Club Minutes: The Home Interest Society, 1931

Elizabeth Ligon asked where a set of sleigh bells can be bought. sure enough ones not the antique variety? No public answer to the quirie but trust she obtained this information privately

Morris Fussell wants to know if any bored or driven areas are dry - You reported so.

There being no further questions then adjourned to meet at Clifton Jan 27th

H.H. Stabler secy

Clifon 645th meet'g on the evening of Jan27th The Home Interest gathered promptlyat Clifton the old Thomas home, and we understand the oldest in this section, it being said, the brick of which it is built having having been brought from England, as ballast, Whether or not this be a fact, certain it is they are different from any manufactured in this locality indeed the old house is in a class to itself & is most interesting.

The period of gathering together of members and guests was enjoyed, as usual, in pleasant greetings and felicitations, until supper was announced, which was "an honest to goodness one", in keeping with the hospitality of the old colonial home, traditionally recorded

At the end of the social hour Garland Ligon called the meeting to order and the minutes of last meeting were read and approved. Also those of the last meeting here of May 1929 Read by Eliza Ligon

Questions: 1 Elza Thomas - Where can potatoes be had? Answer, at the city markets

1. Jan. 1931 C. Huney

I am reliably informed that the custom of devoting a few moments of each program hour to countemplation of the future has been honored by the Home Interest Club from time immemorial. How this happy feature came to be termed "forethought" is shrouded in mystery. Inquiry of the oldest inhabitants and careful perusal of the Annals of Sandy Spring have not lifted the veil. But lack of knowledge of the genesis of the name bestowed upon this time - honored feature of our program is quite inmaterial. It is a good word, "Forethought", recognized by Noah Webster and all contemporary lexicographers.

Henry Ford achieved fame as a builder of automobiles and notoriety as author of that celebrated statement "History is mostly Bunk." This passing remark of Henry's shocked the world of culture and brought down upon his little grey head an avalanche of criticism and ridicule.

And now, unmoved by what happened

2. to Henry the Historian, comes over own Norris Fussell an honorable member of this club and, at the December meeting of said club boldly attempts to take the lime light from the said Henry Ford by declaring, not in prosaic prose but in metered words inspired by the gentle muse of poetry that "Forethought" is also Bunk! Mr. Chairman, it grieves me deeply, to impeach my esteemed friend but duty comes before friendship and I am constrained to move, sir, that the aforesaid Norris Fussell be forewith charged with heresy, high-treason and willful violatation of poetic license. I submit, sir, that his offense against a sacred institution of our society was due to no lack of knowledge of the real meaning of the word "Forethought" nor to failure to consult the authorities. No, my friends, Norris Fussell knew full well what he was doing that dark December night one short month ago when he ruthlessly tore the mantle from one of our most sacred shrines and left poor "Forethought" naked and

3. ashamed and branded as Bunk! That his caustic indictment was couched in poetic language does not mitigate the offense but rather aggravates it. Later that same December night our Chairman appointed your humble servant as "Forethoughter" for this January meeting. full of forebodings he returned to his lodgings, retired and set himself earnestly to the task of Forethinking, but all in vain. Mary a forethought! Nothing but bunk. Horribly depressed I turned my face to the wall. Then out of the gloom came a gray and ghastly form, a shivering siren with (?) eyes and a bulging forehead fairly pulsating with potential forethoughts Ah! I gasped. Allah is good! He answers prayer! He has sent his servant a messenger from the future with a full line of spring model Forethoughts. Welcome, "thrice welcome" I stammered, Fair angel, display thy samples, show me thy forethoughts. The (florescents?) eyes stared coldly with a look of scorn tinged with pity. Then, out of the silence came

4 a hollow voice that chilled the very marrow in my bones. "Be still deluded mortal, I bear no forethought, forethought is Bunk! I am the ghost of Norris Fussell's muse. Forethought is Bunk, bunk bunk, bunk, bunk! Chanting the word, the vision marched with noiseless tread slowly through the wall. Wiping the cold sweat from my brow I pulled the covers over my head and slowly counted sheep. Thousands and thousands of sheep. But the God of Slumber was not in the market for sheep that night. In desperation, I sought refuge in contemplation of the past. I reviewed the marching hosts that made great Ceasar immortal. I rode to victory with Napoleon Bonaparte, agonized with him at Waterloo and closed his sightless eyes at St. Helena. I kicked off the blankets and was soon shivering with Washington's barefooted army at Valley Forge. Piling on the covers again, I sweated up San Juan Hill with rough riding Teddy Roosevelt.