George Washington Carver

Story ID:	21
Written by:	Scott R. Lupo
Organization:	OurEcho
Story type:	Letter
Location:	Phenix City Alabama USA
Year:	1935
Person:	Paul Lupo George Washington Carver

As I was looking through some old boxes this weekend, I came across a letter written by my Uncle, Paul Lupo, to his sister, Margie Stillwell. The letter is dated 1981. My Uncle would have been near 70 at the time.

The letter is over fifteen pages long, so I’m going to take some liberty in editing the content. The first part of the letter I will include concerns my grandfather, Irwin Day Lupo, and his friendship with Dr. George Washington Carver. I have also added the paragraphs that relate to their travel from Phenix City, Alabama to Tuskegee.

Scott Lupo

1/29/06 - The GeorgeWashington Carver National Monument and Iowa State Univerisity have both requested to include this letter as part of their archival collection.



December, 1981

Daddy was a much greater man than Mama ever knew or than she cared to know. In 1935, I was introduced to Dr. George Washington Carver by a Bob Jones schoolmate and his father (then editor and owner of The Roanoke Leaders). Dr Carver asked me “Are you related to Irwin Lupo?” When I told him I was , he told me about their friendship of so long ago.

When Dr. Carver was told that I was a minister, he delved into the eight-foot high stuff on his desk and brought out his old bible. He asked me to leaf through it. He had written comments in the margins of almost every page. He remarked to me, “I read it and let God speak to me. Then I write in it and thus, talk to God”. He dug into that array of letters and papers on his desk and with no trouble in a minute he brought out a letter from The Hague, where the League of Nations had an international scientific committee. They had learned about curative powers of his peanut oil and had started off with a $5,000 offer for the formula for his peanut oil medication. They said they were authorized to go higher. Dr. Carver, with a twinkle in his eye, said I sat down right then and wrote my answer in long hand and told them they could have the formula for nothing. He said, “It did not cost me anything. God told me what to put in it, so I gave it to them.”

Dr. Carver was buried in the same homespun suite he wore when he came to Tuskegee to teach at Booker T. Washington about the year Mama was born. I loved him - love him still and look forward to conversing with him in heaven.

One day Daddy indicated to me that he worked in Tuskegee for a while and became friends with Dr. Carver then. You already know he often went to Little Texas and Mrs. Sims letter sent to you told of how Daddy sharecropped there one year and did it alone. Daddy never told us much about that.

Can you remember how we used to take our jaunts on Sunday - with Mr. Tommy Jones and his family and eat our picnic lunches when we reached Daddy’s destination. Well, one Sunday, we went with them to Tuskegee, ate our deviled eggs and peanut butter sandwiches on lunch biscuits. Do they still make lunch on biscuits? I often wonder.

The old muddy road to Tuskegee went through a swamp like I came to know the Everglades in Florida - no kind of gravel or pavement . We had to cross 62 bridges on a one-way road to reach Tuskegee. My brother, Billy, and I counted these wooden bridges many times. If one met a car on that muddy road, he or you would have to back up for miles sometimes. One time Daddy nearly chickened. He always made the other guy back up.

One night, Billy (William was a man everybody but Daddy called “Bill”) knocked on the screen door of the front porch. He came to ask Daddy to walk with him to Tuskegee. And Daddy did. Can you imagine that I was scared to death of those 62 bridges in a car in daylight? They walked there at night.

The old house hasn’t always been the way it is today. When we moved there in 1919 in March, you were not quite two. There was another room back of the rear room you know today. Mama had Daddy send Negroes from Dudley’s to saw it off. Billy and I watched as rats big as rabbits fled from the ruins down to the field. One time you and I had measles at the same time and were in bed – the same bed. We were so active in our bed that if fell to the floor with a thud and you and I laughed uproariously.

When we moved into the house, our grandfather, William Fletcher Lupo, Miss Ella (whom Daddy always called Mrs. Lupo), his wife, John William, and Ruth ate Sunday dinner with us. I can see them vividly in my mind this moment. You know Mama despised our grandfather, William Fletcher. Even when he died on November 30, 1920, she refused to go with Daddy to the funeral. Daddy went without her. How Mama came to invite him and cook dinner for them, I’ll never know. The creek was flooded then. In 1919, the floodwaters were in the northwest corner of our field where the land was extremely low. Daddy after dinner that day walked his father and me down to the scuppernong orchard. He looked at me (I was only five-years-old) and saw that I had put the scuppernongs in my shirt pocket and remonstrated, saying “Son, they will stain your shirt”.

During WWI, Daddy lived down on Broad Street in Tom Watkins house for which he paid $5.00 a month rent. Daddy bought a piano and Mama would play for him and Daddy would sing those beautiful poignant songs of the war. I can still see that sheet music on the old upright piano Papa bought for her when she started taking piano lessons at Chase Conservatory. Mama walked there and back by herself three times a week for seven years. She was due to graduate from Chase in three weeks from the Tuesday night she finished high school. But, the following night, she and Daddy walked over to the parsonage on the N.W. Corner of 11th and Fourth Ave to get married. I will never understand why Daddy did not insist she finish those three week at Chase.

One night after Billy and I washed and dried the dishes, we walked to the theater. The movie that night was “The Princess Comes Across”. I think the star was maybe Maureen O’Hara. I could make myself recall her name but I ain’t going to. On the way home, I stood under a street light and read a Saturday Evening Post magazine (only 5 cents then) while I waited for the bus. Bus fare was seven cents then. When Billy and I went to CHS (Central High School), we rode the bus. Fare was five cents but the students could buy a book of tickets for a dollar with 30 tickets in it. 3 ½ cents a ticket. Mama never gave Billy and me but 10 cents for our lunch in the cafeteria. Even in those hellacious days, 10 cents bought almost nothing. Some time, when Mama gave me a nickel for bus fare I would spend my nickel for a Milky Way bar and walk home. I thought nothing of walking 3 ¾ miles to home.

I remember when the Confederate veterans walked up Broad St. on Confederate Memorial day. Then I saw them carried on the backs of big trucks and later in closed sedans. I remember the last time there were Confederate veterans at all. The usual Confederate Memorial service was held in the Springer Opera House. Mr. Woodall, from The Enquirer, sat on the stage with them. I did not know him then except through his “Good Morning” column daily in The Enquirer. When I was 10 years old, Daisy came out on the front porch early one morning, took the Enquirer out of my hand and said, “Son, always read the editorial page first and the most important thing on this page is Mr. Woodall’s Good Morning column.” From then to now I still turn to the editorial page.

The editor of The Enquirer was then Julian Harris, son of Joel Chandler Harris. The office was on 11th St. between Broad and First Ave., near the Presbyterian Church. The Enquirer was one of the greatest papers in the south. It was founded by Mirabeau B. Lamar who went west to take part in the rebellion of Texas against Mexico. Mr. Lamar became the second President of the Republic of Texas. His wife, Tabitha, would not go with him there. She stayed behind and died in Columbus. She is buried in Linwood Cemetery. I have visited her grave in honor of her famous husband.

Comments about her brother from Margie Stillwell:

Paul was born June 29, 1913, died June 21, 1982. He and I were the only ones in our family that didn't have a middle name. He was a very special brother and he and I were big buddies. When I was in high school my friend, Edith Scott and I were the only ones that didn't have a middle name. So I told her I was going to adopt me one and it was going to be Betty. She thought that was a wonderful idea but she liked the name Betty, too. So she became Betty Edith Scott and I became Marjorie Betty Lupo for years. When I told Paul about it he decided to adopt one also and he picked Calvin. We had fun with those middle names for years.

Paul was a fun brother and he took me to the library and picked out books for me to read for years. He had a habit of getting tickled about things and one night at church we were having a revival with a guest speaker. He was sitting on the pew in front of me with his friends and all of a sudden I saw his shoulders shaking and I knew he was laughing at something. He turned around and told me to look up on the altar and there was our dog Jr. that never went anywhere walking around on the altar. It took us a long time to get over that.

He and I used to go walking up and down on Broad Street in Columbus a lot. Sometime we would pass close to a man or boy and he would say, "Hi George". He didn't know him from mud and he did it all the time. Later on he called me one night to tell me their baby had come. I asked him his name and he said "George"! Well I just busted out laughing, I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't.

One of my favorite things about Paul was how he helped me learn Expression Pieces. I was about 6 or 7 when I first started taking those Expression Lessons. And I think the very first one was about a little girl and her brother. It started off with me saying, "Say Freddy, are you awake?" "Yes, Nelly", "Where's your head?" "It's under all the covers, but I aint a speck afraid". Well about a month or two before he died he was working as Night Clerk at Colonial Heights VA Motel. Well I waited until a little after eleven when I knew he would answer the phone and I said, "Say Freddie, are you awake" In about a minute he said "Yes, Nelly" and I said "Where's your head?" And he said "It's under all the covers but I ain't a speck afraid"-After all that time and he still remembered. It's one of my favorite things about him.