Photographed in her teens, around 16 years old, perhaps a wedding photo
b. 19 Feb 1896, Kingsport, Tennessee
d. 27 Sept 1987, Greensboro, Guilford County, North Carolina
m. Houston Griffin, 11 Feb 1922 (anulled)
m. Frank Davis "Pop" Burns
b. Guilford Memorial Park, Greensboro, North Carolina
daughter of Thomas I. Case and Permelia Case
Census: 20 Jun 1900
Hooper's Creek Twnp, Henderson Co, NC
age 4, daughter
Census: 22 Apr 1910
Greenville, Greenville County, SC
age 14, daughter, spinner, cotton mill, b. TN
Census: 1930
Greenwood Fire Station, Greenwood Co, SC
age 31, Jessie, homemaker, b. TN, parents NC
avid reader, though not much formal education ( liked Reader's Digest condensed books )
a hard tough woman, a bit lacerating, drank heavily
swore that her son Elbert weighed 15 pounds when he was born and she had to sleep on her back on a folding Army cot during the last stage of her pregnancy
never did the dishes after she ate because she'd always had to do them when she was a kid right after dinner and she told herself that when she grew up, she'd do the dishes the next day and not have to lift a finger but to rinse and soak them
disliked son Elbert's first wife Mazelle so much that she wouldn't let Elbert have the car to drive to SC to marry her unless his father Frank drove him there himself
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Jessie Belle Case was a half-breed Cherokee girl living with her very hard-working family in the poor Blue Ridge county of Hawkins, TN. Her father, Thomas, born in the equally poor county of Henderson, NC, was an illiterate day laborer who was away from home months at a time. Her mother, Permelia, a full blood NC Cherokee Indian, held the reins of the family with an iron grip. There were reportedly over 10 children, so strict control was probably necessary.
Didn't seem to work one iota on Jessie Belle.
There was a dissolved marriage early in Jessie Belle's life, a dissolution allegedly forced by her mother. What I was able to dig up was a marriage record, dated 11 Feb 1922 in Tennessee, to a boy named Houston Griffin. According to lore, Jessie came home to her mother pregnant, to which her mother told her she'd either come home and live as her daughter or else go off and live with him, but he couldn't come live with them.
Jessie responded to this by having the baby (a girl named Clarabelle) and then letting the boy in through her window and getting pregnant again (another girl named Ruthie). I'm sure Permelia was pulling her own hair out.
Jessie was married to this boy, but the records tell another story. According to the records, those babies were illegitimate. THEN, Jesse eloped with Houston. THEN, her mother said, "Oh no you don't!" At any rate, the marriage license was issued, but never returned for ratification.
Permelia took both Clarabelle and Ruthie away from Jessie and raised them as her own children. They called her "Mother" and referred to Jessie Belle by name, like a sister. Jessie groused in later years that her mother would never let her have her girls back, but her other siblings told her that she coulda gotten them at any time.
The plot thickens.
If Jessie married Houston in February of 1922, the marriage must have been dissolved immediately, for her family turns up in South Carolina, where the cotton mills were in full steam, and all the girls went to work as spinners. She must have been in total rebellion mode by then, because, after a whirlwind courtship, she eloped with my great grandfather, Pop, and had my grandfather, Frank, less than a year after her dissolved marriage to Houston.
Also, according the records, Jessie was lying about her age. They all put her birth date around 1896. Pop was born in 1902. She told everyone she was born in 1907. I'm sure being 8 years older than one's husband at that time might have looked tacky. Pop's regal mother, Letha, was less than thrilled to have a salt-of-the-earth, heathen-behaving woman in her house.
Flash forward many years.
A family reunion. Permelia is there, demanding banana cream pie. "I don't care if it's my last day on earth, I want banana cream pie!"
"It musta worked her over because we were back in no time for the funeral," my Grandma said dryly.
Driving to the summer-time funeral was hell. Jessie was backseat driving like crazy, and her son Frank was repeating and repeating, "I'm doing the best I can, Mother...."
When they arrived, it was in a curious and ugly little town near a small airstrip called Conestee in South Carolina, a strange collection of houses built on stilts against the hillside, with red dirt yards that they combed clean and not a blade of grass to be seen anywhere. At the church, Permelia was apparently so well respected that the entire community showed up to say a word.
That "word" turned into 3 hours. No less than five preachers stood up to give a verbose eulogy.
Grandma said she could no longer feel her backside on the hard pews, but that she'd been taught not to squirm in church. The weather was hot, but they were in a shady glen, and the church windows were open, so it wasn't so bad, she said.
When the fifth preacher was speaking, a voice rang out. "GET ON WITH IT."
Frank was horrified. "Mama!" he hissed. "Be quiet!"
"Ain't no one worth 3 hours of talkin'!" Jessie snapped.
Letha turned around in the pew in front of them, said acidly, "Sinners can't stand being told anything."
Grandma said she wanted to melt into the floor from mortification.
