Moving four miles down the road, is as stressful as moving cross-country. I am now in my new apartment. Furniture is moved in and placed appropriately. It is beginning to feel like home until I look around and say, “What about all this other stuff?”. The word “stuff” covers a multitude of items. This ranges from favorites of my childhood, high school yearbooks, more pictures than wall space, newspaper articles, souvenirs of trips, gifts from former students and on and on. I sit and wonder, “Why on earth did I keep this?” or “Who is this anyway?” I chose to downsize, and it comes with two options----throw away or store in already overcrowded closet. Hard decisions were made, but finally, all “stuff” has been put away in some manner. One item of furniture that has always held a prominent spot in all of my many homes is my father’s desk. It is easily over one
hundred years old. I don’t know if it was a gift to encourage his study of law or his own purchase. It is oak and probably handmade by a craftsman. There is a pulldown surface for writing and pigeon holes inside for the warrants and licenses he was authorized to issue.
Our home on corner of Church and Bell Street was a “shotgun” house divided into sides by a long and wide hallway. My father made an alcove in a portion of the front hall to be used as his home office. It was just right for the desk and two chairs. That is where he did the after- hours work of Emanuel County for the rest of his life. We often heard banging on our front door in the middle of the evening from a couple wanting to marry or someone in need of a warrant or peace bond. He performed many weddings and often sent the sheriff to arrest an accused. When we heard the banging, we always hoped for a wedding and not a warrant. At that time, a blood test or other requirements were not necessary. The couple could get a license and have their marriage performed with one visit to Judge Proctor. Many well-known couples were married in my living room while I
peeped from down the hall. I love to do my work seated at my father’s desk. I use the pigeon holes for my bills and do all my personal correspondence on the pulldown surface. A very old photograph of a young man wearing a vested suit, a shirt with a hard white collar and a determined look in his eyes sits on top of the desk. He was leaving Canoochee for Swainsboro to “read law” with Jake Smith. Write to Shirley at sptwiss@gmail.com
