Papaw and Mamaw

My friend Kevin Nietmann is a genealogical nut. He loves delving into the identity of his ancestors, going all the way back to the 18th or even the 17th century. Kevin’s hobby makes sense. As much as I read and write about history, you might think I would do the same. Beyond a vague awareness of who preceded me, however, I have not lifted a finger to learn more—until now.

I propose to shine the light on my paternal grandparents, Harold Evans Pennington (1895ￚ1975) and Winnie Clara Lasater Pennington (1898ￚ1995). Their grandchildren (me, three brothers and three cousins) called them Papaw and Mamaw. I know, these are old-timey, Southern, country-sounding names, and people from New York or the West Coast would consider us provincial for using them.

I do not know when or where they married, as their two children (my aunt, Dorothy “Dot” Rhea Pennington Gary [1926ￚ2000] and my father, Edwin Lynn Pennington [1927ￚ2005]) are dead. Nor do I know how they earned their money, not that they had much. Mamaw was a stay-at-home housewife, of that I am certain. I have seen a photo of Papaw working at a full-service filling station when he was about 40, but I do not assume he did that his entire career.

Mamaw kept a large scrapbook of Hollywood actresses from the Roaring Twenties, such lovelies as Gloria Swanson, Lillian Gish, Greta Garbo, Claudette Colbert and Clara Bow. I sometimes kidded her about having been a flapper back in those days. You know who I mean—young women who bobbed their hair, wore short skirts and cloche hats, smoked in public, drove cars and treated sex lightly. She did not even smile when I made such jokes.

My grandfather’s parents (Thomas Jefferson Pennington and Texanna Teresa Turner Pennington) were both born just before the Civil War. I like my great-grandmother’s name, don’t you? They married in McMinnville, Tennessee in 1878 and moved to Kemp, Texas a few years later. I wonder about the circumstances of that southwesterly journey. Thomas and Texanna had a fecund marriage, with 11 children (Sarah Louvisa “Lula,” John Leroy, Joshua A., Nan Lorene, Maggie May, Eliza Florence, Minnie Lee, Thomas Arthur, Papaw, Jewel Alene and Syble Cleo). Texanna’s widowhood went on 49 years after the death of her hubby in 1900. This means that Papaw was just five when his father died.

He was 22 years old, in the prime of his young manhood, when the USA entered World War I. Papaw wore the uniform, but whether he went “over there” and had a go at the Boche, I have no idea; a genealogist like Kevin could probably tell me. He was a motorcycle aficionado, having ridden many miles on Indians and Harley-Davidsons. Although Papaw was gentle with his grandkids, Dad later told me that he had used rugged discipline on him. (Come to think of it, dear old Dad busted our asses more than a few times.)

And about my grandmother: Her parents (Robert H. “Fate” Lasater and Mildred Saphronia Prince Lasater) had seven children (Ida E., Mary Frances, Eugene Paul, Robert Lafayette, Edwin W., Leonard Ford and Mamaw) born between 1879 and 1898. Her brother, Edwin, may have been my father’s namesake. In this case, my great-grandmother—a native of Alabama, by the way—died 28 years before my great-grandfather. Mamaw was born and raised in Lawson, a tiny community (home to 73 residents and three businesses in 1933 when Dot and Dad were seven and six, respectively) about 15 miles southeast of Dallas; it was annexed by the suburb of Mesquite a long time ago.

Papaw and Mamaw’s children attended Mount Auburn Elementary School, Long Junior High School and Woodrow Wilson High School. The four-member family lived at 5719 Parkview Avenue (almost adjacent to Tenison Golf Course) and 2503 Kimsey Drive (a long stone’s throw from Love Field). The latter residence is the one I knew, a basic wood-frame house with virtually no insulation. I can tell you from experience that it was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. Roaming the back yard was a dog they called Lady Esther. This is where the two branches of the family—the Garys and the Penningtons—met for Thanksgiving dinner each November. I do not recall ever seeing a book in their house. The only reading material was TV Guide and Police Gazette. Good people though they were, Papaw and Mamaw had little education.

While I am certain their marriage was a happy one, I must relate the following anecdote. Prior to one of those Thanksgiving dinners, they apparently had a tiff of some kind. As we were serving ourselves turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie and so forth, Papaw, in close proximity to Mamaw, sought to make amends. He said, “Now, honey….” She scarcely looked him, just replying, “Don’t ‘honey’ me.” The only reason I remember this is that my cousin, Shannon, thought it was amusing and repeated it later.

After Papaw’s death in 1975, Mamaw kept his framed photo close by and often looked at it. She spoke of him with great admiration, saying how strong and handsome he had been.

Much of the background information I have conveyed here came from a website operated by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Thanks in part to their strange set of cosmological beliefs, the Mormons have compiled the most extensive genealogical database in the world. I applaud them for having done so. But I assure you that Papaw and Mamaw would never have let a Mormon in the door. They were rock-ribbed Protestants—Methodists, to be specific.

#genealogy #grandparents #dallas