EDITOR'S CORNER: A RETURN TO FAMILY ROOTS

I'm uncertain when I first heard of Jackson, Mo. Certainly, it was not when I was a schoolgirl in northern Missouri where seventh-graders had to study the history of the state; everything from memorizing the Preamble and Bill of Rights of the Missouri Constitution to becoming familiar with the names of famous Missourians.

Of Southeast Missouri, the only towns I remember studying were New Madrid (The Earthquake) and Ste. Genevieve. (Oldest white settlement west of the Mississippi).

It was from my mother-in-law, Thomza Fulenwider Banger, I learned of Jackson. She had been born in a small town near Jackson in 1906, grew up in Jackson and graduated from high school there. She later received a degree in nursing from the college in Cape Girardeau and went to St. Louis where she worked at Deaconess Hospital. She met a young man from Iowa who was assigned to St. Louis as a postal inspector. They married, and eventually settled in Des Moines, Iowa.

Over the years my mother-in-law spoke often of Jackson, and how beautiful it was. Wistfully, she recalled her girlhood days of growing up in Jackson. During important occasions, such as significant class reunions, my husband would drive his aging parents from Des Moines to Jackson for high school alumni reunions -- the last time was probably around 1974 for his mother's 50-year reunion.

Bob was familiar with Jackson because when he was young his family traveled from Iowa to Jackson to visit his Uncle Al and Aunt Emily Fulenwider and their family; a reciprocal visit would be paid when the Jackson relatives visited Des Moines.

By the time I came into the Banger family in 1965 the cousins had grown and had busy families, but Bob's uncle and aunt continued their occasional Iowa visits. Bob's mother was quite fond of her brother, and she often talked proudly of his activities in the Jackson community where he owned a drug store, and was also involved in many civic activities. I always smiled and nodded politely when she talked about her brother.

The last time Bob brought his parents to Jackson was for his Uncle Al's funeral. Christmas cards continued to be exchanged between our family and the Fulenwider cousins, and Aunt Emily. I called Aunt Emily only twice over the years and that was following the passing of my beloved in-laws in 1987 and 1989. She sent flowers, we sent thank-yous.

Other than the annual Christmas cards, that was about our only contact.

Until three years ago.

It was then that we began planning Bob's retirement for the next year and making arrangements to move to Missouri. We had no idea where in Missouri, but somewhere with less extreme winters than Iowa. Bob phoned his Jackson cousin, Rowland Fulenwider, a local chiropractor, and asked him to send us real estate sections of the paper. We found our home in Burfordville, not from an ad, but by happenstance and lucky timing others call it Fate. But that particular story will be told another time.

It was while preparing to move south, I began doing some research on Bob's mother's family and was quite surprised at what I found. Neither she nor Uncle Al had ever talked much about their family history.

Perhaps it was because their young lives had been marred when their father committed suicide in 1907 leaving a widow and three young children. What scandal or old tragedy was hidden behind that act? We often wondered.

But with a copy of the Fulenwider genealogy we found among Bob's mother's belongings after her passing we learned more about the history of not only the Fulenwider family, but of the settling of Cape County, and of Jackson.

The family came to Jackson in the early 1820s from North Carolina, settling on land west of Jackson at Burfordville. That first settler, Caleb Pinkney Fulenwider, my mother-in-law's grandfather, held public office as a county judge for more than 30 years.

We found a newspaper article about an old house in Jackson, the Tobler House, it was called, the home of the widow, Mrs. Roxie Fulenwider, and her children, Allen and Thomza, and their sister, Ella Roe. In the margin, in my mother-in-law's handwriting, was written, "My childhood home." (That house stood at the corner of Hope and East Adams streets just a few dozen feet from where my office is at Jackson USA.) Just last week I was in the old cemetery in Jackson standing in front of a large white obelisk, the marker for the grave of Caleb and two of his sons. Each of them died in 1853; Caleb was 55, his sons were just young men. I wondered what awful epidemic or illness had taken them all in the same year. Caleb's epitaph read, "He filled many important public trusts to the satisfaction of his countrymen, died lamented by all who knew him and lies buried here." Just across the cemetery lie three other graves, those of my husband's grandparents, Rowland Fulenwider, dead by his own hand, and his wife Roxanne Allen Fulenwider, who died in 1935. A smaller grave is nearby, that of a young brother my husband never knew, Thomas George Banger, who died at the age of 3 of a sudden childhood illness. Born several years before my husband, I can't imagine the grief my in-laws felt as they brought the small body of their firstborn from St. Louis to Jackson for burial. Part of them remained in Jackson forever after. They never fully got over the loss of their little boy and spoke of him often over the years. The chill wind that afternoon as I stood on the hilltop of the old cemetery was not the only reason goosebumps rose on my arms.

Since moving here, we have made other discoveries. We were not prepared to learn that Bob's Uncle Al was quite so well known we have found his name on nearly every bronze plaque in the county from the Old McKendree log church to the fountain at the courthouse. Picking up the paper last year and reading the story of the R.A. Fulenwider Community Service Award and the background behind the award left us stunned. "He was instrumental in bringing industry like Lee-Rowan to the area? Uncle Al?" I often wonder what Bob's parents would think if they knew how things had turned out with their son returning to the land his great-grandfather settled and the town he helped found. Or that during their visits to us, our children and grandchildren also walk through the old cemetery retracing their roots as we share with them the family lore we have learned. From near our home, we can look out across the Whitewater River to the hilltop where the old Fulenwider pioneer home was located and wonder what it looked like.

So much history, so much beauty, so many family connections all in this one small part of the world.

Indeed, there are some who say we've returned home.