Evans “Buddy” King
Whenever I am asked about my ethnicity, my answer is that I am “largely Scotch-Irish.”
Former senator Jim Webb used the term “Scots-Irish” in his wonderful book “Born Fighting,” which I recommend to anyone with Scotch-Irish blood or interest in the early history of the mountains and valleys of western Virginia. We said Scotch-Irish in my family.
One of the premises of Webb’s book is that the Scotch-Irish were brought to America to create a buffer between the English colonists in the east and the Native Americans who were retreating westward because of the strange and dangerous goings on in the east.
Webb posits that the Scotch-Irish enjoyed fighting so much in their native land, even among themselves, that they were a wise precaution against any Native Americans who might have the audacity to react negatively to the pale face invasion. The effete English in Tidewater recognized this fact and took advantage.
Davey Crocket and Daniel Boone are cited as classic examples of the Scotch-Irish “advance group” who created safer environments for the more sophisticated (and apparently smarter) English settlers. Lore at least has it that Christiansburg is the only town where Davey and Daniel resided at the same time.
It’s my guess (not researched) that the victims of the infamous (or famous depending on your perspective) Draper’s Meadow Massacre were Scotch-Irish, not the trailing Englishmen who presumably were saying “better them than us.”
So the early history of the New River Valley is largely that of Scotch-Irish and German settlers moving inexorably westward, starting farms (largely subsistence) and establishing “forts” and small villages along the rivers. No plantations in this hard scrabble world.
I recently looked at a book I saved from my father’s collection called “Community Leaders of Virginia 1976-1977.” My dad is listed, and in his brief bio it states that his “[a]ncestors came from England, Ireland, Scotland and Germany between 1800 and 1850 and settled in PA and migrated down the Valley of Virginia before the Civil War.”
This was the classic route followed by the settlers of western Virginia and beyond. This glance at my father’s recital of his ethnicity shows both that my ancestors were indiscriminate with respect to whom they propagated and that the occasional Englishman (or woman) joined the party.
I also remember hearing that I had “Welsh blood,” although this might have been on my mother’s side, whose ancestors I know even less about than my father’s (running this to the ground could be a nice retirement project).
My father tended to downplay or ignore totally any German blood coursing through our veins. This was due to his time spent defeating Hitler and his friends.
As I have mentioned before in my columns (I don’t like to let go of a good storyline), my father would not watch Hogan’s Heroes on television and would not consider a German Shepherd among the many dogs that we had when I was growing up.
In each instance, he would mutter something about POW camps not being a laughing matter, that the Germans were not to be trusted, having not so fond memories of flying over them while they shot at him.
So we were Scotch-Irish, a story we stuck with, bolstered by the occasional redhead in the family tree (I once read that any natural redhead has to have Irish roots). I am nothing if not loyal to my Dad and my Christiansburg roots, so when asked my ethnic makeup, I always answer Scotch-Irish.
The Scotch-Irish blood of my parents was forged with two other significant influences in their lives— the Great Depression and World War II— to make them who they were.
Sadly, this “Greatest Generation” is fading into history, but its effect still lingers with their progeny, my generation. To grow up a child of these influences left indelible imprints.
First, at an early age, you learned the virtue of hard work. There were no shortcuts or guarantees in life. No entitlements. Neither the greed of Wall Street nor the dependence on big government should be laid at the feet of my parents’ generation.
Like most of their era, my parents thought stock was what stood out in the fields and that bureaucracy only existed in communist countries.
You also learned a sense of belief in fair play. While a few were born on third base and thought they had hit triples, everyone had a chance to score. Starting behind might not lead to winning the race, but by golly hard work could help you gain a lot of ground.
Barriers were to be overcome, not complained about. There was an inherent optimism that the rules were ultimately fair, or at least fair enough.
My Dad’s family of eight epitomized these beliefs, growing up in the 1930s, with a father who was a mechanic and handyman, the family never owning a car, all living under one roof in a house where the walls were occasionally knocked out to make more room. They all made positive lives for themselves and their families, the result of hard work and taking advantage of opportunities.
I have to end with probably the most commonly held characteristic of a Scotch-Irish, Great Depression/World War II influenced family, frugality.
While not true of my parents, the classic mantra of the Scotch-Irish is that they “like to drink but don’t like to pay for it.” They tend towards austerity. They are flat out cheap. They grew up with little, so saving was critical.
One of my law partners, a proud Scotch-Irish Presbyterian, once said in a partnership meeting discussing some expenditure, “I don’t care how much it costs.”
Many of us fainted and the others convulsed in laughter. Clearly he was under the influence. An atypical statement. No one believed him.
So, while I grew up in relatively good circumstances, I learned to love (live with ?) ice milk instead of ice cream, canned salmon patties, Chevrolets and my older cousins’ hand me down sweaters when I was young. But it wasn’t so bad. Except for the salmon patties.
Evans “Buddy” King grew up in Christiansburg and graduated from CHS in 1971. He lives in Clarksburg, West Virginia, where he practices law with the firm of Steptoe and Johnson PLLC.
