From Days Gone By Oct. 20, 1911

October 20, 1911. This weeks newspapers from 1911 are missing from the Historical Society's collection. The following is a somewhat humorous story from a 1911 Wrightsville paper called The Preachers, by Rex. "An annual conference is always a great time with the Methodist preachers, a time of meeting after a year separation, when and where they get together and recount experiences, and swap yarns, and where they have good homes and plenty to eat. A crowd of preachers is the jolliest sort of crowd. No long faces, no clouds to faltfinding, no grumbling, all sunshine. Not only a jolly crowd, but men who know how to dispose of business. Why, a Methodist Conference would put a Georgia Legislature to shame in the disposition of business. They do more in one day for the good of the state, than the legislature will do in a whole session. Perhaps its because they get no "per diem." They are a set of fellows that can be trusted, as many of them handle thousands of dollars during the year, and are required to give no bond. A Methodist preacher knows more people than any other man, or class of men in the state. They gather more to talk about than the average man, and their social intercourse at the conference brings out some of the richest experiences, and most assuring anecdotes that can be heard anywhere. I remember jotting down a few of their stories at one of the conferences. The conversation drifted into sanctimonous religion, which was very common a few years back, and as an illustration, the following incident was mentioned: Down in Screven County many years ago, there was an old preacher that wore a high collar and a long coat, and a long face. The children were all afraid of him, and would hide out when he came to spend the night. On one occasion he came to a certain home, as he often did and spent the night. Next morning there was not a child to be seen on the place, except a little girl about four years old. After breakfast, she climbed up on the knee of the old preacher and began running her little fingers over his face. Finally she said, I love you, and the old preacher said, "you do my child," what makes you love me?" She said because you got a face just like old Sam." Old Sam was a mule in the lot. Another old preacher, down in Montgomery County, had a particular place to spend his Saturday nights before his appointment in the neighborhood. In that home was a boy about twelve years old. Whenever he came his (the boy's father) would say, "Johnnie, run and take out the preachers horse, run and feed the preacher's horse, run and get the preacher a bucket of fresh water." Well, the thing went on till Johnnie got tired of waiting on that preacher, and so one day the preacher drove up and the father said, "Johnnie, run and take out the preacher's horse and feed him," and when they had come into the piazza the father said, "Johnnie, run and get the preacher a bucket of cool water." Johnnie took the bucket and started, but his eyes fell on the preacher's feet. Johnnie stopped in front of him and said, "Was you called to preach?" The preacher answered, "Yes, I was called to preach." Johnnie said, "Are you're sure you were called to preach?" "Yes," said the old preacher. "I am sure I was called to preach," "Well," said Johnnie, "if I prove to you that you was not called to preach will you come here anymore?" "Yes," said the old man; "if you can prove to me I wasn't called to preach I'll not come here any more." "Well," said Johnnie, "don't the Bible say 'how beautiful are the feet of them that are called to preach the gospel;' your feet ain't beautiful." The old man's feet were knotted and twisted with corns and bunions.