We were very pleased
today to have Mary (Pitts) Formo as one of our special visitors during the tour
of homes that was part of the annual Newborn School Reunion. Mary Formo lived
here for several years with her grandmother, Mary Pitts (aka "Aunt Mamie"). Mary
knew that we are interested in the history of the house and shared some old
pictures with us.

Above,
the Newborn House as it appeared during Christmas-time in 1929 (notice the
garland strung between the front porch columns. The basic shape of the house has
been maintained through the years. One key feature we noticed is the railing
around the top of the front porch and above the bay window in the dining room.

At left, Mary (Pitts) Formo is shown in the late ’40s or
early ’50s riding on a wheel barrow being pushed by
her father, Garland Pitts, the youngest son of Dr. J.T. (Julius Thomas) Pitts and Mary Pitts. In this photo, you can see that the stairs went all the way cross
the porch and there is a shed roof sticking out over the well. We replaced a
later, smaller (and more rickety) version of the wooden back steps with a set of
brick steps. Otherwise, the back porch back then seems very similar to the back
porch now.

Below, the picture shows one of the Pitts boys (J.T., we think) being held by
one of the tenants who worked for the family. The photo shows a good view of the
flower pit that was used to store plants through the winter and to start the
seeds for the early garden. The basic structure is still standing, but all of
the woodwork, roof and windows are missing. This photo will be very helpful when
we get around to restoring the flower pit.

Here’s the first report from this year’s Newborn School Reunion. Al
Fleming, who now lives in Dahlonega, attended the Newborn School in the early
1940s. When he learned that our home would be open for a visit, he sent us the
following e-mail:

"In the early 1940′s when I was 11 or 12, my younger brother
(about seven) and my older brother (Julian) was 15 or so, we were ‘boarded’ at
the Pitts’ house – my wonderful ‘Aunt Mamie’s’ – during the week while our mother
taught school at Porterdale, GA. (This arrangement was necessitated because
there were no teaching jobs available for my widowed mother in Newborn’s
four-room school.)

"Living in the Pitt’s home where we were treated as her own
kids, we did chores and had responsibilities. Aunt Mamie had a cow in a shed on
the property, and I regularly churned the milk to make the most delicious butter
imaginable. Aunt M. had butter molds with fascinating designs like cows and
trees and flowers. But when I went there the cowshed had no electricity and in
winter the cow had to be milked by lantern – so I strung a wire, hung a light
and put a switch on the back porch to illuminate the shed. OSHA, EPA, and child
labor laws were far in the future.

"In the side yard below the dining room window was a ‘pit’
where potted plans were stored in winter. It was a brick structure with glass
roof with tiers of shelves for the flowers. Seems to me I spent more time toting
water to Aunt M’s ‘pit’ than I spent in school!

"The Pitts family boys – four of them – were all older than
we, but were in and out of the house frequently. At Christmas, we all engaged in
stringing lights on a large cedar that grew in a stone-surrounded space beside
the front walk. When adults were not watching, some of the elder Pitts boys were
getting lit, too. Their father, Dr Pitts, was .a very vocal prohibitionist and
anti-tobacco firebrand years in advance of his time. He once offered to buy
‘Cokes’ for every body on the bus he rode from Atlanta home, if they would
refrain from smoking during the trip.

"On the side of the house toward town at that time, there
was a big tree with limbs reaching out over the porch. We slept in the second
bedroom from the top of the stairs on that side. When my older brother and his
pals would gather ‘downtown’ some nights after my curfew, I’d climb out the
window, down the limb, shimmy down that tree and sneak down to join the group. I
wasn’t always welcome, and got ratted on.

"Your home was a showplace when built around the turn of the
twentieth century, with perhaps the first stained-glass fan window above the
front door. In winter it was colder than an igloo except in the always-warn
kitchen, where two stoves and the fireplace kept us cozy. I’m so glad that you’re
interested in it’s long history. We look forward to visiting your home and the
Gay-Chupp house where my grandmother Leila Gay (Stowe) and Aunt Mamie were
raised."

In an ealier post, we showed a picture of the original house and its builder, J.W. Pitts. We have now found out there were two men by the name of J.W. Pitts. The first J.W. built the house across the street from us in about 1839. It was in this house that General W.T. Sherman is reported to have spent the night in during the Civil War.

The second J.W. built our house some time in the late 1800s. The granddaughter of the J.W. who built our house is looking for some pictures and other records about our house. When we have more information, we’ll share that with you.

As a replacement for the ealier and incorrect post, today’s message shares a bit of history about the area around Newborn. I thought you might find it interesting.

The excerpt below is from The Memoirs of General W. T. Sherman, Complete, by William T. Sherman. With the caveats that a) all history is written by the victors and b) memoirs are by definition self-serving, following is an exerpt from Sherman’s memoir about his trip through our part of the state during the March to the Sea in the fall of 1864:

“About 7 a.m. of November 16th we rode out of Atlanta by the Decatur road, filled by the marching troops and wagons of the Fourteenth Corps; and reaching the hill, just outside of the old rebel works, we naturally paused to look back upon the scenes of our past battles. We stood upon the very ground whereon was fought the bloody battle of July 22d, and could see the copse of wood where McPherson fell. Behind us lay Atlanta, smouldering and in ruins, the black smoke rising high in air, and hanging like a pall over the ruined city. Away off in the distance, on the McDonough road, was the rear of Howard’s column, the gun-barrels glistening in the sun, the white-topped wagons stretching away to the south; and right before us the Fourteenth Corps, marching steadily and rapidly, with a cheery look and swinging pace, that made light of the thousand miles that lay between us and Richmond. Some band, by accident, struck up the anthem of ‘John Brown’s soul goes marching on;’ the men caught up the strain, and never before or since have I heard the chorus of ‘Glory, glory, hallelujah!’ done with more spirit, or in better harmony of time and place.

“Then we turned our horses’ heads to the east; Atlanta was soon lost behind the screen of trees, and became a thing of the past. Around it clings many a thought of desperate battle, of hope and fear, that now seem like the memory of a dream; and I have never seen the place since. The day was extremely beautiful, clear sunlight, with bracing air, and an unusual feeling of exhilaration seemed to pervade all minds–a feeling of something to come, vague and undefined, still full of venture and intense interest. Even the common soldiers caught the inspiration, and many a group called out to me as I worked my way past them, ‘Uncle Billy, I guess Grant is waiting for us at Richmond!’ Indeed, the general sentiment was that we were marching for Richmond, and that there we should end the war, but how and when they seemed to care not; nor did they measure the distance, or count the cost in life, or bother their brains about the great rivers to be crossed, and the food required for man and beast, that had to be gathered by the way. There was a ‘devil-may-care’ feeling pervading officers and men, that made me feel the full load of responsibility, for success would be accepted as a matter of course, whereas, should we fail, this ‘march’ would be adjudged the wild adventure of a crazy fool. I had no purpose to march direct for Richmond by way of Augusta and Charlotte, but always designed to reach the sea-coast first at Savannah or Port Royal, South Carolina, and even kept in mind the alternative of Pensacola.

“The first night out we camped by the road-side near Lithonia. Stone Mountain, a mass of granite, was in plain view, cut out in clear outline against the blue sky; the whole horizon was lurid with the bonfires of rail-ties, and groups of men all night were carrying the heated rails to the nearest trees, and bending them around the trunks. Colonel Poe had provided tools for ripping up the rails and twisting them when hot; but the best and easiest way is the one I have described, of heating the middle of the iron-rails on bonfires made of the cross-ties, and then winding them around a telegraph-pole or the trunk of some convenient sapling. I attached much importance to this destruction of the railroad, gave it my own personal attention, and made reiterated orders to others on the subject.

“The next day we passed through the handsome town of Covington, the soldiers closing up their ranks, the color-bearers unfurling their flags, and the bands striking up patriotic airs. The white people came out of their houses to behold the sight, spite of their deep hatred of the invaders, and the negroes were simply frantic with joy. Whenever they heard my name, they clustered about my horse, shouted and prayed in their peculiar style, which had a natural eloquence that would have moved a stone. I have witnessed hundreds, if not thousands, of such scenes; and can now see a poor girl, in the very ecstasy of the Methodist ‘shout,’ hugging the banner of one of the regiments, and jumping up to the ‘feet of Jesus.’

“I remember, when riding around by a by-street in Covington, to avoid the crowd that followed the marching column, that some one brought me an invitation to dine with a sister of Sam. Anderson, who was a cadet at West Point with me; but the messenger reached me after we had passed the main part of the town. I asked to be excused, and rode on to a place designated for camp, at the crossing of the Ulcofauhachee River, about four miles to the east of the town. Here we made our bivouac, and I walked up to a plantation-house close by, where were assembled many negroes, among them an old, gray-haired man, of as fine a head as I ever saw. I asked him if he understood about the war and its progress. He said he did; that he had been looking for the ‘angel of the Lord’ ever since he was knee-high, and, though we professed to be fighting for the Union, he supposed that slavery was the cause, and that our success was to be his freedom. I asked him if all the negro slaves comprehended this fact, and he said they surely did. I then explained to him that we wanted the slaves to remain where they were, and not to load us down with useless mouths, which would eat up the food needed for our fighting men; that our success was their assured freedom; that we could receive a few of their young, hearty men as pioneers; but that, if they followed us in swarms of old and young, feeble and helpless, it would simply load us down and cripple us in our great task. I think Major Henry Hitchcock was with me on that occasion, and made a note of the conversation, and I believe that old man spread this message to the slaves, which was carried from mouth to mouth, to the very end of our journey, and that it in part saved us from the great danger we incurred of swelling our numbers so that famine would have attended our progress. It was at this very plantation that a soldier passed me with a ham on his musket, a jug of sorghum-molasses under his arm, and a big piece of honey in his hand, from which he was eating, and, catching my eye, he remarked sotto voce and carelessly to a comrade, ‘Forage liberally on the country,’ quoting from my general orders. On this occasion, as on many others that fell under my personal observation, I reproved the man, explained that foraging must be limited to the regular parties properly detailed, and that all provisions thus obtained must be delivered to the regular commissaries, to be fairly distributed to the men who kept their ranks.”

The text of this excerpt were taken from Sherman’s memoir, which is available for online reading or download from Project Gutenberg.

The photos are by Matthew Brady, the famous portrait artist and Civil War photographer. Sherman and His Generals was taken in 1865, shortly after the war ended.

Miriam, 84, is the granddaughter of J.W. Pitts, who originally built our house. She loves to tell stories, which entertain both herself and all who are listening.

According to Miriam, J.W. Pitts was a very successful farmer and built the house for his uncle, Julius Pitts. Julius, who lived in our house, was a doctor and a minister.

In the photo above, Andi shows Miriam a picture and some newspaper clippings from 1944 that were found in the attic.

The picture above is on display at the Newborn City Hall. According to the lady there, this how our house looked when it was first build. Below is the caption on the photo:

“John Williams Pitts House, circa 1839 — This house was located on the corner of S. Johnson Street and Georgia Highway 142. On November 19, 1864 the Fourteenth U.S. Army Corps under command of Major General J.G. Davis and Major General William T. Sherman camped in Newborn. Mr. J.W. Pitts entertains Gen. Davis and Gen. Sherman in this house and is alleged to have convinced Gen. Sherman of his Union sympathies thus preventing Newborn from being burned.”

More on the history to come.