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Earnest William Woliver, A Profile



My “Papaw”, Earnest William Woliver, was born on April 8,1903 in

Knoxville, Tennessee to Alex Wooliver (a river barge laborer) and Edith Evelyn Huckleby Wooliver.


Earnest married Leona Baker (my “Granny”) in 1922 at age 16. On July 29, 1922 he secured employment with the Louisville & Nashville Railroad as a “railroad car oiler”; and on June 21st, 1923, their first child, Earnest L. Woliver was born.


Leona holding her first born, E.L.


Being born myself in 1952, I have memories of only approximately 25 years of Papaw's life, but those memories are vivid, perhaps due to the fact that my maternal grandfather died the month after I was born. As research for this writing, I have supplemented my own recollections with information provided by my mother, and from my oldest and dearest cousin, Sharon.


Sharon and I sharing memories


Papaw had two siblings, a brother-Howard, and a sister-Virginia. Howard drowned in the Tennessee River when he was a young man and the circumstances surrounding his death were suspect. I remember meeting Virginia only once, and I have no stories or information about her. For reasons unknown to me, Papaw dropped out of school after the sixth grade, but he read the daily Knoxville News Sentinel (cover to cover) and seemed fully aware of current events. He was a wise man, full of “common sense”, and was skillful as a hunter, fisherman, carpenter, and gardener.


About the time that Papaw was starting his own family, his Mother, Edith Evelyn, died a painful death from breast cancer. Within months, his father Alex remarried a girl half his age and Papaw was so upset by the marriage that he broke all communication with Alex and changed the spelling of the family surname from Wooliver to Woliver. The two men did not speak to one another for decades.



Perhaps Earnest’s proudest accomplishments were his four sons: E.L. (Sharon’s Dad), Hoyt, Charles (my Dad) and Hubert. 8 ½ by 11 sized photos of their faces hung above the headboard of his bed. The day he died, my Dad stated, “Today, I have lost my best friend.”


When the Great Depression hit America, Papaw was only one of a few men in their neighborhood on Scottish Pike in Knoxville to have a job, and in addition to feeding his wife and four young sons, the story goes that he and Leona (Schnooks) never turned away anyone who showed up at dinnertime for a meal.


Leona Baker Woliver, my Granny


Sometime circa 1954, Papaw took early disability retirement from the railroad and bought a parcel of rural property (8 acres) in South Knoxville in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains on Bud King Road. With the help of a German immigrant named Herr Capelle (a skilled carpenter), Papaw built a five-room house, a garage, and a barn on the property. They later added an indoor bathroom and a larger living area with a fireplace. He and Leona became self sufficient and it was during these retirement years that my vivid memories were formed. Their farm had a creek running through it, several fenced pastures, and a couple of patches of woods. The livestock included a milk cow, beef cattle, hogs, poultry (chickens, guineas, quail, pheasants, and chukars), barn cats, and several beagles. “Ern” and Leona worked hard and seemed happy. They had a couple of vegetable gardens and a small vineyard of scuppernong grapes from which he fermented grapes for his own wine.


Papaw was a somewhat gruff, crude, “salt of the earth” man. He often had a wad of “Redman” chewing tobacco in his jaw, and was often provoked by politicians and/or political situations. At such occasions, he would draw up a large amount of tobacco juice, place his index and middle fingers on his lips, propel his spit several feet away from the conversation, and exclaim, “those shit-hookers in Washington….” He believed in the rights of the common man.


Papaw was a marksman with a pistol that he often carried in his back pocket. The story goes that Papaw was met at his rural mailbox by a couple of local teenagers who scoffed at him, “Hey, old man, Why do you carry that pistol around with you? You wouldn’t know how to use it, if you had occasion to do so!” Papaw replied, “See that kite tail hanging across the telephone line?” He then pulled the pistol from his pocket and shot the kite string in half. The teenagers gasped in disbelief and departed.


It is reported that as a young and middle-aged man he had a foul mouth often exclaiming, “God damn it!” this and "God damn it" that, but sometime during the 1960’s he was “saved”, joined the Baptist church, and cleaned up himself and his foul mouth. While sitting in church listening to the sermon, Granny would whisper loudly to him, “Ern, say Amen” and Papaw would openly exclaim “Amen!”.


On August 23rd, 1980 at approximately 5:00am, Papaw had a massive heart attack and died in his bed at age 77. We were all shocked. The day before, he had enjoyed chopping wood.


For this writing, I have strove to capture the essence of my Papaw. One saying of his that has stayed with me is: “Progress is eating itself up.” In 2021, considering global warming, pollution from chemicals, plastics, etc, and “deep fake” technology, I find his statement to be quite prophetic.


I leave you with a photo taken the week before he died. May he rest in peace.


CPW



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