Stallings, North Carolina
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   It is said that "Home is where the heart is" and that is so true. My heart as well as some of my fondest memories were of the time in my life that I lived in Stallings, NC. I guess it's because that was a time of new experiences, and of love and security within our family.

  Late in 1948 my father (Archie W. Killough ) bought an acre of land just below the crossroads in Stallings on Highway 74. My Uncle Howard Short's brother Robert was a carpenter and he built us a little four room house there on that acre of land. My father was proud and we were all so happy to have our own place. At the time there were five of us, Momma, Daddy, me, my brothers Dub and Sidney. I guess the house was small but it was bigger than anything we had lived in before. We didn't have water Archie Jr - Sidney - Gary Killough - summer fun and there was no plumbing. There was a spring on the upper end of the acre and we had fourteen water oak trees, my daddy would count them ever so often and I would to. My daddy was only 25 years old, strong as an ox and excited about being alive. We were going to make something out of that place and to start with my daddy figured we needed our own water. He decided where the well was to be, convenient to the house and all. Next he began to dig and dig and dig with a shovel and a pick. We all had to help get the dirt up out of the well using a bucket tied to a rope. This seemed like a never ending task but after reaching a depth of  about 15 feet we finally started to see the dirt get damp and then water trickle in (jubilation), soon we were pulling mud up in the bucket and after going to about 17 feet my daddy, exhausted from the long and arduous task, stopped and said thats it, we're deep enough!  We had the shallowest well around and my daddy said we were lucky because we were coming off the spring. The next thing was to build a frame around the well., get the windlass made and in place. It must have been exciting for my father to go to the store and get the top pulley, rope, bucket and dipper. Our little well had no roof it just stood there out in the open and waited to do what it was designed to do, assist in bringing water to the household. I say assist because I was also an assistant. We would wait for some time for the well to clear up so we could use it. Now we were on our way to self sufficiency. 

The background music is "Wildwood Flower" my mother used to play this on her Martin flat top guitar

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Memories of the well

Thats me by the well - Gary B. KilloughThe well was a big part of our life, I remember ....
   Once a lady came around taking  census and you know folks in the country were private with their affairs and didn't want to answer those personal questions that could possibly cause people to  whisper about your status in the community. The lady asked my mother " Do you have running water?" my mother was so calm and reserved when she replied "Yes, ... When I need a bucket of water I run one of the kids out to the well". I enjoyed her answer so much that I have never forgotten it to this day.

Wash day:
   Wash day was a time in history to never be forgotten. In the winter time Moma would wash clothes in the house and when it was hot she would sometimes wash them out in the back yard. We had moved up to a ringer washing machine by this time (about 1949 or 1950). Before that Moma used a scrub board in a tub. In fact Moma had done a washing on a scrub board the last day of the year 1948 and went to the hospital that night and delivered my brother Sidney (January 1, 1949). GettingThis picture was taken about 1950 or '51 in Stallings, NC (Right to left, Archie and Evelyn Killough,Archie jr.(Dub), Gary, Sidney in front with Author Lee King and our dog Snafu, my grandmother Mamie Williams is in the back back to wash day and the well. First the art of drawing water was not one of science but one of an arduous and repetitious task. I was 7 or 8 years old when I started drawing water. The metal bucket always set on the top of the well attached to a chain and to the windlass and crank. Swing the bucket over into the well and lower it to the water below, the bucket would tilt over and fill with water and then with both hands begin to turn the crank until the bucket full of water clears the top, hold the crank with one hand and reach over and grab the bucket handle and pull it over to the side to rest on the top, next pour the water out of one bucket into another for transport to the house. On wash day my brother Dub and I would have to draw and carry buckets of water to fill the washing machine and two rinse tubs. Moma did the washing. She would wash the clothes until she knew they were clean, then run them thru the wringer into a galvanized tub filled with water, swish them around and up and down, next she would swing the wringer around and wring the closes into another tub of water and then into a basket for transport to the clothes line. With a close pin bag around her neck she would pin each item to the line out in the back yard. We had a  metal clothes line that would sag from the weight of the wet clothes so you had to have a wood pole in the middle to raise up and support the line.  Eventually I would acquire all of these techniques. Back to drawing the water my brother Dub and I would take turns at the well and carrying the water to fill the tubs and then after washing clothes you could see the water begin to get dirty and we knew moma was soon to drain the water from the washer and we'd have to carry the rinse tubs out of the area and turn them over to pour the water out and back to the washing machine for another round of carrying water. I can still see the color of the water in my mind when I knew we were going to have to start over again. 
   When the bucket was full it was not light for a young boy. Once I had lost my concentration, was day dreaming or something and when I got the bucket to the top of the well and reached for it the metal bar crank slipped out of my hand and the weight of the filled bucket dropped rapidly back into the well and that metal crank came back around so fast and so hard that it hit me in the head before I could get out of the way. I remember being dazed for a second but realizing I had to move in a hurry and as I jumped I had the foresight to jump over the flowers by the well that my mother had planted. I ran into the house to find moma, with a three inch gash in the top of my head and blood streaming down my face my mother panicked She told my brother to go get Miss Carpenter, a neighbor that always seemed to know what to do. Miss Carpenter was not home, she must be at her son's down the road, Dub run down there and see if she's at Farrell's house. I was screaming with my head wet from the blood. Miss Carpenter was there at her son's house and came back running to see what she could do. After washing the wound with a wash cloth and holding pressure on the cut they decided it would be hard to stitch my head up and if they could get the bleeding stopped that I might be all right. We had no car at home during the day and we were way out in the country. I now have a 3 inch scar in the top of my head, but fortunately it was straight inline with the part in my hair. As for brain damage we'll never know?  I guess the term "wishing well" must have come while wishing we didn't have to draw all that water. 
The clothes line
   The term "clothes lined" used in sports now came from another injury I experienced. While running wild around the house like we did so often when chasing each other. It was at dusk and you couldn't see the clothes line was sagging at just the right height to catch me in the throat, but it stopped me abruptly and almost choked me to death, again I survived. At a later time I remembered the clothes line and ducked with ease but didn't see the swing blade that was lying in the grass (we kept it sharp too). That time I almost cut my big toe off and did have to have stitches (Dr. Mac in Matthews, NC). 
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