In about 2002, my mother Virginia’s 88-year-old mind was moving toward dementia. She looked at a picture of my father and her husband, Ford (who she affectionately called ‘Phil’), and asked me, “Who is that man?”
I explained it to her- Ford Philpot was your husband. He is in heaven now. I told her a few stories she might recall. She smiled and remembered my dad, or maybe just politely pretended.
A couple of years later, now over 90, she looked at me, squinted her eyes, and asked an even better question, “Who are we anyway?” The ‘we’ got my attention. She wasn’t just confused about me- a strange yet familiar man sitting in her room. She wanted to know the ‘we’.
I explained that we were a family. She was my mom and I was her eldest son. Danny was my little brother. Mom was older when we were born, almost forty, so we naturally became her obsession in the 1950s and beyond- the greatest joy of her life. But she had sadly forgotten much of that joy.
But what a great question. Who are we anyway? I decided to find out more.
Heritage and ancestry searches, helped along by Google, can help answer the questions of the past, but can they also unlock the mystery doors of the present? After mom passed away in 2005, I sensed a need to know. Who are these Philpots anyway?
Could there be a key inside the family history that unlocks the door to who I am- both good and bad. A mystery door, behind which lay all the secrets of my Philpot DNA.
On the positive side, where did my boldness and courage to be different come from? Where did my stubbornness to finish a task come from—my willingness to outwork most opponents and rivals?
But on the negative side, where do the bursts of anger come from? Or the often-present procrastination and love of the couch? I don’t much care what people think. Is that good or bad? Not sure. But it sure seems to be a “Philpot” trait, based on what I have discovered about my ancestors.
I needed no research for the part about my father Ford Philpot, a drunk from Clay County in the heart of the Kentucky mountains who became a preacher! A book about him titled It Took a Miracle had been published in 1964. For more about him, you can find my 2013 memoir about my father. See www.fordswonderfulworld.com.
Ford’s dad was Granville Philpot, known as GV, a true son of the Kentucky mountains. GV fathered nine children with Wilhemena “Mena” Reid. There were twenty-five grandkids who only knew them as PawPaw and Mamie. We loved to visit in the summer and play in the outhouse.
GV was named for his uncle Granville Philpot (1845-1930), nicknamed ‘Peg Leg’ after he lost a leg in the Civil War, fighting for the Union cause. He was the most infamous Philpot in Clay County for decades.
I became familiar with Uncle “Peg Leg” when I was elected to the Kentucky Senate in 1990. I was not the first Philpot in the Legislature since “Peg Leg” had been elected to one term in the Ky House of Representatives in the 1890’s. Several people asked me if I was related to the infamous “Peg Leg”, whose story I had never heard. In 1898, he rode his horse to the capitol in Frankfort, about 150 miles. He was invited to a banquet at the mansion of the Governor. He had never been in the company of such a distinguished group of important people. I always imagine Jed Clampett and his Beverly Hills mansion as a way to understand the scene.
They served some fancy consommé soup. He ignored the spoon and drank it. They next served a fancy green salad unlike anything he had ever seen. He looked at it, picked it up with his fingers and munched on it. Finally, they brought out the main course. He was hoping for some meat and potatoes. Instead, it was lobster from Maine.
He decided he had had enough. He stood, banged his wooden pegleg to get attention and declared to all as he limped out, “That’s enough for me. I drank your dirty dishwater. I ate your funny grass. But I will not eat that bug!”
No doubt, the story had grown over the nearly 100 years since Granville “Peg Leg” Philpot walked out the halls of the state capitol building.
In 1899, “Peg Leg” and the Philpots were a major part of a NY Times front page story about the murdering hoardes that lived in the Kentucky mountains. One typical scene from 1894 or so was this short sentence, “For a while it seemed that the Philpots and Griffins were determined to take over from the Bakers and Howards. In July, out at Pigeon Roost, the two families held another shoot-out. This time Granville Philpot, a member of the state legislature and thus an officer of the law, led his family's forces. One Philpot, two Griffins, and two horses were reported killed.” John Ed Pearce, “Days of Darkness: The Feuds of Eastern Kentucky” (1994). And on and on it went. The book says that, “the Philpots were as thick as Blackberries in the summertime”.
It all started when one John Thomas Philpot immigrated from England in the 1700’s. His son Thomas was born in South Carolina in 1763 but moved to Clay County for reasons unknown and died there in 1846. He was the grandfather of my PawPaw.
But no time today to tell that full story.
Today, I skip all the way back to 1553 and my favorite ancestor, the original John Philpot (1515-1555). He was both a lawyer and a preacher! That alone explained a lot for me.
The short version of his story is this. The new Catholic Queen, Mary Tudor, came to the English throne in 1553. She was soon nicknamed “Bloody Mary”, since she burned over 300 heretics at the stake in her short five-year reign. Her goal was to restore the Roman Church to an England which was now quite Protestant. John Philpot was archdeacon of Winchester, and he became one of the primary ‘voices’ for the Protestants. He debated Catholic apologists in public settings, mostly arguing about the eucharistic blood and body of the Lord Jesus. Is the wine literally His blood? Is the bread literally His body? People were burned at the stake for the wrong answer.
John Philpot was a man of learning, with great knowledge of the Bible and its languages, especially Hebrew. He held firm to his beliefs and was finally arrested as a heretic. He was bullied and interrogated by agents of the queen—locked up in a coal house and a tower, loaded with chains and often placed in the stocks. His opponents vowed openly to bring him to the stake if he did not recant his heresies.
The stubborn preacher held fast to his convictions through fourteen trials, called ‘examinations’. He preserved secret notes about the trials. We know this history because much of his material was later printed by John Foxe in his famous Foxe's Book of Martyrs.
On the 17th of December 1555, after 18 months of imprisonment, while he ate supper, Philpot was told he must die the next day. To this he replied joyfully, "I am ready: God grant me strength and a joyful resurrection."
On December 18, 1555, Philpot met the sheriff's men joyfully at 8am and proceeded to the stake in Smithfield. He knelt when he came to the place of execution and kissed the stake. He then recited Psalms 106, 107 and 108, was chained to the stake, and died in the flame that mounted around his body.
That sent me scurrying to Psalm 106, 107, and 108. I figured that if he could recite it all by heart, surely, I could take a few minutes to read it. And it was inspiring indeed- expressing hope for all the Philpots! Listen…
“Like our ancestors, we have sinned. We have done wrong! We have acted wickedly! Our ancestors in Egypt were not impressed by the Lord’s miraculous deeds. They soon forgot his many acts of kindness to them. Instead, they rebelled against him at the Red Sea. Even so, he saved them…” (Psalms 106:6-8a).
“Yet how quickly they forgot what he had done! They wouldn’t wait for his counsel. In the wilderness, their desires ran wild.” (Psalms 106:13-14). This perfectly describes the crazy feuds in the wilderness of Clay County in the 1800’s. They were entirely fueled by moonshine liquor and alcoholism. Later, in the 1900’s, the more modern scourge of drugs nearly destroyed an entire generation of young people. Today’s ancestors of the feuding Philpots and Griffins and Bakers are dying at higher rates from drugs than from the violence of their fathers’ feuds. Death is all around. But thanks be to God, Psalm 106 offers hope.
“Even so, he pitied them in their distress and listened to their cries. He remembered his covenant with them and relented because of his unfailing love… Praise the Lord!” (Psalm 106:44-45, 48b).
HIS UNFAILING LOVE HAS SAVED US!
And then Psalm 107:2 reminds us to speak out like our old hero and icon John Philpot. “Has the Lord redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies.” John Philpot did not go quietly, and neither should his ancestors!
SPEAK OUT!
And last, I imagine John Philpot as he started into Psalm 108. “My heart is confident in you, O God; no wonder I can sing your praises with all my heart. Wake up, lyre and harp! I will wake the dawn with my song.” Psalms 108:1-2. John Philpot went to heaven with a song on his lips!
SING OUT!
So, Mom asked ‘who are we anyway?” I am still not sure. A mixed bag of good and bad. But this I know.
God has saved us. So, we should speak. So, we should sing. AMEN.