Oddie and Ida
by Polly Stone Buck
My father, Theodotus “Oddie” Stone, whom I never knew, the “young man of great charm and promise” shocked his family when he informed them of his intention to be a trial lawyer. The Stones had always been an unexcitable, uncontentious clan, who gravitated naturally into preaching and teaching. But somewhere among his ancestors, my father had picked up a few genes not present in any of the rest, and the unadventurous middle of the road had no appeal for him. In the 19th century, a young man wishing to become a lawyer went about it by reading in the office of an already established attorney. So Oddie walked three miles every morning over to the county-seat, Covington, where he mastered one book after another in the law library of Judge Pace. In due time, he passed the state bar examinations and joined another young lawyer in a law firm in Macon.
One day, as Oddie was standing at an upstairs window of a friend’s office, he saw pass on the sidewalk below a slender, dark-haired girl who happened to raise her eyes to his window for a second as she went by. “That’s the girl I’m going to marry!” he shouted as he snatched up his hat and bounded down the stairs. But by the time he reached the street, she had disappeared.
It was six months before he ran into her again, and learned that she was the daughter of the minister of the Mulberry Street Methodist Church. Formerly, he had spent his Sundays in long country walks, but from then on he presented a shining face at the Mulberry Street church, joined the choir, took over a Sunday School class of obstreperous boys, agreed to conduct a Bible study group, and urged the minister not to fail to call on him for anything at all in which he might be helpful. The next six months he spent, besides sweating it out manfully doing all the things in which he had involved himself in connection with the church, in courting the minister’s daughter Ida, the young lady he had glimpsed from the office window, and who later became my mother.
Ida was employed in a Macon office as a stenographer. When she had graduated from Wesleyan, the local girls’ college, she was confronted with the usual choices for women graduates in that day, teaching school or being a missionary. Neither appealed to Ida. She announced she would take a business course, be a stenographer, and work downtown in an office. This was a daring career for a young woman to propose in 1888. Her family was stunned. It was not at all proper and probably not safe to be shut up all day in a room with men. The nearest business school was in Kentucky and she was eventually allowed to go if her younger brother went too and took the same courses. Months later they returned without having met up with any horrid adventures and her father found her a position in the office of one of his church elders.
Oddie had quite a time persuading Ida that long engagements were ridiculous, but he succeeded, for at the end of the six months, flanked by a brother of each, they “stood together” in the parlor of an Atlanta aunt and were married by her father. Her business career was, of course, at an end, for married women did not work outside of their homes. Their honeymoon was a week’s visit to his old home and relatives in Oxford, and then back to Macon and the legal grindstone for him. They built a cottage, and planted roses to climb the porch columns and live up to the section’s name of Vineville. Unfortunately, Oddie discovered that the law was not as he had expected and he grew homesick. Therefore after a few years of marriage Oddie returned to his hometown of Oxford with his wife and two small sons. Oddie decided he wanted to be a farmer so they settled down outside of town on what was left of a farm his father had owned. Life as a farmer was a struggle but Oddie loved it. Unfortunately, after only a few years, Oddie contracted pneumonia and did not survive. He died at the age of 39, leaving his young wife, the love of his life, a widow and penniless with three young children.
What happened after this is another story, but Oddie would have been proud of Ida because she was strong and she survived against serious odds, rearing their children to be happy, successful adults.
One day, as Oddie was standing at an upstairs window of a friend’s office, he saw pass on the sidewalk below a slender, dark-haired girl who happened to raise her eyes to his window for a second as she went by. “That’s the girl I’m going to marry!” he shouted as he snatched up his hat and bounded down the stairs. But by the time he reached the street, she had disappeared.
It was six months before he ran into her again, and learned that she was the daughter of the minister of the Mulberry Street Methodist Church. Formerly, he had spent his Sundays in long country walks, but from then on he presented a shining face at the Mulberry Street church, joined the choir, took over a Sunday School class of obstreperous boys, agreed to conduct a Bible study group, and urged the minister not to fail to call on him for anything at all in which he might be helpful. The next six months he spent, besides sweating it out manfully doing all the things in which he had involved himself in connection with the church, in courting the minister’s daughter Ida, the young lady he had glimpsed from the office window, and who later became my mother.
Ida was employed in a Macon office as a stenographer. When she had graduated from Wesleyan, the local girls’ college, she was confronted with the usual choices for women graduates in that day, teaching school or being a missionary. Neither appealed to Ida. She announced she would take a business course, be a stenographer, and work downtown in an office. This was a daring career for a young woman to propose in 1888. Her family was stunned. It was not at all proper and probably not safe to be shut up all day in a room with men. The nearest business school was in Kentucky and she was eventually allowed to go if her younger brother went too and took the same courses. Months later they returned without having met up with any horrid adventures and her father found her a position in the office of one of his church elders.
Oddie had quite a time persuading Ida that long engagements were ridiculous, but he succeeded, for at the end of the six months, flanked by a brother of each, they “stood together” in the parlor of an Atlanta aunt and were married by her father. Her business career was, of course, at an end, for married women did not work outside of their homes. Their honeymoon was a week’s visit to his old home and relatives in Oxford, and then back to Macon and the legal grindstone for him. They built a cottage, and planted roses to climb the porch columns and live up to the section’s name of Vineville. Unfortunately, Oddie discovered that the law was not as he had expected and he grew homesick. Therefore after a few years of marriage Oddie returned to his hometown of Oxford with his wife and two small sons. Oddie decided he wanted to be a farmer so they settled down outside of town on what was left of a farm his father had owned. Life as a farmer was a struggle but Oddie loved it. Unfortunately, after only a few years, Oddie contracted pneumonia and did not survive. He died at the age of 39, leaving his young wife, the love of his life, a widow and penniless with three young children.
What happened after this is another story, but Oddie would have been proud of Ida because she was strong and she survived against serious odds, rearing their children to be happy, successful adults.