The History of Gipson Hill
As a young man, my Great Great Grandfather fought in the battle of Yorktown in the Revolutionary War. He eventually settled in Orangeburg South Carolina, married (twice) and raised a very large family. His eldest son, Lewis Erasmus Gibson, heeded the call of early 1800s to “go west young man”. He took his family, two of his brothers and headed for the frontier and eventually settled on what was originally Butler County but is now Crenshaw County. He survived the yellow fever epidemic of the 1850s but unfortunately, his young family did not. They are now buried in unmarked graves, long over taken by forest. Lewis Erasmus remarried and had 2 more sons, the eldest being my grandfather, Lewis Henry Gipson. Lewis Erasmus died in 1870. He and his wife Mariah are buried in the old cemetery at Vernledge on US 331 a few miles from the farm.
Lewis died when my grandfather was just a young boy leaving his young wife Mariah to raise 2 sons in the postwar reconstruction era of the south. A small woman, not even 5 feet in height, she ruled 2 boys and a couple of field hands with an iron fist. At the age of 12 my grandfather was taking wagonloads of cotton to the cotton gin in Greenville. Greenville at that time was a 2 day trip by wagon. They would go as far as Pigeon Creek in Butler county, spend the night by the creek and then go on in to Greenville the next day. After selling and getting whatever price they could, the same 2 day trip was made back to the farm again.
By necessity, my grandfather learned at an early age what today would be called good “people skills” and developed quite a head for business. By 1900, “Mr. Henry” as the locals called him, had grown the original land holdings into a farm of about 1200 acres. His farm was called the Gipson District and the homestead known as Gipson Hill. Numerous families lived and worked different sections of the farm. Many of these families survived into my adulthood and I never tired of hearing their stories about my grandparents, aunts and uncles. Throughout the years my grandfather served on numerous county commissions and developed lifelong friends such as Dr. Marvin Kendrick Sr., Judge Thaggard of Crenshaw County and Judge Poole of Butler County.
He married as a young man to Lucy Jones. Their eldest son, Lester fought with the Rainbow Division in France during WWI and later died from injuries suffered there. Their daughter Lillian became a long time schoolteacher in Rutledge and Luverne. Lillian’s daughter is Mrs. Faye Harbin who still resides in Luverne. After having another son John and a daughter Mamie, Miss Lucy died at an early age.
Following in his father and grandfather’s footsteps, Mr. Henry married a second time (at the age of 38) to 18 year old Maude Welch. They produced 7 more children, Duke Gipson, Grace Gipson Thompson, Trinner Gipson Wilkins, Billy Gipson, Ford Gipson, Florence Gipson Vann and at the age of 61 he became a father for the last time when my father Charles was born.
When my father was barely a year old, the KKK had taken one of my grandfather’s workers from the worker’s house and beat him so severely he almost died. Straight away my grandfather had the people involved arrested and tried in the County Court system. In retaliation, the cowards in white sheets and masks came to Gipson Hill in the middle of the night and burned Mr. Henry’s barn to the ground killing his animals and burning his equipment and carriages. Never one to back down from a fight, Mr. Henry and the local sheriff caught the next train to Montgomery and enlisted the help of the State Fire Marshall and the State Attorney General. Charges were once again brought against the KKK in Crenshaw County and this time the good guys won. In 1926, Collier’s Weekly out of New York City wrote a 3 part article on the situation and the part Mr. Henry played in bringing the KKK to justice. They called Mr. Henry “a REAL man”.
When world war broke out again, Mr. Henry again contributed his sons, Billy fought with the Luverne National Guard in New Guinea and southeast Asia, Ford served on a destroyer in the South Pacific and young Charles joined the Merchant Marines. In a true life “Saving Private Ryan” scenario, the Red Cross stopped my father’s ship as it was steaming out of New York Harbor. They had come to take him home as “Mr. Henry” was ill and the U.S. government would not take his last son to war. “Papa” as he was called finally passed away in 1949. He left quite a legacy in the area. Even as a teenager in the 1970s, many of the local townspeople would reminiscent to me about my grandfather.
165 years after Lewis Erasmus answered the call to “go west”, Gipson Hill still stands, pretty much as it always has. Arrowheads and Indian pottery from an old Creek Indian village can still be found in the pasture. The old barn contains mule harnesses, wagon wheels and plowshares from a century gone by. At the base of one of the old chimneys, initials of family members from long ago can be found. Old tackle and tool rooms contain metal boxes and old trunks. These containers hide old grain receipts, workers logs, newspaper clippings, letters from war torn France, letters from the jungles of WWII, pictures, cards, a land grant containing the signature and presidential seal of President James Buchanan. Mementos of 5 generations of my family who fought for freedom and later fought to preserve those freedoms.
My children are the 5th generation to grow up on Gipson Hill. Even though we now live in Birmingham, they refer to the farm as “ home”. I once read that the biggest gifts you can give your children are roots…. and wings. Their roots are deeply buried in the red clay of Crenshaw County and as for wings … well, my daughter wants to live on the farm and raise horses, one son dreams of being an aerospace engineer, another intends to be a “famous” paleontologist. But whether they end up excavating a site half way across the planet or living on the space station above the planet… they always know the way home… down a red clay dirt road in south Alabama where time stands still and generations of ancestors will always welcome them back.
Submitted by Wanda Gipson Hicks on February 27, 2004.