[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 157 (2011), Part 7]
[Senate]
[Pages 9873-9874]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




                            MORNING BUSINESS

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                         TRIBUTE TO CLYDE BROCK

  Mr. McCONNELL. Mr. President, I rise today to honor one of Kentucky's 
inspirational treasures. Ninety-four-year-old Clyde Brock is one of 
four residents of Laurel County, KY, who was chosen to share his 
remarkable story as part of London, KY's Living Treasures Project. 
Looking back, Clyde Brock has remembered for us the monumental events 
and cherished memories that helped shape his life.
  Born April 9, 1917, in a small town called Roots Branch in Clay 
County, KY, Clyde Brock was the eldest of 10 children of Johnny and 
Mary Brock. Suffering from a staph infection in his leg, Clyde endured 
a childhood of doctor visits and constant operations. Though his 
disability left him with one leg shorter than the other, Clyde refused 
to let it hinder his ability to experience life to the fullest. He can 
recall the excitement of seeing his first Model T Ford, the growth and 
development of his hometown, the constant changes in prices, the Great 
Depression, and the effects of war. After being turned down for the 
draft, due to his leg, Brock went on to pursue a career in teaching 
after graduating Sue Bennett College in 1940.
  Clyde also took the position of postmaster and remembers well when 
customers would bring eggs to pay for their stamps instead of money. 
Three eggs paid for a letter; eggs sold for 12 cents a dozen back then. 
Clyde also ran a rationing board during World War II. He can remember 
folks standing in line half a day to get their pound of lard.
  Soon after, Clyde married his late wife Ada Brown and they had three 
children. Sadly, Ada passed away earlier this year after suffering a 
severe stroke. After many years together, Clyde says that his greatest 
accomplishment in life was getting her to marry him.
  After 32 successful years at eight different schools teaching history 
and civics, Mr. Brock retired. While recollecting his memories of 
walking to school through the snow and the enjoyment of seeing his 
students become excited about learning, it's clear Clyde Brock still 
has a passion for teaching.
  Clyde is a member of Providence Baptist Church, where he is a deacon 
and trustee. Realizing that life is short, Mr. Brock says that it has 
only been ``by the grace of God'' that he has been able to live for so 
long.
  I know my U.S. Senate colleagues join me is saying Mr. Clyde Brock, 
who can look back with pride at a full life well lived, is an 
inspiration to us all. He is not only a living treasure to London, but 
a living treasure to the State of Kentucky.
  Mr. President, the Laurel County Sentinel Echo recently published an 
article illuminating Mr. Clyde Brock's long life and career. I ask 
unanimous consent that the full article be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the article was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

          [From the Laurel County Sentinel Echo, May 11, 2011]

                   London's Living Treasures: Part 1

                     (Transcribed by Tara Kaprowy)

       Following is the life story of 94-year-old Clyde Brock, who 
     is one of four Laurel Countians chosen to be part of London's 
     Living Treasures project. Over a two-hour interview, while 
     sitting in an easy chair in his Bush-area home, Brock shared 
     many memories, from the day he saw his first car to the day 
     his beloved wife Ada died ``with just a curtain between 
     them.''
       ``I was born April 9, 1917 in Clay County in a place called 
     Roots Branch because so many Roots lived there. I was born in 
     a big log house. I was the first of 10 children to a young 
     couple called Johnny and Mary Brock.
       My dad bought a farm, I was about 5 years old when we moved 
     from there. Then he decided to leave the farm and got a 
     public job and we moved to Corbin. It must have been about 
     1924. I went to school one year there, Felts School.
       I remember my grandfather had a brother that fought on the 
     southern side during the Civil War. I just remember him. He'd 
     come to see my grandfather and he had a mule and I just 
     remember that. He didn't draw a pension. Then I saw one 
     soldier that fought on the northern side and he drew $100 a 
     month.
       In 1926, I had the misfortune of getting a staph germ. It 
     was one Sunday evening, I was just out fooling around outside 
     and it hit me, all at twice. The next morning there was a 
     knot in my leg.
       Well, they took me to Corbin Hospital. They scraped the 
     bone, but it didn't help. Brought me to London, you know 
     where the First National Bank is now. There was a little bank 
     and it had a little hospital over it. Well, they took me in 
     there and my temperature was 105.5. This doctor, he saved my 
     life, Dr. H.V. Pennington. The kind of surgical tools he used 
     was a hammer and chisel to chisel bone out.
       I stayed there a month until they got the new hospital over 
     on the hill. There was eight of us moved into that new 
     building. There was four doctors in it: Dr. J.W. Crook, Dr. 
     G.S. Brock, Dr. O.D. Brock and Dr. Pennington. I had two more 
     surgeries there, and I stayed there from last of March in 
     1926 until some time in August. With staph going on up, they 
     performed surgery on my knee. That didn't check it, and it 
     got to my hip. They come in, all four of them one day with a 
     big needle, they went into my hip and they found it had got 
     up there. So, they told my mother and my father to come up 
     because they'd have to perform surgery again. My dad picked 
     me up in his arms and carried me to the operating surgery 
     table. They took the ball out, I don't have that ball in my 
     hip. It made my leg shorter so they put a 10-pound weight on 
     a roller on the foot of the bed and held it six weeks to try 
     to pull it down. It didn't work. They didn't have therapy 
     then, they didn't have penicillin then, so that staph, it 
     left my leg short and stiff.
       We moved to Cane Creek and I had C. Frank Bentley as a 
     teacher at Union Grade School. Then my father, he wanted a 
     bigger farm so he swapped that farm in to one about 200 acres 
     and we moved there. I start Bush School in the seventh grade. 
     I had eight brothers and sisters graduated from Bush. I was 
     about an average student--no, I didn't shine.


                          The Great Depression

       Let me tell you a bit about the Great Depression. If you 
     live down on the farm, it didn't affect you because you 
     didn't have any bills to pay. Everybody had their own meat 
     and killed their own hogs, they had their cows where they got 
     their butter or their milk, they had their chickens, had 
     their eggs. You was almost independent.
       My job was to go to the mill on Saturday evenings. We'd 
     shell a bushel of corn on Friday night. I'd take that corn to 
     mill and everybody else did too and get it ground into meal 
     and it made that good, ole cornbread. It was over here on 
     Black water Road, Henry

[[Page 9874]]

     Hale run the mill. I'd ride on a mule. You either walked or 
     rode a mule or horse.
       I saw my first car when I was about 5 years old. It had 
     come over from London to Manchester. A man come along 
     walking. He said, ``There's a car coming up here.'' Well, I 
     was out to see it in the yard and here it comes. One of those 
     old Model-T Fords in the wagon tracks.
       I got out of high school, I went to Sue Bennett College, 
     1938. London used to be a lot of wooden buildings down each 
     side there. Over on Broad Street, straight across from the 
     courthouse where those annex buildings are now, there used to 
     be two dwelling houses there. And they had a theater up there 
     that you could go to the movies, 15 cents in 1938, '39. You 
     went in and had to go up some steps and it had about two rows 
     of seats, aisle down the middle. Next block over from 
     Weaver's pool room. You could get you a hamburger and a 
     bottle of pop there and it would cost about 15 cents.


                             Wages and War

       They had Hackney's, Daniel's, Woody's, 10 cents stores, 
     they had a lot of them. Then they had pool rooms. Laurel 
     County was wet at one time, about '38, '39. '40, they had 
     beer joints. Where Scoville's office is, when you go down in 
     a hole, that was called Underworld, they had a beer joint 
     down there. Then they had one in east London over by Benge 
     Supply, used to be a liquor store. Go in and bottles were 
     sitting up on the counter.
       There used to be a lot of people go to church on Sunday 
     because they didn't have anywhere else to go. They'd stay 
     outside and fight and things; I was outside too. There'd be 
     more people outside than there were in. Blackwater Church, 
     I've seen the preacher come right out and his son and the 
     other preacher's son were fighting right at the door. He just 
     walked out and tried to get them separated.
       Going to Sue Bennett, I stayed in the dorm, the boys would 
     sit up all night and play poker, blackjack for a penny. 
     Cigarettes used to you could buy for 11 cents, you could get 
     Camels, Lucky's for 15 cents. On Sunday, if you want to get 
     out, if you got a pack of cigarettes and a pack of chewing 
     gum, you was doing pretty good.
       I graduated from Sue Bennett in 1940 and got my teaching 
     diploma. That was the quickest thing you could do then. That 
     was after the Depression. I made $73.74 a month. When I was 
     about 23, I got to be postmaster. There would be people to 
     bring three eggs to the post office to mail a letter. Eggs 
     was 12 cents a dozen at one time. My dad had a store and he'd 
     take the eggs and he'd sell them and put 3 cents in. He could 
     get all the men he wanted to work for 50 cents a day and 
     their dinner.
       War started. In addition to being postmaster, I was also 
     deputy clerk. People had to come to register when they 
     rationed everything. They'd come and sign up and you'd give 
     them a ration book with stamps in it. Coffee was rationed and 
     people used lard back then. They'd stand in line about a half 
     a day to get about a pound of lard.
       I was called in January before the War started. With my 
     leg, I got so I could work and do things, I didn't have to go 
     on crutches. I done about anything anybody else used to do. 
     I'd a liked to go, I told them they could use me anywhere, 
     I'd have gone. I was the second one called in the county 
     before the War started, but I was turned down. A teacher I 
     was teaching with, he told me I would pass. He said, ``They 
     don't want you to run, you're not supposed to run when you're 
     in a war.''


                          Love of a Good Woman

       In 1940, I met a girl that meant more to me than all the 
     rest that I knew. Named Ada Brown, who lived over in Pigeon 
     Roost in Clay County. We married in 1941, I must have been 
     about 20. I had a good friend I'd run around with, and he was 
     dating her sister. We went to Freedom United Church one 
     Wednesday night, and after church he and her sister was 
     walking in front. He was down leading a mule. I was riding 
     behind this other one and she was walking by herself. I asked 
     about getting down, and we got together. That was the best 
     thing that happened to me in my life, she marrying me. We 
     went to Jellico, Tenn., went into the clerk's office to get 
     the license. He said $10, $5 for the license, $5 for the 
     preacher.
       We had a four-room house and about four acres of ground and 
     had a cook stove. Then we had a kitchen cabinet, a little 
     dining room set, we had two beds and a few chairs.


                        Seven Miles in the Snow

       The second year I started teaching, they sent me to a 
     school called Darl Jones, and it was about seven miles away. 
     I had to get a horse, cost me about $75. In wintertime, one 
     morning, I got up and you had to be there at 8 o'clock. I 
     thought, ``It's too cold to ride, it's way below zero,'' so I 
     said, ``I'm going to walk.'' I left walking, snow on the 
     ground, moon shining bright, I walked that seven miles. You 
     know what I was wishing? I wished that someone would ask me 
     to stay all night with them. Just about before we turned out 
     for lunch, a fellow by the name of Willie Martin that lived 
     in the community, he come in and sit down and he said, ``I 
     want you to stay all night with me.'' He didn't have to twist 
     my arm.
       In 1941, I had 44 students in school, 16 in the sixth 
     grade. Now, a lot of them's already passed on. On Friday 
     afternoon, used to young people would come around because 
     after school you had a ballgame or you had a ciphering match. 
     We'd see which side could add the columns the quickest. Well 
     one Friday night, a man come there and when it started to 
     rain he went outside and got his gun, a pump shotgun, and set 
     it in the corner of the schoolhouse. We paid no attention to 
     that. When it quit raining, he got his gun and went up the 
     road.
       The day my first son was born, I was gone up to get my pay 
     that day at a teacher's meeting. My brother had to go and get 
     the doctor. He had an old bicycle, but one pedal was broken 
     off, it just had that rod that came out, and his foot kept 
     slipping off and it would cut his leg. And it was hot, it was 
     in September, he rode all the way and back with that old 
     bicycle and burned up and he always said, ``And look what we 
     got.'' Well, I felt good, and you know I had a pay day that 
     day. You know how much it cost? $20. He's a pretty good boy, 
     never had to go to the jailhouse or anything like that.
       I have three children, Larry, Janice and Gary.
       I was about 25 or 26 when I got my first car, a 1936 
     Chevrolet. I didn't know how to drive. On Monday morning I 
     started out and I had to go up a little bank. Well, I says, 
     ``I'll put it up in second.'' Well, I didn't put it in 
     second, I put it in reverse. It went back with me. I had a 
     time driving.
       In 1946, that's when I built this house. I was going to 
     build it out of wood. Couldn't find it, couldn't get wood. 
     Corbin had a cement block factory, and I got a man to lay the 
     block 50 cents an hour. Rationing was so bad, you couldn't 
     buy a car. When we got the house up, we couldn't get any 
     windows. It was a year before I could get windows.


                        Through Faith and Grace

       We got saved in 1951, been members of Providence Baptist 
     Church now for 60 years. I taught Sunday school for 36 years. 
     And you know they gave me an honor? They named the class 
     after me. And I'm still a deacon and a trustee.
       In 1955, we started raising chickens. I guess we raised 
     chickens 20 years and we always had chicken to eat. Then we 
     raised tobacco. And Ada always had a big garden, and she 
     always had a big freezer. She froze everything.
       I retired in 1972, taught 32 years. I taught at eight 
     schools, Blackwater, Darl Jones, Bennett Branch, Lake, White 
     Hall, Pace's Creek, Boggs, Head Beech Creek and Bush Junior 
     High. I liked teaching history and civics, but not English, 
     didn't like diagramming and analyzing. I couldn't tell a 
     dangling modifier now from anything else. But I liked when I 
     could see progress in some of them, you knew you was doing 
     maybe something good. Those little fellers, I'd like to watch 
     them. They'd get up to the board, we loved going to the board 
     and make ABCs back then. Now you don't do that, you don't 
     memorize nothing now.
       A lot of my students came to me when I was up in that 
     nursing home in December last year. They said, ``You had a 
     lot of company.'' Some of them come in there with old, grey 
     beards, and I didn't recognize them. They said, ``Well, I 
     went to school with you.'' I stayed about 31 days up there. I 
     was there with Ada.
       In 1992, one day my wife, she cooked a big dinner. We ate 
     dinner, we watched Price Is Right, she says, ``I'm going in 
     here to freeze some beans.'' I got up and went through there 
     and she laid on the floor. No response. I called 9-1-1 and 
     when they come they thought it was a stroke and that's what 
     it was. It took her speech and paralyzed her right side.
       She stayed in the hospital and nursing home. From the time 
     she went in to the day she passed away was 18 years, six 
     months and 9 days. And she stayed in Laurel Heights in London 
     18 years. I had already retired. We was together for about 51 
     good years. She was a quilter and a good cook. She was noted 
     for her fried apple pies. She'd take them to the homecomings 
     at church. She'd made 60 pies one morning.
       After I got sick this December, I had to go for rehab and 
     they had me go to Laurel Heights. The lady that was in with 
     Ada passed away and they said, ``You go be in the room with 
     your wife.'' So I went. They'd get me up in the wheelchair. 
     They let me sit by her on Sunday. After I'd been there a 
     while, she passed away, just a curtain between us. That was 
     the 22nd day of January this year.
       See I'm 94 years old now. My wife was 88. Now I stay here 
     by myself. But I gave up driving. Just six months ago. I 
     thought I'd better quit while I was ahead.
       How does it feel to be 94? You know one thing, you know 
     your time is getting shorter, and you don't have too long to 
     stay here.
       I say it's been by the grace of God that I've been blessed 
     to live this long. I don't want to take any honor or 
     anything, as if I've done something myself to stay healthy. 
     It's all for the grace of God.''

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