yet that man was standing by Lee at Appomattox when Lee handed his sword to Grant. Lee knew him as Oxford did not now him; knew his bravery, his endurance, his loyalty to a cause which he believed to be just and right. Mr. Allgood was a man of sterling character, industrious, honest, a kind husband, father and neighbor, and possessed a keen sense humor. Once, when he was sick, I asked him if he wanted some oysters. “No,” he replied, “I never ate but one in my life and the more I chewed it the bigger it got.”
And “Lige” Meadows! What shall I say of him? Only this, that he belonged to that class of men from which this country draws its strength and stability. He did not seek fame and notoriety; he had no penchant for wealth or power; he never gloated over the conquest of an opponent or the fall of a rival; within his make up there was no trace of selfishness or envy. He threw the force of his moral support and strong personality into a cause when he believed it to be right, and he opposed it when he believed it to the wrong, but there was no jealousy, no bitterness toward those whom he opposed. When fixed in his convictions he was not easily moved. Of such men, when they agree with us, we say they are firm, when they disagree with us, we say they are stubborn. But whether firm or stubborn. Dr. Meadows’ opinions were always based upon moral conviction of truth. Gentleness and kindliness were his dominant traits. In his home, in the home of his patrons, in the church, his lodge, his medical society, these characteristics were always in evidence. His life, from beginning to end, was a constructive force, and this force, and this world is a better place because he lived in it.
Benj. K. Hays, M.D.
Fort Lyon, Colo., Dec. 16, 1923
From the front page of the Oxford Public Ledger, Dec. 25, 1923
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