TALMAGE MALLAUGH CLAYTON CLY 101Last Updated: 12-13-2022 |
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By Thomas C. May May 107 Talmage Mallaugh Clayton was my grandfather. I have many pleasant memories of grandpa or Gramps Clayton as I often called him when we were alone. Since I was old enough to remember Grandpa worked part time for my dad. He would feed cattle during the week at my home and go with him on Thursday and Friday to help him sort livestock at the auctions in Kenton and Columbus Grove. I worked with Gramps fixing fence and building gates. I remember being impressed by his strength. I watched him handle railroad ties used for corner post as easy as most men would handle a 6x6 locus post. Before I was old enough to drive Grandpa would come and drive my dad's truck to deliver calves, sheep, and pigs I would sell to farmers. Riding with him helped me believe in guardian angels. He would be driving along whistling in a world of his own. I saw him run stop signs at intersections where traffic was usually heavy, but no cars in sight when he didn't stop. Most important memory I have of Gramps was his love for Jesus Christ and his word. He told me once he had read the Bible from front to back at least 10 times. Grandpa and grandma were the best example of living by faith I have ever witnessed. They never had had a lot but they always believed God would provide all they and their family needed. Grandpa talked about a when time he was laid off his job working for a railroad. He said he had a wife and kids to feed with and very little money and food in the cellar. That night he and grandma prayed hard for the Lord to provide. The next morning a farmer came by their house and asked if Grandpa could help him split rails for fence posts. The money he made wasn't much but the farmer also gave him some chickens and cold packed beef. Grandma Clayton was a very special lady. Her love for her family was only surpassed by her love for Jesus. Grandpa and Grandma often lived by a railroad. Hobos learned if they stopped at their house and asked for food she would never turn them away empty handed. Grandma told me she would give them canned meat, vegetables and left over biscuits and home made bread. One time when I stopped to check on her after Grandpa died we talked a long time about Daddy as she often called him. She shared a story about a time when Grandpa was out of work for quite a while. Food was short she had killed most of her chickens to eat so eggs were becoming scarce. Daddy she said hunted every day for game and would come home with a squirrel or two and maybe a rabbit or even young groundhog. One evening a couple of hobos stopped by expecting to get the regular handout but Grandma said she sadly told them there nothing she could spare but a few biscuits. She told them she didn't have enough to feed her kids the next day. Grandma said she felt so bad because she could not give them much that she even gave them her last couple of eggs. Grandma said she just believed the Lord would provide. The next morning when she looked out on her porch and couldn't believe what she found. The porch was loaded with vegetables, eggs, a ham, apples, bread, a couple of apple pies and a few live chickens. She knew her hobo friends had visited farms up and down the railroad and "borrowed" what was left on the porch. Grandma said for several days she expected someone would stop by and ask if he saw a hobo with some of their chickens and their ham. Grandma would have would have told them the truth and would have tried to pay them back for the food. Sure-enough the Lord provided an unexpected good paying job. She said she never had to turn away a hungry mouth again. Another time I stopped by her home and heard her talking out loud. I checked to see who was there. She wasn't talking to a regular person she was talking to her Lord about her family who she loved dearly. I didn't want to interrupt her conversation so I just quietly left. When I think about Grandma and Gramps Clayton I am reminded of the hymn, "Precious memories how they linger, How they ever flood my soul. In the stillness of the midnight. Precious sacred scenes unfold. As I travel on life's pathway, I know not what the years may hold. As I ponder hope grows fonder, Precious memories flood my soul. Precious memories how they linger, How they ever flood my soul." |
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