New monument reminds me of parents' heroic lives

Although I had seen photos of the new “Dignity of Work” monument in front of the Burke County Museum of History, I was not prepared for the emotional impact it would have on me when I first viewed it up close and personal.

As I stood in front of it, in the warm sun of a late April noon, I was moved to tears as I considered the very real fact that the monument represents my family, my roots, and in so many ways, the man I am today.

My blood is equal parts sawdust and cotton lint; the sawdust coming from my daddy’s side and the cotton lint from my mama’s.

Where to start?

Mama grew up on a cotton farm in Rutherford County, the eldest of 13 siblings.

Her stories of toiling under the late summer sun, picking row after row of cotton until her fingers ached and bled and her shoulders grew weary from the weight of the bag, were the staples of my childhood.

She told those stories when I or my older brothers complained about the drudgery of a few hours spent shucking corn or stringing and breaking green beans during the summer canning season.

In her late teens, weary of being a surrogate mother for her younger siblings and beaten down by the harsh realities of farm life, she fled north to Drexel.

Her first cousin, Verna, had also made a run from the farm and had found work in Drexel Hosiery Mill. Mama joined her on the production line and the pair of young women shared a small apartment.

Both found the hosiery mill, despite the noise, the heat, and the repetitive work to be a virtual paradise compared to the sunrise to sundown drudgery of farm life.

And then there was my dad.

Born in 1912, he was the son of one of Drexel Furniture’s original employees, my grandfather, John Poteat.

Grandpa John was a cabinet maker for Drexel, a skilled and proud artisan.

Tragedy struck the family in 1915 when my grandmother died in a flu epidemic. My dad was not yet three years old.

Family legend has it that Grandpa John used to take the toddler to work with him and hide him in drawers and closets during the work day.

At age 12, having completed just seven grades of formal education, my dad, who by his own confession was “wild as a buck,” joined his dad in the Drexel workforce. And yes, in 1927, it was perfectly legal for a child to work in a dangerous furniture shop.

The furniture worker and the hosiery mill worker married in 1935.

Dad served his country proudly in the Army Air Corps during World War II, and then sired three sons, the last of whom was me.

Sometime after the war, he made the transition from the factory floor to the corporate office, running the busy mailroom, supervising the night custodial staff, and also driving Drexel salesmen and executives back and forth from the Charlotte airport during market season.

That furniture worker and hosiery mill worker are, and always will be, the shining examples upon which I have based my life.

That taught me, through living example, the value of work, of self-reliance, and of striving to better yourself, no matter the hand you’re dealt.

They also taught me the value of education, insisting always that their life would not be my life.

I owe them a debt I can never repay.

The “Dignity of Work” monument reminds me of that debt, reminds me of my heritage, and reminds me of just what heroes my mama and daddy were.

Bill Poteat, who toiled one college summer in the finishing room of Drexel Furniture, and one college summer “tailing” a corrugator at Dixie Container, may be reached at 828-445-8595 or bill@thepaper.media.