Uncle Jimmy never got into any serious trouble, nor was he getting into any “necessary trouble,” to quote the late Congressman John Lewis. No, Uncle Jimmy was mischievous, maybe even a little contrary. He made my father (his younger brother) and my mother shake their heads. I think he might best be described as a “character.”
Uncle Jimmy (Charleton Joshua Williams Sr. aka Charles James Williams) was born 13 May 1897 in Live Oak, Suwannee County, Florida. He was my grandparents’ second child, after my aunt, Lute Odette Williams (Aunt Lutie). I am really not sure how he got the nickname “Jimmy.” I remember asking once, but no one seemed to know. It has been lost to the ages.
Around 1900, the family moved to New York, then to Jersey City, New Jersey. Aunt Lutie said they played with the children in the area regularly, sometimes that meant a good fight. One of the favorite neighborhood activities was baseball, really more stickball. One story that she told was about a time Uncle jimmy had been forbidden to go out and play. However, Uncle Jimmy could not be trusted to be obedient. So, his mother, put a dress on him. She reasoned that he would not be willing to go out dressed as a girl. Uncle Jimmy would not be deterred. At some point his mother realized that he was too quiet. Every parent knows trouble is not far when a child becomes too quiet. After checking everywhere in the house, but not finding him, she looked out the window. Much to her chagrin, there he was, “running bases and sliding into home,” in the dress! Of course, his joy at sliding into home was short-lived. His mother was striding towards him. He took off for home, but it was too late. He was sitting on pillows for the next few days, not sliding into bases.
Behind where the family lived in Jersey City was Morris Canal. As was wont to happen from time to time, children and others fell into the canal. Once again, Uncle Jimmy had been told not to leave the house and not to go near the canal. However, looking out and seeing his friends out playing was just too much temptation. His friends were not just playing ball, they were playing by the canal. Those who could swim were even jumping in. Presumably, it was summertime and hot; kids wanted to cool off. There were two problems with regard to Uncle Jimmy: he’d been told to stay away from the canal and he couldn’t swim. Somehow Uncle Jimmy ended up falling into the canal. Aunt Lutie was screaming for their mother to come. Hearing the commotion, she came running out of the building. “Oh my God! Please, please save my boy!” “Please,” she pleaded, “Save my son!” Fortunately, someone did help him out of the canal. “Thank God,” my grandmother exclaimed with relief – as she reached for a board and chased Uncle Jimmy back home, scolding him all the way for his disobedience. More pillow time followed.
I’m not sure Uncle Jimmy ever really ceased being that headstrong boy that he was growing up. My grandfather was known to have to visit the principal to discuss Uncle Jimmy’s behavior from time to time. Although Uncle Jimmy had gone to John Keasbey Brick Agricultural and Normal School, in Enfield, North Carolina, he left before graduating to join his father “on the Road,” working as a waiter on various railroad lines from Florida to New York, eventually working exclusively for the New York and New Haven Railroad. One would think after being on his feet all day on the railroad he would want to do something more sedentary on his days off. Not so.
Uncle Jimmy liked to walk. He would walk long distances. We lived in Queens in New York City, but he thought nothing about walking over the bridge into Manhattan, wandering around “the City” as we called it, sightseeing and people watching. Sometimes he would take his dog with him. One summer day, he decided to walk over to the City with his dog, despite the fact that it was a very hot day. Late in the day Uncle Jimmy came by to see my father. Uncle Jimmy was irritated. While he was out walking, he caught the attention of a policeman. He wasn’t doing anything criminal. He was walking. With his dog. That was the problem. The policeman noticed that the dog, not Uncle Jimmy, was panting hard and clearly exhausted. The policeman asked Uncle Jimmy how far he had been walking. He told him he had walked over the bridge from Queens. The policeman was shocked. He asked “Can’t you see your dog is exhausted?” I’m not sure the policeman had any water, but he called a taxi over and told Uncle Jimmy he was to take the dog home and give him water. He threatened to take him and charge him with animal cruelty if he ever saw the dog suffering again. Truthfully, it’s New York, the chances that they would cross paths again were slim to none. Nevertheless, after my father chastised him, Uncle Jimmy finally agreed he would not walk the dog over the bridge again, no matter the weather.
All that aside, it was Uncle Jimmy’s final years that were most troubling and sometimes troublesome. Uncle Jimmy had been an alcoholic for years. I would say he was primarily a “maintenance” drinker. He drank all the time, but was completely functional (not to worry, he didn’t drive a car). I’m sure he drank more on his days off, but he always held things together. Unfortunately, his body was not in agreement. Uncle Jimmy had a cerebral aneurysm, after which he spent time at the State Hospital at Creedmoor. He recovered and returned home. Now retired, he took shorter walks, but otherwise stayed home most of the time. `Then came the first of several 911 calls.
Uncle Jimmy’s wife and son had died several years before, so I’m not sure who made the call the first time Uncle Jimmy went to hospital under curious circumstances. Since my father was Uncle Jimmy’s designated next of kin, the hospital called him. The doctor explained that when the ambulance arrived at the hospital (Elmhurst Hospital), he pronounced Uncle Jimmy dead and had his body in a cubicle to wait for attendants to prepare to move him to the morgue. However, the Emergency Room was busy. They did not attend to Uncle Jimmy right away. When an attendant went to see after his body, they found the bed empty. The attendant began asking if anyone had seen what happened to him. Another patient said they had seen him go down the hall. They found him — very much alive. After checking him over and finding nothing remarkable, the doctor released him. My father took him home. Over the next few months these bizarre events repeated themselves. Eventually, my father became quite matter-of-fact about the calls saying Uncle Jimmy had passed. Now my father would say, “just give it a few minutes.” The doctors usually thought my father was being unkind, unfeeling. Then, the doctor in question would call back, saying he hadn’t believed my father initially, but yes, Uncle Jimmy had come around and was alive. I didn’t know it then, nor do I think my parents knew that this phenomenon had a name: Lazarus Syndrome, after the biblical story of the raising of Lazarus. I have no idea if the doctors ever identified the phenomenon or reported it. However, rather than thinking something divine was happening, we were amused by the various doctors who were rattled by Uncle Jimmy’s dying and rising again, and again.
At some point, Uncle Jimmy’s overall health began to decline. He was hospitalized at Creedmoor again. Finally, early one morning in April 1977 (correction, 1978) a call came saying that Uncle Jimmy had died. Typically, my father responded that the doctor simply needed to wait a few more minutes. This time the doctor said no, he was dead. My father was shocked. He got out of bed, dressed, and headed to the hospital to identify Uncle Jimmy’s body. Sadly, there would be no resurrection that morning.
Uncle Jimmy was buried in the Williams family plot in Mount Olivet Cemetery, Maspeth, Queens, New York.
 History of Mount Olivet Cemetery. (n.d.). Mount Olivet Cemetery. Again, no one is sure how or why some records, including his death certificate and thus name in the cemetery, were recorded as Charles James Williams. Retrieved from: http://www.mountolivetcemeterynyc.com/
Aunt Lutie, as we called her, was my father’s sister. She was ten years older than he. I adored her. It really made her happy that I was interested in the family history. She said she was just like me, asking her (paternal) grandmother questions all the time. When I was still very young, maybe nine or ten years old, she wrote out much of the family history, complete with biblical “begats.” Much of what she told me I have been able to verify. It’s safe to say that I got the genealogy bug from her.
Aunt Lutie, herself, was born on 25 August 1894, in Live Oak, Suwannee, Florida. She was the first-born child of William Gainer Williams and his wife Lela Virginia Farnell Williams. They had married on 12 February 1893, in Live Oak. Live Oak is the county seat of Suwannee County and in the early 1900s was being considered for the state capital. Although in the northern part of the state, it is halfway between Jacksonville and Tallahassee, but more importantly, it was a railroad hub with rail lines from throughout the state all converging there, in Live Oak. Live Oak was also on the Suwannee river, with so many sulfur springs nearby that tourists flocked to the many hotels and resorts erected specifically to accommodate them. Alas, political machinations outmaneuvered those in support of Live Oak, thus making Tallahassee the final choice. Live Oak was also the original home of a state legislated normal school for students of color, that later moved to Miami and is now Florida Memorial University, and the original home of the AME Church sponsored school that would become Edward Waters College, now in Jacksonville.
Live Oak would become notorious for two dark events. One was the trial of Ruby McCollum for the murder of a white doctor. Her trial was covered by Zora Neale Hurston for the Pittsburgh Courier, a nationally distributed and heralded African American newspaper. Her story has been the subject of boks and documentaries, including a PBS special. The second event had a more immediate family impact. In 1944, a 15-year-old, African American boy, Willie James Howard was lynched for sending a Christmas card to a white girl. That event spurred our cousin and her husband, LouDavis Farnell Randolph and James Randolph to send their teenage son Clark away for his safety.
Aunt Lutie was surrounded by family in her early years. She lived near both her maternal and paternal grandparents. Her mother was the daughter of Randel Farnell and Sallie Jacobs Farnell. They had four children together: Maryland, William, Jack and Lela. Sallie had also had two other children: Anna (“Sis”) and Richard (“Dick”). Thus, there were aunts and uncles and cousins living nearby. Although a few had moved to Jacksonville, they came home often to visit. Lutie did not know her paternal grandfather, Joshua W. Williams. He had died 31 May 1893, a year before she was born, but her paternal grandmother, Ellin Wilson (aka Gainer) Williams, along with her father’s siblings all lived nearby. In addition, Ellin’s sister, Carry Manker and her family also lived close by. However, when Lutie was about 5 years old, family life changed.
She was never quite sure of the details, but apparently her father, my grandfather, William, got into some sort of altercation (possibly related to a woman, wouldn’t you know) and the entire family, Ellin, Williams, and all the siblings moved to New York City. They never returned to Florida to live, although Lutie at least, returned to visit her maternal grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
Once in New York, they settled into life in walk-up apartments instead of the single-family homes they had known in Florida. Still, they were near each other. Lutie said that they lived in a small apartment, along with some cousins, “Tunk” and “Moore,” and as she put it, “they even had the nerve to have a boarder.” “Tunk” was possibly the “T. Davis,” nephew, living with Carry Manker, Ellin Williams’ sister on the 1885 Florida State census. I’ve not been able to find him beyond that. “Moore” was probably Walter Moore, the husband of Ellin’s niece, Christina Manker.
In 1900, according to the census, William, Lela, Lutie, and younger brothers Charleton (“Jimmy”), and William Jr. lived on West 134th St., in New York City. My father wasn’t born yet. However, a Joshua Jackson, “cousin,” was living in the home. According to the census he was born in Arkansas, but his parents were born in “SC” as were William’s. I remember telling Aunt Lutie about this and asking her about him. She said she had no idea because, in fact, he was not living there. I tried to insist, but she said the apartment was tiny and cramped and she knew perfectly well who was, and who was not, living there, and he was not living there. She was adamant, and I did not pursue it further. I did ask if she remembered him at all, but she said no. I would find information after many years searching that potentially identified him, but his exact relationship to the family is still unclear.
In the 1905 New Jersey state census, Lutie is found living with her grandmother, Ellin, and aunts and uncles: Calvin, Joshua, Edward, Jessie (called “Missy”), and May (Iva Mae, or “Babe”), and a boarder, Thomas Manns, on Woodward Street. in Jersey City. Noticeable was the absence of her mother, father, brother Charleton (“Jimmy”), and baby brother, Herbert (“Herbie”), my father. Her brother William Jr. had died in 1902, while still a baby. So where might they have been?
My grandfather, William, was a waiter on the railroad, primarily the New York Central and New Haven lines. His absence does not seem unusual. He could easily have been “on the road” when the census taker came around, but where were the others? It seemed logical that wherever Lela was, “Jimmy” and “Herbie” were because they were still young. Jimmy would have been eight years old, but Herbie would have been a baby, only about a year old. Why was Lutie left behind? No idea. She was school age, maybe Lela felt she needed to stay and attend school. Then why wasn’t Jimmy left behind to attend school? Again, no idea. In fact, I have yet to locate them in a document, but I do have an idea where they may have been.
Aunt Lutie told me that her maternal grandmother, Sallie Jacobs Farnell, died from tuberculosis when my father, Herbie, was still in arms, in other words, less than two years old. I also knew that her maternal grandfather, Sallie’s husband, Randel Farnell, remarried 26 December1907 (Priscilla Vickers). Thus, I believe that Lela, Jimmy, and Herbie had gone to Florida because Lela’s mother was dying or had died. For whatever reason, Lutie was left behind with her paternal grandmother, aunts and uncles.
Lutie and her brother Jimmy would be sent to attend Joseph Keasbey Brick Agricultural, Industrial, and Normal School, a two-year college run by the American Missionary Association in Enfield, North Carolina. Today it is known as the Franklinton Center. Lela was a strong proponent of education. She had attended Florida Normal and Industrial School, in Tallahassee, Florida, today known as Florida A&M University. Their father, William, attended Edward Waters College, associated with the AME Church. Lutie was not happy. She said she couldn’t relate to southern culture and did not get along with her classmates who were from the South primarily. On the other hand, her brother, Jimmy, was comfortable and stayed longer, although I have not determined whether he graduated. Back home in New Jersey, Lutie worked in her mother’s dressmaking business, but decided what she really wanted was to become a nurse. She was planning to attend the Lincoln Hospital School of Nursing when, sadly, her mother, Lela died on Palm Sunday, 28 March 1914. According to Lela’s death certificate she had polycystic kidneys. Lutie remembered that her mother was in excruciating pain before her death. Lela was buried in New York Bay Cemetery, in Jersey City. Lutie’s nursing school plans were finished. She was now the de facto head of the family. Her father moved to Manhattan where he pursued his own interests.
Lutie went to work as a waitress to help support her younger brothers. Soon Jimmy joined his father in the railroad dining cars, leaving just Lutie and Herbie. Herbie remembered her being a tough taskmaster, using a souvenir circus whip to “spank” him when he was defiant. He said that one day when he had had enough, so while she was at work, he took the whip and buried it where she was not likely to find it. As she recounted to me that she had on one occasion reached for the whip in its usual place to discipline my father, but found it missing, my father suddenly began chuckling. Then, he said, “I buried it.” She was shocked. Then laughing she said she always wondered what happened to it. He retorted that he was sick of her hitting him, so he buried it. She just shrugged her shoulders and smiled.
Aunt Lutie would say that she had to be tough since she grew up with two brothers and their friends. She loved playing baseball with them, hiking up her long skirts so that she could run the bases efficiently. My father admitted also that she was the one person he had never been able to beat in a fight. Even as an older woman, getting off the bus wearing her high heels, she was not afraid to face down anyone who attempted to accost her. In fact, she kept a small knife in a special pocket she had sewn into the lining of each of her coats. She was in her eighties the last time someone attempted to take her purse as she got off the bus. “Come on,” she taunted. “Come on, I got something for ya,” she said as she planted her feet in a wide, but clearly solid stance. Apparently, her would-be assailant was stunned by her brazen confrontation and he took off. Disaster averted. She was just as prepared for intruders at home as assailants on the street. She slept with a machete, given to her by a friend who brought it back from the Philippines. When reflecting on the law that said one couldn’t kill a potential intruder unless they were inside your home and posing an imminent threat, she announced, “Don’t worry, he’ll be inside the house by the time the police get here,” … and “if anyone tries to come through my (bedroom) window, I’ve got something for him,” referring to the machete.
After the death of their mother, Lutie and her brothers had continued to live in the home at 246 Van Horne St. However, she couldn’t keep up the expenses of home ownership alone, on a waitress’ salary. Lutie said that the family that bought the home soon left themselves. She said that the new owners complained that there was a woman who appeared on the stairs and kept reaching for their (the new owners’) son. Lutie surmised that it was Lela, trying to reach for Herbie, her favorite and youngest child. The owners decided they could not stay and thus sold the house, moving elsewhere, away from the ghostly woman.
Lutie was invited to work at a clothing Factory, in New York. However, she did not like the working conditions and she refused to return. Instead, she worked in restaurants and finally landed a very good job working for a private family. Eventually, she would become the head housekeeper and companion to a “spinster lady,” Helen Graff. Miss Graff, or “Miss Helen” as we called her, was independently wealthy. Typical of many wealthy women of her time, she had no career, but spent her time involved with volunteer work or traveling. Aunt Lutie ran the household that included about three in regular staff, including a chauffeur, but also hired additional personnel when needed. She had her own bedroom there, which she used primarily for her scheduled afternoon naps (I suspect those didn’t come about until later years), but stayed over if holiday or other entertaining lasted too late in the evening to travel across town to her own home. As her companion, she traveled with “Miss Helen” on her many motor trips in the US and Canada. On the other hand, Aunt Lutie didn’t like boats, so no cruises, nor would she fly, so no trips to Europe. If Miss Helen took any of those trips, Aunt Lutie stayed behind taking this vacation time to travel to Florida to visit family. Miss Helen was kind to me as well. She often invited my parents and me to special events, and even to come visit when there were no events. I liked her. She and Aunt Lutie remained together until Miss Helen died in August of 1969. At that time, Aunt Lutie retired to baseball games and cooking the fresh fish caught by her friend Bill on his fishing trips.
Lutie married Guy Mann on 22 Oct 1919, in New York. They were compatible in the beginning, or so she thought, but slowly there was a wedge between them. Guy became controlling and jealous. He insisted all her money should be turned over to him. She disagreed. Ever resourceful, she had hidden some of her earnings in a separate bank account – and a gun under the stairway runner. So, when he became abusive and threatening, she reached for that gun and dared him to stop her. She told him she had had enough, and he needed to go. This time, he did. She never married again. I knew she had a long-time companion, Jimmy Tate. Jimmy wanted to marry her, and he maintained hope right to his death, but she never relented. I believe he died in the 60s or possibly 70s, but I haven’t been able to identify with certainty his date of death. I asked her one time why she never married Jimmy. She said that she prayed to God to rescue her from her marriage to Guy Mann, promising that if he did, she would never marry again. She said she planned to keep that vow. She did. Some years after Jimmy was dead, her friend Bill found himself without family or assistance as he recovered from a hospitalization. She offered for him to come stay at her house where she could help him with some every day tasks and home health aides and visiting nurses would help with his medical needs. They were good friends and even after he regained his health, she allowed him to stay on, giving each of them the gift of companionship so many elders miss.
Aunt Lutie outlived both of her brothers. Jimmy died in 1977, and Herbie died in 1982. In late 1984, early 1985, now 90 years of age, Aunt Lutie began to have increased problems with her health. By mid-May she was hospitalized. The doctors determined that she had major vascular blockages in one of her legs and recommended amputation. True to her spunky style she began talking about learning to walk again with a prosthesis with enthusiasm. Then the doctors decided that the other leg was also a problem. Perhaps they would need to amputate that one as well. She was less enthusiastic about that prospect, but still optimistic. However, by early June, the doctors came back to say they would not be amputating the other leg because her overall cardiovascular health was so bad they did not feel there was anything they really could do to help her. This was a terrible blow. I made my regular bi-weekly visit, but did not find her to be despondent. I believe she may have had more candid conversations with my mother on her private visits. Still, I believe we both knew my visit around 8th or 9th of June would be our last. I wanted to hold on to a slim hope that I would see her again, but on the morning of the 14th, my mother called me at my home in Maryland to tell me Aunt Lutie was gone and that I should come home immediately. My mother told me that a neighbor and good friend had been with her all day the day before (the 13th) and that Aunt Lutie seemed to be praying earnestly for God to take her home. Sometime in the early to mid-evening he did just that. A few days later we had a simple funeral, presided over by the minister at Salem Baptist Church, the church her mother had considered her home congregation. She was buried with her parents, William G. William and Lela V. Farnell Williams in New York Bay Cemetery, in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty, in Jersey City. Bill continued to live in the home until he died two years later. He was buried in New York Bay Cemetery as well.
There has not been a day that I have not missed Aunt Lutie. Her spunk and independence provided great examples for me. She was my buddy. She was window into the past. I miss her. I wish she was here to share my genealogy discoveries and to hear her insights. I know she is looking down, but I surely would love to talk with her.
 Williams, M. (1990). Lela Virginia Farnell Williams (1876-1914): An Early Student at the State Normal College for Colored Students, Tallahassee, Florida, Journal of the Afro-American Historical and Genealogical Society, volume 11, number 4.