until we shelled them for commercial use or for seed. I bought a cotton gin and built storage facilities for cotton, corn, and small grains. I learned to blend specific formulae of liquid fertilizers and could fill a “prescription” for a given tract of land to match its needs after samples of the soil were analyzed. By the early 1960s, Carter’s Warehouse could provide almost anything needed by local farmers, and we could purchase, process, and market the crops produced in our area. It was a family operation that evolved over twenty-three years, until I was elected president and put all our commercial affairs into a blind trust.
Producing seed peanuts evolved into a major source of income and I was soon contracting with other farmers to produce seed on their land for me to process in a shelling plant of my design.
I became reasonably proficient in farming, forestry, business management, and leadership in statewide organizations related to these duties. I also tried to master as many skills as possible, including construction with wood, steel, and concrete, and the maintenance of our equipment. It was hard work, twelve months a year, but I enjoyed the challenges, and our multiple businesses prospered. I became deeply interested in environmental issues by meeting challenges on our own land and working with others.
We moved out of the housing project after the second year, and in 1956 rented what has always been known in our community as the “haunted house.” It is about a mile west of Plains and on the road that goes by the farm on which I spent my boyhood. Just a couple of hundred yards from the local cemetery, this was a place to be carefully avoided after nightfall, and the people who lived in our rural community would evade the danger zone by walking down the railroad tracks instead of the dirt road. The house was built about 1835, when the first white settlers came into the area to replace the Native Americans who had been forcibly moved west to Oklahoma and beyond during the administration of President Andrew Jackson. There were reports of abnormal activities there, including numerous sightings of a white-gowned woman wandering around in the attic, holding a lantern.
A man named Tink Faircloth, who worked as a mechanic for Rosalynn’s father, had lived there for a few years. I went hunting at night with him and his hounds for raccoons and opossums, and he said he was wakened several times by strange canine noises. From the bedroom window he could see a large black dog with his hounds, but each time he went through the back porch and opened the screen door, the visiting dog had disappeared. Finally late one afternoon the dog remained in theyard, looking up at Tink as he approached, wagging his tail in a friendly manner. Somewhat cautiously, Tink reached out to pet the black dog, but there was nothing there.
The owner of the haunted house later was Dr. Thad Wise, the oldest of three brothers who were physicians and owned and operated the hospital in Plains, where my mother had come to be trained as a registered nurse. The head nurse was Ms. Gussie Abrams, my godmother and a good friend of my parents. Married to another man, she had lived there for several years with Doctor Thad. Their cook, Inez Laster, reported that all of them would see a strange woman approach the house, but when they looked at her directly or spoke to her, she would turn and disappear. Inez claimed that this went on for more than a year, and that often there would be knocking on the front door but no one would be there. She would have quit, she said, but her employer reassured her about safety and she needed the income.
When Doctor Thad became quite ill, Ms. Abrams asked me to come out and stay with her, and she and I went into the kitchen one evening so she could fix me some supper. I remember that she liked to make a hole in a thick slice of bread, put it in a greased frying pan, fill the hole with a broken egg, and cook it. As I was
Producing seed peanuts evolved into a major source of income and I was soon contracting with other farmers to produce seed on their land for me to process in a shelling plant of my design.
I became reasonably proficient in farming, forestry, business management, and leadership in statewide organizations related to these duties. I also tried to master as many skills as possible, including construction with wood, steel, and concrete, and the maintenance of our equipment. It was hard work, twelve months a year, but I enjoyed the challenges, and our multiple businesses prospered. I became deeply interested in environmental issues by meeting challenges on our own land and working with others.
We moved out of the housing project after the second year, and in 1956 rented what has always been known in our community as the “haunted house.” It is about a mile west of Plains and on the road that goes by the farm on which I spent my boyhood. Just a couple of hundred yards from the local cemetery, this was a place to be carefully avoided after nightfall, and the people who lived in our rural community would evade the danger zone by walking down the railroad tracks instead of the dirt road. The house was built about 1835, when the first white settlers came into the area to replace the Native Americans who had been forcibly moved west to Oklahoma and beyond during the administration of President Andrew Jackson. There were reports of abnormal activities there, including numerous sightings of a white-gowned woman wandering around in the attic, holding a lantern.
A man named Tink Faircloth, who worked as a mechanic for Rosalynn’s father, had lived there for a few years. I went hunting at night with him and his hounds for raccoons and opossums, and he said he was wakened several times by strange canine noises. From the bedroom window he could see a large black dog with his hounds, but each time he went through the back porch and opened the screen door, the visiting dog had disappeared. Finally late one afternoon the dog remained in theyard, looking up at Tink as he approached, wagging his tail in a friendly manner. Somewhat cautiously, Tink reached out to pet the black dog, but there was nothing there.
The owner of the haunted house later was Dr. Thad Wise, the oldest of three brothers who were physicians and owned and operated the hospital in Plains, where my mother had come to be trained as a registered nurse. The head nurse was Ms. Gussie Abrams, my godmother and a good friend of my parents. Married to another man, she had lived there for several years with Doctor Thad. Their cook, Inez Laster, reported that all of them would see a strange woman approach the house, but when they looked at her directly or spoke to her, she would turn and disappear. Inez claimed that this went on for more than a year, and that often there would be knocking on the front door but no one would be there. She would have quit, she said, but her employer reassured her about safety and she needed the income.
When Doctor Thad became quite ill, Ms. Abrams asked me to come out and stay with her, and she and I went into the kitchen one evening so she could fix me some supper. I remember that she liked to make a hole in a thick slice of bread, put it in a greased frying pan, fill the hole with a broken egg, and cook it. As I was
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