An Eloquent Tribute to John La Fayette Walton [my great, great Grandfather] by Jay Louis
Having had the honor of a personal acquaintance with Mr. Walton for a period of sixteen years I am in a position to write advisedly, but touch only the high places in his career and character.
He survived the threescore and ten which the psalmist says is man’s allotment for nearly a decade. Acturarus tell us only four persons in one hundred live to be octogenarians. So ninety-six of the one hundred who began lifes strange, eventful journeys with him, have proceeded him to the unknown and unknowable world.
It is a consoling thought to all who are proud to know they had a place on his list of friends, that he leaves a priceless heritage to his loved ones in a stainless record as a citizen of a republic his valor as a soldier served to save in its hour of peril; and that throughout his beautiful and blameless life, he was a consistent and devoted follower of the lowly Nazarene.
Hon. J. R. Walton was a member of the Kansas legislature in 1881-82 at which time he was given free passes over the Union Pacific and Sana Fe line, including all branch lines. These unused passes are now family souvenirs, mute mementos of the sterling, unwavering integrity of a legislator whom money could not buy. He paid full fare, but retained the passes as an evidence of corporation camouflage.
When the guardians of the whipping post and the tyrant owners of vast plantations, living in idle luxury and lecherous debauchery on profits purloined from innocent children of a common creator, who were earning their bread in the sweat of their faces as God had ordered, but who for some inscrutable reason, had permitted thieves to enslave – thieves who had stolen babes from their mother’s arms, separated brothers and sisters, never to meet again, and carried into captivity thousands of miles from home and friends, millions of human beings, on whose minds they put fetters, and whose limbs were chained to auction blocks to be sold as chattels, and lacerated with blacksnakes – capped the climax of infamy trying to shoot the flag out of heaven.
The hero of this sketch, though a boy too young to ear arms, left his quiet peaceful home to share the dangers and perils of the battlefield- answered his country’s call and enrolled as a drummer boy. He grew to manhood and amid scenes of carnage in the bloodiest war of history. The song of birds in his far away Iowa home was changed to the demonic hiss of the hungry lead, and the under of the summer rain was superseded by the ominous roar of wasting cannon.
Yet he flinched not from the call of duty in that dread hour – some one had to beat the snare drum and awaken the weary troops, for the enemy were alert, aggressive and loaded to the guards with plentiful supplies,; with long lines of glistening steel, and troops whose valor could not be questioned; for never did a more gallant people draw a sword than these southern men. It is sad to reflect that the matchless heroism of the boys in grey and the measureless losses sustained in that sanguinary conflict should all be in the interest of human slavery. Ninety-four percent of the southern troops never owned a slave nor desired to own one.
As the Kaiser and a numerically small coterie of militarists led sixty-five million peaceful, industrious Germans to a slaughter pew and financial oblivion so six per cent of the southern people, who owned all of the four million slaves, brought ruin and desolation on eleven prosperous and happy commonwealth. Those wanton, avaricious, cruel Moloch’s of lust and greed, in order to hold in thrall their helpless black concubines’, and live in idleness on the toil of millions, appealed to the arbitrament of the sword, but the arbiter of human destiny trailed their conquered banner in the dust and erased the single star their “Bonnie Blue Flag”.
Lincoln said, in his second inaugural address, “This war must e fought to a finish, though every drop of blood shed by the lash be duplicated by the blood of those who caused it to flow; and though every dollar exploited from the toil of the slaves for a hundred years be lost in the vortex of conflict. “Now we are at peace, in a Union strong and great, immune forevermore from fraternal strife, and secure in our ocean bound republic against possible invasion by and foreign foe, for all of which we owe a thousands thanks to the brave little drummer boy of the long ago and the blue phalanx whom he awoke each morn to face a thousand deaths, together with all the living and dead in Lincoln’s immortal legions. To them one and all we owe a debt of gratitude which cannot be paid.
We can toss them a pitiful pension during their brief stay with us. Then we can decorate their hallowed graves with flags and flowers but recompense them for their heroism-Never!
Born in Jennings county, Indiana July 29, 1844. He was married at Watawah, Iowa, August 23, 1866 (having been mustered out of the service August 23, 1865, at Council Bluffs, Iowa) the the age of 22, to Miss Hannah Easton.
To them were born 12 children. Mr. and Mrs. Walton believed in the spiritual injunction, “Train a child up in the way he should go and when he is old he will not part from it.” So their little wandering feet were guided along the straight and narrow way, and grew up a credit to their parents – an honor to the state. He founded an ideal Christian home where the angels of peace and plenty reigned as queens of the realm – where love barred dissensions, and children gamboled on a lawn of Elysian verdure.
Mr. and Mrs. Walton celebrated their golden wedding anniversary in 1916, where manly sons and modest daughters formed an unbroken circle around the alter of that hallowed home, wreathed with memories of a half century of sorrow and joy, tempest and calm.
Affiliated from his youth with the Methodist church and sincere in his convictions he never drew a line, nor thought of deprecating others because they chose to hold beliefs with which he did not happen to be in accord.
The twin deamon’s of bigotry and fanaticism, never for a single moment found an abiding place in his loyal heart – loyal alike to his neighbor, his country and his God.
Had he lived at Bastrop, his crushed and dismembered body would have been found at the bottom of the lake with Watt Daniel and Fletcher Richard.
He spent four of the best years of his life in unriveting the manacles from fettered limbs, chained to the whipping post of the present exalted cyclops’s ancestors.
Hid drum beat in the morning reveille roused up the Catholic and the Jew, the Protestant and the Agnostic, and he saw their mangled bodies commingled among the heaps of slain, but he paid no more attention to their different creeds then will God on the final day.
He believed Old Glory waves today for all the valiant slain, who died that Freedom might live, and if he ever swore, he would have cursed with his latest breath the treason laden fiend who would rob the patriotic dead of his priceless laurels because the victim of a traitors aim id not happen to be in accord with his narrow Satanic creed.
It has been said that every life, no matter if its every hour has been jeweled with joy, will in the end become a tragedy. It is also claimed that there come a time to all when the fevered lips of life long for the cool delicious kiss of death. That tired of the glare and heat of the day and hail with joy the trailing garments of the night.
It seems like it were a sacrilege for us to weep, now that his long, long journey of four score years has brought him at last, to the end of that rainbow of promise where emerald and rubies blaze, The choir invisible has sounded the reveille of the celestial phalanx, calling this Soldier of the ross from the battle field of that life- which is after all only the dream of a sleep that death must wake – to greet the dawn of a day that knows neither sultry noontide heat nor twilight eve, to rest – among the stately cedars that shade the River of Paradise.
Pathetic indeed, was the sight of less than two score battle-scarred veterans of the Civil War, who met around the bier to bid their beloved comrade a last good bye.
Beautiful in their rich and varied profusion were the floral offerings of friends.
But lovelier by far, were the silken folds of the dear old flag that draped his perfumed casket.
That starry emblem that he had followed over corpse strewn fields to victory, he always loved as a parent loves a child, and he had requested that they be not separated – even in death.
So with that silken starlit banner for his shroud, serenely now, in his windowless palace of rest, the citizen and soldier sleeps.
Funeral services for J.L.Walton
Funeral services for John L. Walton, 78 years old, Civil war veteran, were conducted at First Methodist Church, Friday morning, a large crowd being in attendance. Services were conducted by the G.A.R. post and the Rev. H.L. Gleckler and the Rev. M. Porter both talked of Mr. Walton’s life.
The deceased was widely known here and the large crowd was evidence of the esteem in which he was held. Spanish war veterans acted as pall bearers an d G.A.R. members were honorary pall bearers. Out of town relatives included Mr. and Mrs. J.W.Walton Broken Arrow; Mrs. J.B.Erickson and son, John, Oklahoma City; Mrs. E.L.Walton, Kansas City; Mrs. Laura Mongold and Mrs. Will Williams, Sapulpa; Mrs. G.A.Kennedy, Detroit and Mrs. Phillip Wilbur Blackwell.
Mr. and Mrs. J.W. Walton of Broken Arrow, Mrs. J.B.Erickson of Oklahoma City, and Mrs. Phillip Wilbur of Blackwell, arrived in Enid Tuesday, having been called here by the death of their father and grandfather Johhn L. Walton.
Rev. J.L.Walton was born in Jennings county, Indiana, July 29, 1844, and died in Enid, Okla, January 22, 192. He was converted in early life and united with M. Church.
August 9, 1862, he enlisted from Adair county Iowa, to serve three years or during the war in the Union Army, and was mustered into service at Council Bluffs, Iowa, August 13, 1862, as a musician of Captain Bonaparte Dales company “K” 29th regiment, Iowa Volunteer Infantry, Col Thomas H. Benton, Jr., commanding.
His record as a soldier was in keeping with his record as a citizen, first class all the way through. He was mustered out of service finally at Davenport, Iowa, August 23, 1865.
As an evidence of the esteem in which he was held by his comrades of the G.A.R. post, there were in attendance at the funeral more of the members of the post than has been together on such an occasion for a long time. There were about 25 of the old veterans present, and at the close of the sermon, they held their service about the coffin and also the ladies of the G.A.. had service.
Shortly after returning from the army, he was licensed a local preacher in the Methodist Episcopal Church. For two years thereafter he served charges as a pastor. He found, however, his health failing in that work and was compelled to give it up.
He was married to Miss Hannah Easton in Adair county, Iowa, August 23, 1866. To them were born 12 children, most of whom are still liviing and were present at the funeral. Also several grand children).
The funeral services were at the First Methodist Episcopal church in Enid, Friday morning.
PIONEER CITIZEN DIES
Death takes John L. Walton, eteran of Civil War.
John L. Walton, Civil War veteran and resident of Enid and Garfield county for twenty-one years, died Monday night at 11 o’clock, at his home, 535 North Fifth Street, at the age of 78 years. His death came as a result of a complication of diseases, his condition growing serious only a few days ago.
Besides his wife, Mr. Walton is survive by three daughters. Mrs. W.E.Ducky, 520 North Fifth Street, Mrs. Mason, Hart 3120 Easst Randolph street, and Mrs. J.E.Erickson of Oklahoma City, and one son J.W.Walton of Broken Arrow.
Funeral arrangements have not been completed, pending the arrival of relatives. Announcement of the funeral will be made Wednesday.
“Lift of your Head and Heart, From these morbid thoughts Depart, The light of Life is from above, To catch the glimpse of Perfect Love, When the World Seems Dark and Drear, And no helping hand is near, And our Hearts reach out and cry, Give me Peace or I must die, Then I look beyond Times Space, And see my Savior face to face, See Him Siting on His Throne, See Him know Him as my own, And His mighty hand of Power, Gives me strength for Every hour”
by Grandpa Walton
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