Eastins of Kentucky

Sarah Eastin, my mater­nal grand­mother, was born Sarah Todd, near Lex­ing­ton, Ky., in 1820. She was the sev­enth of ten chil­dren who owned many Negroes who worked the Todd plan­ta­tion. Her grand­par­ents, Peter and Ms. Todd, had migrated over­land by wagon train about 1785 from North Car­olina in com­pany with his two broth­ers, one of whom was Thomas Todd. They set­tled near Lex­ing­ton, Ky., on what is now the Blue­grass Ord­nance Depot, which sup­plies much of the needs of the U.S. Army.

Mrs. Everett Falder, my dou­ble cousin Louise (Switzer) Falder, deceased, vaca­tioned in Ken­tucky with her hus­band in April 1961, and talked to many peo­ple, also searched records in the cities of Speed­well, Rich­mond, Kingston and Lex­ing­ton. They found the fol­low­ing:

  1. First female Sab­bath school in Ken­tucky was estab­lished in Ken­tucky in 1819. Eliz­a­beth and Agnes Todd, older sis­ters of Sarah, attended it.
  2. Col. Chas. S. Todd, sol­dier and diplo­mat was the of U.S. Supreme Court Judge Thomas Todd. He was born near Danville, Ky., Jan. 22, 1791 and died as an army offer in bat­tle at Baton Rouge, La. He was edu­cated in the best Ken­tucky schools, then attended William and Mary Col­lege in Vir­ginia in 1809. He stud­ied law with his father and prac­ticed law in Lex­ing­ton, Ky., 1811-12. Enter­ing the U.S. Army in 1812 he fought for the Patriot Army against Eng­land. In Decem­ber 1812 he was pro­moted from act­ing quar­ter­mas­ter of the advance of the North­west­ern army to Divi­sion Judge Advo­cate of the Ken­tucky troops and even­tu­ally became Inspec­tor Gen­eral with the rank of Lt. Colonel. In writ­ing of the General’s ser­vice Gen­eral Har­ri­son addressed his let­ter to a mem­ber of Pres­i­dent Madison’s Cab­i­net and said, “Colonel Todd is equal in brav­ery and supe­rior in intel­li­gence to any of the offi­cer ranks in the U.S. army.” He was dis­charged in 1815 and a year later was mar­ried to Ken­tucky Gov­er­nor Shelby’s daugh­ter, Sarah. Pres­i­dent Madi­son appointed him Sec­re­tary of State the same year and he was sent to Colom­bia, South Amer­ica in 1818–25 as charge d’affairs. He next accepted the Minister’s post to Vienna, Aus­tria, then to St. Peters­burg, now Pet­ro­grad, U.S.S.R. He dis­cussed diplo­matic affairs with King Bernadotte of Swe­den, who was the only Mar­shal of Napoleon’s army to retain his crown. The Colonel was treated as an equal by the King, who con­sid­ered him a man of great intelligence.
  3. Col. John Todd, for whom Todd County in Ken­tucky is named, had a like­wise bril­liant career, start­ing as a lawyer. He was a close friend of Daniel Boone and other explor­ers. As a sol­dier he was a close friend of Gen. George Rogers Clark in the con­quest of lower Indi­ana, Illi­nois and Ohio. He was made Com­man­dant of the Coun­ties of Illi­nois, Indi­ana and Ohio in 1777. At the bat­tle of Blue Licks he fell mor­tally wounded and died, leav­ing a wife and young daugh­ter. The wid­owed Mrs. Todd became the wife of State Sen­a­tor Robert Wick­liffe of Ken­tucky, and lived to be the old­est native-born woman of Lex­ing­ton in 1847.
  4. Hon. Thomas Todd was born Jan. 23, 1765 in King and Queen county, Va., of par­ents who were descended from some of the best com­moner fam­i­lies of Eng­land. He also grad­u­ated from William and Mary Col­lege in Vir­ginia and made his way to Madi­son„ Ky., on horse­back to plead his first case. He was so suc­cess­ful that he returned to Danville, Ky., with two cows and their calves for his fee, whereas he had had only his horse, bri­dle, sad­dle and 37 1/2 cents in cash before, as he school­ing had nearly fully depleted his resources. He went on to become one of the best lawyers in the U.S. at that time. He was first mar­ried in 1788, but was wid­ow­ered in 1811. The fol­low­ing year he mar­ried the widow of George Wash­ing­ton, the nephew of Gen­eral George Wash­ing­ton. The new Mrs. Todd was a sis­ter of Dolly Madi­son, the first lady of the land.
  5. The names of Todd, Tharp and Owens appear all through the early Amer­i­can his­tory in that sec­tion. It is a mat­ter for the Switzers to be proud of, who are descen­dants of Clara Belle Eastin of Bar­dolph. These men shaped Ken­tucky and the cen­tral U.S. in the for­ma­tive years in the late 1700s and early 1800s.


Now to get back to my grand­par­ents’ lives. He was born Feb­ru­ary 29, 1818, one of a fam­ily who owned slaves. A Negress nurse dropped him acci­den­tally when he was very young and broke one of his legs near the ankle. When his mother took notice of his con­tin­ual cry­ing, it was too late to rem­edy the sit­u­a­tion prop­erly as they did not know nearly so much as they now know in med­i­cine. The bones had started to knit with­out the leg­ging ban­dages, so grand­fa­ther went through life with one leg shorter than the other by two inches.

He and Sarah Todd were mar­ried about 1838 and two years later migrated to Indi­ana, each rid­ing a horse as part of a wagon train, and Sally car­ried her first born in her arms. What few pos­ses­sions they took with them were stowed safely in a friend’s wagon. Life could have been quite easy for them, as slav­ery was at hits height and they would not have needed to have worked, but they rode away from it all with lit­tle more than they could carry on their two horses.

In two more moves the East­ins reached Bar­dolph in 1865 with a wag­onload of chil­dren and fur­ni­ture. Some of their brood were grown up so the boys helped their father build their home, while the larger girls hired out to peo­ple to work in their homes. When Ken was in Illi­nois in 1965 he thought the lit­tle home was in excel­lent repair despite its life of one hun­dred years.

The lit­tle lame man, all 140 pounds of him with white chin whiskers and pink scalp under white hair, fathered 12 chil­dren to matu­rity. Lou, a daugh­ter, passed away at 20, before I was born. Grand­fa­ther and grand­mother had a self-sufficient spot in Bar­dolph. He was a car­pen­ter and trained all four of his sons to car­pen­ter. Three of them remained in Bar­dolph and worked with their father, while William went to Macomb to marry and live.

The lot was about 200 feet wide by 300 feet long. It had a car­pen­ter shop, about 16 by 32 feet in size, barn for four head car­riage shed and lot, thresh­ing steam engine and sep­a­ra­tor shed, small chicken house and yard, biffy, rain bar­rel, bar­rel stave swing, grape arbour, two apple trees, two cherry trees„ two large maple trees, two lilac bushes and a cel­lar under the house as well as an extra large gar­den. There was a fine well and pump out­side the back­door and a front and two side porches.

They were car­pen­ters of the old school, who sharp­ened their own saws, and their planes and chis­els, giv­ing the last hon­ing to the bladed tools by rub­bing them on the soles of their shoes. There must be many build­ings around Bar­dolph yet, which were built by the East­ins, as their home was the first one which they built and they were kept busy all of the time, when not thresh­ing or other jobs, which they con­sid­ered nec­es­sary. If a man came to them with the dimen­sions of a build­ing which he wanted them to build, they dis­cussed it for about fif­teen min­utes, then gave him the price. This fig­ure was arrived at with­out the aid of pen­cil or paper. Uncle John and Aunt Amrette stayed with their par­ents and did not marry.

Their thresh­ing machine was hauled out of the shed to the street and read­ied for the fall run of thresh­ing. First the win­ter wheat was threshed and hauled to town by long strings of box wag­ons, as that was one of the cash crops of the Illi­nois farms. Then the run was repeated for oats to feed with the occa­sional field of bar­ley or rye. They had their own team for the water wagon and used it about the town when required in off-season jobs.

Nick and Sally built, lived in and died in their house in Bar­dolph. Grand­fa­ther out­lived his sweet­heart wife by 20 years but now they lie side by side as they lived. It is a pretty spot where grand­par­ents Eastin lie, also my father and mother and Stella’s, Ralph’s and Howard’s mother lie, at the north­west cor­ner of Bar­dolph. In all of the time that I knew them, I did not hear one word spo­ken in a tem­per. I believe they lived that way, slow yet very effi­cient and friendly. I was hon­ored as a small boy to be present at grandfather’s 20th birth­day party, given on the occa­sion of his 80th birth­day — he was a Feb­ru­ary twenty-niner.

It has seemed to me that a greater pro­por­tion of this large fam­ily had tragic things hap­pen to them in life or died of some­thing out of the ordi­nary. Grand­mother half rose at the break­fast table and fell over into Uncle John’s arms, the vic­tim of apoplexy; grand­fa­ther had a large pur­ple swelling which cov­ered his entire right cheek so he could not shave it. I believe it left him before his death. Uncle Will Eastin was near­ing 60 when I was born. I remem­ber him only as hav­ing a long gray beard and receiv­ing eye drops from his wife.

Martha (Aunt Mat­tie) tried to out run the flames which had caught her clothes on fire, and burned to death. Eliz­a­beth (Aunt Lib) was left a widow with two small, red-haired boys. She after­ward mar­ried and raised two more boys and two girls. Aunt Anne Orr raised five sons and one daugh­ter. Uncle Andy tried to shoot a lawyer when he fore­closed on Uncle’s farm. The bul­let went through his cheek instead of his head and Uncle was incar­cer­ated in a men­tal insti­tute for some time.

Aunt Lou died at 20, I never knew her as she had passed before I was born. Uncle Charley was a well built man and healthy until his later years when he became ill, but hung on for five years to need to be rolled in sheets sev­eral times daily. Aunt Car­ried spent many years sit­ting in a chair or lying on a bed, unable to work. She recov­ered to be quite bright the last few years of her life. My own mother was sick for two years when her five babies in eight years were arriv­ing. She recov­ered, how­ever, to have happy years the remain­ing ones after Minnabel was born. She was killed by a clus­ter light stan­dard on the curb of the pub­lic square in Macomb, when Dad lost con­trol of the fam­ily car while going home from a church enter­tain­ment one night.

The evening was quite cool so the engine of the car did not respond quickly. As he was quite new at dri­ving, he did not know any of the tricks of gun­ning the motor, run­ning in first or sec­ond gear or other lit­tle things which would have warmed the motor to full oper­a­tion. Instead he pushed the gaso­line throt­tle on the quad­rant on the top of the steer­ing col­umn until the car moved off. As it warmed, the engine started tak­ing all of the gaso­line and although Dad pulled his feet back as far from the foot ped­als as he could, the hand gaso­line feed on the wheel con­tin­ued to feed whereas if he had been feed­ing with his foot, as every­one else does, the gaso­line would have shut off auto­mat­i­cally and mother would not have died then.

The car entered the pub­lic square at the north­west­ern cor­ner and went faster and faster along the west side of the square, along the south side, then Dad tried to con­tinue cir­cling the square until pos­si­bly dri­ving off on North Ran­dolph street which would have been pos­si­ble as it led off the square with­out any turn­ing. As he neared the inter­sec­tion of Jack­son Street with the square, his momen­tum was so great the car careened over to the curb and cut off a tall light stan­dard, made of iron, when the pro­trud­ing axle came in con­tact with it.

It fell out­wards and crushed the top of mother’s head and inflicted head injuries to Mrs. Henry Rheim, who was sit­ting in the mid­dle of the three ladies in the back seat. The third lady escaped injury, as did Dad and Mr. Rheim in the front seat. The car con­tin­ued out of con­trol about forty feet far­ther and ran into an island light in the cen­ter of Jack­son street at it’s inter­sec­tion with the square, where it was stopped as the con­crete base of the light was very heavy.

It was pushed off its base, although the con­crete was about 4 feet long by 2 wide and 3 high. The two injured ladies were taken imme­di­ately to a hos­pi­tal, where mother died in about an hour, although she was con­scious at inter­vals dur­ing that time. The other lady even­tu­ally recov­ered. I was called to the door of my room­ing house in Louisville, Ky., at 2:30 a.m. to receive a telegram from Ralph and caught a train at 7:30. I had been in Louisville for less than three weeks on my first school, in fact it was the first time I had been away for any length of time.

These inci­dents of the Eastin fam­ily seem to me to be more than pass­ing occur­rences to hap­pen to the mem­bers of one fam­ily, which seemed to be very healthy. There were no malig­nant dis­eases, no wars, no train or plane acci­dents and no fatal­i­ties from one or more epi­demics, yet one after another was stricken. I have thought my life was influ­enced by cross influ­ences hered­i­tar­ily. The Ger­man hus­tle and often arro­gance is exactly oppo­site to the soft spo­ken, slow to anger South­ern­ers. When I add the fact that I am ambidex­trous in one way, yet am not since I can do some things with one hand, yet can­not with the other, and have been the pos­ses­sor of an aller­gic nose which has kept me from inside posi­tions, which I was trained for, I won­der I have been as suc­cess­ful as I have been.

It has also been a mat­ter of pass­ing note that father and his brother mar­ried two sis­ters and lived within two miles of each other while rais­ing their chil­dren. The three boys of the Will Switzer fam­ily, who were approx­i­mately my age, had heart seizures in their mid-forties from which they did not recover, the old­est girl died at the birth of her first child and the other girl passed away from can­cer at near 60. Minnabel and I, dou­ble cousins of the a/m are still liv­ing at 66 and 71 with lit­tle prospect of any nat­ural demises in the near future. That is the way the world works, how­ever. Pos­si­bly it is a good way, also, as lives must be influ­enced greatly if pos­i­tive indi­ca­tions appear.

Next: The Beld­ing Story

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