Outspoken Educator

Honor and Wealth; Integrity and Success
T. B. Gordon had plenty to say on the subject of truth, honesty, and corrupt practices in society.
He often penned an editorial for The Eagle (El Dorado, Union County, Arkansas).

Speak truth and act honestly under all circumstances - these concepts drove his choices, his decisions. Never would he say, "Make money honestly, if you can, but if you cannot make it honestly, make it anyhow."  He taught, "Riches acquired at the sacrifice of truth or honesty were a disgraceful curse."

Those persons involved in the calling of education are seldom thus engaged for the purpose of accumulating wealth.

The Jean McBride Mystery

More than one mystery surrounds Jane E McBride Campbell. A new one recently unfolded with no answers and plenty of questions.
Cousin  J. Cooper Usrey discovered a dusty volume of classic literature. The volume contains no copyright date in the now customary location but it was published in 1861. The illustrator is of significance- Gustave Dore (Google him): the volume is Don Quixote.

An inscription is contained within the book along with the signature of the owner of the book: Frances Usrey. (Frances Gordon Usrey or Frances Usrey Hamel?)

Many questions. No answers.


Can anyone find genealogical proof of a lady named Jean McBride Campbell, the lady who may have been married to John M. Campbell of Lincoln County, Tennessee, the man who  also married a lady named Amy in Dallas County, Alabama? This woman (Jean McBride) could be the mother of Jane McBride Campbell and Mahala Campbell Moseley, and several other older children who were born in Tennessee.

Everyone loves a good mystery. You have mysteries and unsolved riddles in your family and I have them in mine.

Check it out.
The House on Harrison Street:  The Gordon-Ritchie Saga is told as creative non-fiction. It contains stories, conversations, tidbits and morsels to answer lingering questions. Some questions have no answer.

The book will be launched during the Camden Daffodil Festival:  March 11-12-13, 2016.

Gordon Heritage Established Through Original Documents

To say I'm a hoarder would be unkind and somewhat of a bridge too far. Pack-rat, perhaps. Retired teacher in love with paper, today known as "hard copies"would fit.

Heritage-keeper sounds more akin to who I am. And, quite similar in nature to my mother and her mother who kept items of significance and passed them along to me with the admonition, "Don't lose this."

One of the items traveling the heritage road was a barely-holding-together manila envelope with my father's notations clearly visible. I tucked it away for safe keeping.

Inside that manila envelope of documents related to the Sue Gordon Estate was a smaller envelope with "Important" noting its value, the word with its underline was in my grandmother's handwriting. Therein: Original documents. Paper of worth: in original condition with official seal and beautifully flowing, hand-written land descriptions on multiple document dating to the mid-1800s. The original descriptions are contained on the original Land Grants belonging to Thomas Bullock Gordon, my grandmother's grandfather.

Land Grants west of the Mississippi River meant open opportunity for prosperity, away from the maddening discourse of divisiveness. For Thomas Bullock Gordon and Jane Elizabeth Tooke Gordon the promise of a new day and a new way urged them forward.

Accompanying the couple to Arkansas were her father and her brothers. It is unknown as to why her mother remained in Talbot County, Georgia.

Upon their two children born in Union County, Arkansas, the Gordon heritage in south Arkansas was established: Charles Thomas Gordon and Mary Sue Gordon.

The House on Harrison Street:  The Gordon-Ritchie Saga is told as creative non-fiction. It contains stories, conversations, tidbits and morsels to answer lingering questions.

The book will be launched during the Camden Daffodil Festival:  March 11-12-13, 2016.

Sweethearts: Thomas B and Jane E

Thomas Bullock Gordon counted his years as 30-plus, having no sweetheart, no lady-friend, no good woman anywhere in sight. One thing T.B. Gordon did possess, however, in addition to superior intelligence was impeccable connections. Methodist connections played a pivotal role within the Gordon family.

Read how Thomas Bullock Gordon and Jane Elizabeth Tooke became acquainted and how T. B. Gordon found favor in the family of James Jefferson Tooke, Sr. in Talbotton, Georgia.

The House on Harrison Street:  The Gordon-Ritchie Saga is told as creative non-fiction. It contains stories, conversations, tidbits and morsels to answer lingering questions.




The book will be launched during the Camden Daffodil Festival:  March 11-12-13, 2016.

The First Story in The House on Harrison Street

Wanna know what scary is?  Try getting lost in a cemetery. When you're young enough to believe that the witch in Snow White, the shriveled up old woman needing meat for her stew pot in Hansel and Gretel are real, you're young enough to lose your way...in a cemetery.

Lost! is the first story in The House on Harrison Street, the family history subtitled The Gordon-Ritchie Saga. The book is written in creative non-fiction style (a new genre). Beyond sharing the research and genealogy through facts, dates, end notes, and a bibliography, the book contains stories, conversations, recollections, and side notes. An accompanying CD contains more photos, Family Group Sheets, and Genealogy listed in a PDF from Ancestry.com.

"This story would be about the day she'd gotten lost in the cemetery; family, as always, provided a story worth telling."


Launch Weekend:  The Camden Daffodil Festival - March 11-12-13, 2016 - Camden, Arkansas

Making the Family Skeleton Dance

Welcome to The House on Harrison Street: The Gordon-Ritchie Saga.

Included on this Blog are tidbits of what you can expect when you hold in your own hands a copy of The House on Harrison Street.  It will not be an e-book nor will it be available on Kindle.  It is a family history saga, written in the creative non-fiction genre, and is published for you and for many, it is hoped, as a reference book regarding Camden, Arkansas social history and for use as inspiration for those who wish to tell their own family stories by bringing their ancestors to life through storytelling.

Margaret Jane when living at 134 Harrison

In one of the stories I share about my early years in school at Cleveland Avenue, Mother says to me, after I share my embarrassing day at school, "Well, Margaret Jane, you don't have to tell everything you know. You could have not raised your hand at all!"  Sorry, Mother, I'm still at it, still telling "everything I know." Not really; sometimes silence is the better part of the story, but not in this case.

The House on Harrison Street - 134 Harrison

While this volume will not be, nor do I propose for it to be, a best-seller, it is important for historic preservation. Children today do not have the same beautiful opportunity that we did. Most live far from their cousins and have no weekly dinner with Grandmother; they do not rip and romp with their cousins, hear family tales while shelling peas and snapping beans. Women today seem too busy to pull up a tall chair or a stool for their daughters, allowing the little mess-pots to learn how to make Tattee's Candy or how to make muscadine jelly or plum preserves, all the while sharing family stories. We, of our certain age, came in on the tail-end of that era and reaped the benefit of "home training."

My sons do not know the stories I have shared. Perhaps they are not interested. Not today. But when you and I are long gone from this world, they might wonder about the family, their ancestry. Contained within this volume are those stories, the questions, and most of the answers.

I always liked to read biography, autobiography, and books about families. It's like walking through the neighborhood, taking time to look through the open windows, checking out decor or other interesting elements. I like to read about other people, true stories, stories that confess, "Yep, us, too." Everybody has feet of clay.

1983 Gordon-Ritchie Family Reunion

Within the book are forty photos, some that have rarely, if ever, been seen. End notes, a bibliography, and an index are included.

 For the immediate family, I've also created a CD which contains Time Lines, Family Group Sheets, and Ancestry.com genealogy, family recipes, plus many more photos than the 40 contained within the book. Those of you who have responded via email, I have your order recorded. Thank you!

Starting February 1, 2016, approximately 3-4 times a week, I will post a little blurb on this Blog (www.houseonharrison.blogspot.com). The blurb is intended to whet your appetite for the book.

You can PRE-ORDER the book and CD from me (janegatewood@centurylink.net) or (ellajane.jg@gmail.com).  Each copy is $20 (before shipping). My immediate COUSINS who helped me compile this book will receive ABSOLUTELY FREE OF CHARGE the accompanying CD. Otherwise, the CD is an additional $10.  You can avoid the Shipping Expense by being in Camden March 11, 12, or 13 for the Daffodil Festival and I'll have your signed copy for you. Otherwise, the shipping expense is $5 and should be added to the price of the book and CD.

Thank you for your interest in this volume of Family and Camden History.
I look forward to sharing the Gordon-Ritchie stories with you.

The Coup de Grace

(Creative Non-Fiction: while the essence of the story is truthful, I have taken creative liberties to make the story move faster, strike the reader with humor; the story is the truth, but some of the details are enhanced.)

 A great road trip is comprised of a great car, a great destination, and a great story. A light blue Oldsmobile Cutlass with white leather interior, bucket seats, automatic on the floor, rear speaker radio, and two-door body style became our family sedan for that summer and, in hind sight, the worst vehicle purchase Daddy ever made. Great for glamour; not so great for a road trip.

The summer of 1965 included a family vacation to New Orleans. My younger brother and I folded ourselves into the back seat of our two-door sports sedan with Mother and Daddy in the front bucket seats. With full control of the radio, our parents, smoking like advertising executives for Viceroy, cruised down the highway in the sporty, head-turning Cutlass I had sported through the high school parking lot not a month previous.

After a week in New Orleans, a week of eating at fancy restaurants in the evening and buying Bourbon Street souvenirs during the day, it was time to pack the car, including the customary delicacy:  Mother and Daddy always brought home fresh shrimp after a visit to the Gulf coast.

As back seat passengers, my brother and I rested our feet on souvenir sacks; the small trunk was brim-filled with luggage, so the ice chest for the shrimp presented a dilemma. Daddy was pondering how he’d be able to transport the fresh shrimp; priorities had to be established.  I volunteered to stay behind. 

Since the vehicle was not equipped with a luggage rack, Daddy rigged one, swapping out luggage from the trunk to accommodate a large cooler of shrimp. Daddy covered the ousted luggage with a tarp and strapped it to the trunk. 

With speed and wind, the tarp began to shred and the luggage shook. The sound of the ripping and whipping tarp was deafening. Daddy could hardly keep his eyes on the road ahead for glancing in the rear-view mirrors to be sure we did not litter the highway. Stops along the side of the road to secure the tie-downs lengthened our journey. We looked like the Jed Clampets without the rocking chair. Indeed, heads were turning to gander at our vehicle as it sped toward home.

He did not see the flashing lights. So much noise surrounded the vehicle that Daddy, singular in his focus, also did not hear the siren of the Louisiana Highway Patrol car.

Daddy rarely cursed in the presence of women and children. He broke with tradition.

I slunk down in the back seat, praying the big, ugly trooper in a big, ugly hat would not take my father to jail. Mother lit another cigarette. My brother provided commentary on all the events as they unfolded. He was especially impressed with being pulled over by a Lee Marvin look-alike, hoping the trooper with unsteady swagger would serenade us with the happy birthday spectacle from Cat Ballou. The serenade he shared with us was not exactly what we expected.

We pulled into our driveway late that Sunday night with exhausted and cramped bodies, battered luggage, but fully intact, iced, fresh Gulf shrimp. And a ticket, the coup de grace. Daddy drove the Cutlass to the dealership the next day and I never saw that Dream Machine again.