Myrt

Myrtle Masters (1892-1990)

In my teenage years, we had a bit of transition of sorts as we moved from Kirby, WV, in August of 1985.  The following year was somewhat chaotic, as I felt uprooted and somewhat confused concerning my situation.  However, about 10 months later, we encountered an individual who would endear herself to both Mom and me, and it ended up being three of the best years of my life that ensued as a result.  Myrtle Masters was truly a one-of-a-kind lady, and I want to talk a little bit about her.

My memory is not quite as precise on the details of Myrtle's life, but as I can recollect here are the basics.  On April 26, 1892, "Myrt" was born in Wetzel County, WV, to Rufus and Mary Ellen (Round) Creamer.  Somehow she ended up in Preston County, where she married Walter E. Masters (1895-1968), with whom she had six children.  For the majority of her adult life, "Myrt" lived in and around the vicinity between the towns of Rowlesburg and Terra Alta, and sometime much later her eldest son Earl (or "Bud," as everyone called him) bought an old farmhouse on Salt Lick Road, which he renovated and made a home for her.  It was at this house that we came to live for several years of our lives, and now to tell you how that happened. 

As mentioned, we had finally moved out of the town of Kirby in August of 1985 after more or less hitting bottom at the time.  I had just finished up middle school the previous year, and was on the cusp of starting my first year of high school as a freshman, but the summer of 1985 was rough on us - we had no income to speak of, and had it not been for some homemade drop biscuits and some nightly raids on the neighbor's gardens (as well as the good charity of a local Methodist Church and their foodbank in Romney), we would have probably starved.  The bottom line was, it was just time to move.  So, in August we moved in with my grandmother and step-grandfather Lonnie, who had recently moved themselves into a new house near the community of Baker, and it was quite a transition for us.  Then, in November of that year, the Great Flood struck, devastating much of West Virginia.  Not too long after the Flood, my step-grandfather had fallen out with the landlord - a crotchety old man - of the house he and my grandmother leased in Baker and we ended up all having to move.  Interesting enough, my stepgrandfather Lonnie's elder brother Lee had recently passed away, and his sister Betty let Lonnie know that Lee's old house, which was across the street from where she lived in Rowlesburg, WV, was available to rent and in November around Thanksgiving we moved in.  Although it was good to be out of Hampshire County at that time and closer to my own roots, it was not an easy transition.  As a matter of fact, it was honestly a living hell during that time for me, and I was probably the most miserable I had been in a long time.  

While living in Rowlesburg with my grandparents, Mom had heard from someone that an elderly man who lived across the Cheat River in the subdivision of Mannheim needed care.  The man was an 88-year-old fellow in declining health by the name of Webster Bolyard, and Mom accepted the job in April of 1986 and we were able to live in the house.  However, as his health was rapidly declining, "Webby" as we called him didn't live but two months after we came, and he passed away that June.  However, thankfully, one of his daughters, Dorothy, had an opportunity for Mom - turns out her elderly mother-in-law, who at the time was 94, needed a live-in caretaker, and she thought Mom and I would be perfect.  This lady lived up Salt Lick Road, away from Rowlesburg and closer to Terra Alta, and where she lived was out in the country area.  Dorothy's husband was the aforementioned Bud Masters, and his mother was Myrt.  So, in June of that year, we made the move, and that would begin a 3-year part of my life that would entail some of my best memories, but it did get off to a rough start.

When Mom first moved to Myrt's, I was miserable - the past year had been chaotic anyway, as it had entailed 4 moves (from Kirby to Baker, Baker to Rowlesburg, from my grandmother's place in Rowlesburg to Webby Bolyard's in Mannheim, and now to Salt Lick), two schools (I started my freshman year of high school at East Hardy in Baker, and finished it out at Rowlesburg High School), a major flood, and a lot of mental processing of all the above.  As a result of the Flood too, most of my freshman year of high school was spent in Kingwood on the Buckwheat Festival Grounds, where Rowlesburg School had to set up shop after the high school building was totally destroyed by the Flood.  In short, it was miserable!  And now, here I was stuck out in the boonies in a remote farmhouse, with only one day a week to get out and go to Terra Alta to the grocery store.  If it wasn't for three things - my new-found Christianity, as I was baptized earlier that year, as well as my record collection and a nice diversion that summer at church camp in Cowan, WV - I would have cracked hard.  Thanks be to God though for his mercy, but on the positive it would get much better as I began to settle in and find my niche.  

Since Myrt is the centerpiece of this story, let's talk some more about her.  For a nonagenarian, Myrt was actually a sharp lady and loved life.  It was actually quite easy to get her amused, and she would often giggle so much that her bladder would give way and she would dribble a little (it's a little embarrassing, probably to her as well, but as one gets older these things do happen to even the best).  As I got to spend more time with her, she became like a second grandmother to me - I had just lost my Granny, who had passed away, and it was as if God was blessing me with someone to fill that void.  And, she (as well as most of her family) sort of adopted me too - I was "her boy" and Mom was her "old woman."  I remember sitting with her reading books to her, as well as often just talking.  Another trait Myrt had then was her snuff - she used this stuff called "Square Snuff" (we used to call it granny-snuff, as many old ladies used it, including my own paternal grandmother) which looked like a small can of cocoa.  She also would tell a lot of her own stories too - a lot about her late husband Walter, as well as some other amusing anecdotes about her kids, etc.  On occasion too, she did some amusing things we'll talk about next.

While we lived at Myrt's, Mom and I had the two upstairs bedrooms - Mom's was on the north side, and mine on the south.  Myrt slept downstairs in a room south of the front entrance, just under my room.  Occasionally at night, I would have to take a visit downstairs to the bathroom, and on occasion Myrt would sometimes get the urge to get a little snack - usually a piece of bread or a cookie or something - in the middle of the night.  This one particular night I recall making a trip down to the bathroom, and I heard something rustling around down there.  Now, to get to the bathroom in this house, you had to go through the living room, then turn right into the kitchen, and go straight back.  Bud had added the bathroom on not long after he purchased the house, as the original place had been built some years before indoor plumbing and no bathroom had existed.  Any rate, at the entrance to the kitchen, on the left there was a gas stove in the corner, and behind that stove was a magazine box.  The noise I was hearing was coming from the vicinity of that magazine box too.  So, being ever-cautious, I grabbed a broom, and then groped in the dark for a light - I was thinking a rat or something had gotten into the house, and I was going to take care of business.  When I turned on the light, there was Myrt, behind the stove almost marching into the paper box!  She had gotten up for a midnight snack and had somehow made a wrong turn, and got herself backed into the corner.  Luckily I did turn on the light first though, because I almost clobbered her thinking she was a rat!

Myrt, as mentioned, also had some amusing stories, such as the time she shooed a groundhog (she thought it was a rat) out of the house with a broom, or the time she first saw a Black man on a train headed for Baltimore when she was a little girl and it about scared her to death.  For her age too, she did really nicely healthwise, although it was almost amusing when she saw another elderly person  (usually one younger than she was!) and would pitifully say, "Aww, the poor distressed thing!"   She could also be a little precocious, and I have to admit I egged that on sometimes - such as the time we all went up to Terra Alta for an ice cream at the Dairy Queen, and Myrt was making fun of some big old woman with dirty feet who had come in - she got easily amused at funny feet, and she'd often exclaim "Look at that woman's feets!" Opal, her daughter who was also our main source of transportation for a couple of years, would often roll her eyes (usually quietly amused herself) and say, "Damn, I can't take these kids anywhere!"  Also, there was the nearby Amish Farmer's Market in Oakland, MD.  On occasion, we'd go over there, and Myrt loved going there for one reason and one reason alone - the candy!  That place did (and still does) have one of the largest selections of just abuot any kind of candy that can be imagine, and usually upon taking Myrt shopping, she would be sampling a lot of it too.  Myrt did have a sweet tooth too I recall, although she never over-indulged nor was she at risk for diabetes.  As a matter of fact, other than some potassium and other vitamins, as well as maybe one or two prescription meds, Myrt was doing really well healthwise.  That is, until around 1989.

Around 1988 or so, a strange growth had begun to appear on Myrt's neck, but at first no one thought much of it.   However it began to grow and had a nasty look about it, and it was in early 1989 that it was officially diagnosed as a cancer.  Although I was off at my first year of college in Florida in the fall of 1989, I did still come home on Christmas and during the summer months, and in June 1990 I came home for the summer and noted Myrt was not herself.  She was going to the doctor more frequently, and was getting much weaker.  Due to the size of that tumor on her neck, she also took to wearing cloths around her throat to keep people from seeing it, as it was quite large.  By mid-June, she had to be admitted to the hospital in Oakland, and after she was admitted there her health rapidly declined to the point she could not talk - it was so difficult to see her like that, knowing the sharp,vibrant soul she was.  Any rate, on June 21, 1990, Myrt went on to her eternal reward, less than 2 months after her 98th birthday.  I remember the day of her funeral well too - at the same time, my former pastor, Frank Brubaker, was on vacation and I was filling in both at Hopemont Hospital (where he was resident chaplain) and at the church for him while he was gone.  After I did the service that Sunday morning, we went straight to Myrt's funeral up at the old Pine Grove Church on Salt Lick - although the local Methodist pastor did the service, her long-time minister and friend Rev. Dunson was there too.  The day was rainy, and I recall it being both somber but at the same time very reflecting, as people remembered Myrt's life.  Also, for me, it was as if an era of my own life had come to an end too with her passing, and it was a good part of my life I hated to see end.  

Although Myrt was gone, for many years I still stayed close to the family - Opal and I always talked, and Myrt's oldest daughter Wiliavene (or "Aunt Jim" as we affectionately called her) was like my own aunt too.  For many years as a matter of fact, I got birthday cards, boxes of cookies, and other letters and such from all of them too.  However, all of Myrt's kids were in their 60's and 70's back then too, and in recent years they have all gone onto their eternal rewards as well - I miss them all as much as I did Myrt, as overall they were a great family of people.  But, I still have many fond memories of them all, as they became my family as well.  Rest eternal Myrt, and behave yourself up there until we see you again!