My Grandmother's Grandfather

As I understand the story, the man whose gravesite I visit this day walked to Oklahoma on the Trail of Tears in 1838. He was a Cherokee orphan of only nine years of age at the time, having been born during the first year of Andrew Jackson's presidency in 1829. He had neither brothers nor sisters, but was raised by another family of the same tribe. His grave is located in Still Cemetery, an old Indian cemetery east of the town of Gore, Oklahoma near the banks of the Illinois River close to where that river meets the Arkansas.

When she was alive and I was but a boy my grandmother would tell me some detail about this man and the deprivations he must have suffered along with his Cherokee kinsmen during the forced march to Oklahoma in the harsh winter of 1838. She told me that many of the Cherokees were started on their way from the roundup point in Tennessee with neither shoes nor much clothing. From what I now understand her to have told me, this man evidently went in the migration that followed the northern route that crossed the Ohio River north of where it joins the Mississippi. There were icy rivers, deep snows, and frigid temperatures. Forced on by the U.S. military, few of the white settlers along the way gave any help or comfort. The Cherokee crossing of the Ohio River in December became especially brutal as many froze to death while huddled under Mantle Rock on the east bank of the Ohio waiting for a ferry to deliver them to the west bank. I admit that I do not know many specifics about this man's journey with absolute certainty. I grew up knowing only certain basic facts and images my grandmother related to me. I wished I had listened to her more closely.

About 4,000 Cherokees died during the 1,000-mile trek of 1838, but this man was not one of them. Having no close family, he nevertheless survived as a member of a community, for the Cherokee migrants to Oklahoma somehow kept community together. It is evident that he laid down roots in the area around the settlement of Campbell in Indian Territory, known today as Gore, Oklahoma. He must have prospered some there too, for several others who shared his surname are buried in the same cemetery. These were his first and second wives along with their several children.

I reason that when death eventually did come to this man in his 56th year, it must have done so somewhat suddenly, because in this same year he fathered the one who would in turn father my grandmother. Her name was Navolia Still Jackson. So, I thank God that despite the great adversities of his life, my great-great grandfather Jack Still saw the year 1885. For had he not, neither I nor Grandma would have been born to enjoy the special moments we shared together.

(Pictured here - Campaign poster from my previous run for office in 2018)