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My name is Myra Tazewell. I am the oldest daughter of Libby and Drake Tazewell. My father is the brother of Rachael Quartermain, and I am the niece of Perry and Rachael Quartermain. My father, Drake, tried hard all of his life to attain the economic and social success that his brother-in-law Perry Quartermain achieved, but he never could quite make it. I believe he always resented this fact. My family has lived on Central Pike for all of their lives. I know the people, their habits, their history, and most of all I am aware of how they have interacted with one another. I have witnessed the happiness they have shared, as well as the tragedies they have endured. Central Pike was, in a way, a lifeline to many of its residents because they traveled it in horse and buggy and, later on, in automobiles to visit their neighbors, purchase their supplies, and sell their produce, milk, and timber. Times were hard for most folks. At first there was no electricity, indoor plumbing, or medical treatment other than home remedies. Almost everyone, including the women, smoked, chewed tobacco, or dipped snuff. This book is based on the lives of these Central Pike residents, in particular Perry and Rachael Quartermain, a white prominent family who adopted, to the amazement of others, a black baby boy. Most people living along Central Pike were church-going folks; however, they had trouble with a white family taking in a black baby boy to raise as their own.

Perry and Rachael Quartermain, my aunt and uncle, lived in a big house perched on top of the largest hill on Central Pike. When they adopted x the black baby boy, some people scratched their head and wondered why. I will tell the story of this black baby boy’s adoption with much love by the Quartermain family, how it affected some, and how it did not affect others. The big question on most people’s mind, centered on the question of, who is the father? They would have to wait many years before the truth came out. There was always speculation as to who fathered this child, however, it was always discussed behind closed doors. While growing up on Central Pike, I never sensed any animosity of whites toward African Americans. It did not exist. It was the Depression, and I guess that most people were concerned about ensuring that they had food on the table and a place to live. The economics changed somewhat as the Depression eased, however, I never noticed any difference in the way that whites and African- Americans “got along.” The stories that I will tell display in abundance the true love the entire Quartermain family had for the adopted black baby boy, who became a permanent part of their family