Story n’ History of Schitt

Excerpt from The Official Schitt Family History and Associated Regrets

Compiled by Crock O. Schitt, Amateur Genealogist and Occasional Witness

Earlier family origins remain considerably less certain.

THIS HERE BE THE ANCIENT ARMS OF SCHITT:

We gunna bring ourselves up ta the 1800’s now. Bout now we need ta discuss a certain Bartholomew Schitt. NOW – ole Bartholomew Schitt (1829–1889) this man,well claimin anyways, was the first documentd Schitt in Tennessee parts that I knowd of. Finally arrived n’ settled. Word told wus after being asked to leave three ports, two taverns, and one church congregation. Now, back then ports n’ taverns were jus normal to git kicked outta ….. but a church congregation? … Hum, come ta think of it – THAT may be WHY Jack felt a callin all them years later ….. ANYWAY Family records say he was a blacksmith/ carpenter by trade. — Court records tell it otherwise. Fer the record, Bartholomew n’ Prudence got hitched.

Well – here tell Prudence Mercy Smith (1832) gotta hold of Bartholomew after another tavern toss and thought she could set him right …. Nope, didn’t work at all, … she tried, OH that woman, she tried to fix-a-Schitt, but instead they ended up with a boy yu’d call ‘em a peculiar son, but still – Parrot Schitt bornin 1849. Some say … kinda like that last piece of the puzzle that don’t fit nowhere. Boy was sumpthin. Now Parrot growd up some but times were tuff. By the early 1850’s things were getting’ darker – trouble wus fixin to heat up. Slavery wus fightin’ words in many parts. Things wus simmerin’ fer goin’ on ten years till the outbreak of Civil war in 1861 – lastin’ till ‘bout 1865.  Can’t tell the future, but stuff usually gets better after the war, that was slow commin’. Tuff. This boy claimed to have fought in twelve battles. Military records showd he attended nary a ONE — tavern fights (jus like daddy) PLENTY n’ after got drug off to a battle or two, thou that may jus be that the tavern hadn’t worn off yet. Boy could spin a story, he could. After a time, Parrot got sweet on Polly.

NOW, where were we ……. Oh yea —- Polly, wait – NO Parrot … augh, anyways, lawds a mercy — afor the war got ta goin’ – he sobered a bit, he got snobgobbed by a girl nam’d Polly Bird … n’ yea, she was ‘ventually knowd’ as Polly Schitt (1847). Parrot n’ Polly was scrappin by, farmin jus won’t their cup a tea, family wus, well lookin at them kinda funny. Fer a Schitt back then, that boy could NOT work the soil, seems he lost a bunch. Not long after ole Parrot run inta a feller by name of Wilder N. Schitt (1834) …. Who knew a cousin fourth removed would show up. Somehow – go figure – Wilder talked Parrot n’ Polly into going out west with him. Heard tell there wus land out through that Louisiana Purchase country, n’ even gold further west…, so Wilder wus wantin’ to see ifn’ he could make it big that-a way.  Hum, makes ya wonder. Wilder had a sorta good head on his shoulders and meant well, but meanin’ n’ doin’ two different things. Still, Wilder had himself a wagon.

OFF they went sometime bout 1868 … Parrot, Polly, & Wilder N. Schitt … wagon and all. Supposed to of gone WEST —- these are Schitt’s … started west a little, told they were follin the Santa Fe Trail … er maybe the Californie Oregin trail …went n’ hooked north a bunch afor they figured out West agin … Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, maybe even Nebraska, don’t know BUT … not sure, can’t verify it but out there somewheres. Now Wilder was known to be a bit worldly, maybe kinda smart, NOT clever but enough. He started out with a map, ended up that unfortunately Polly was carrying it….. didn’ KNOW it was a map, n’ forgot jus what she did with it. LAWD give me strength. ………… the longer the wagon went ……… the longer all Wilder could hear was — Parrot – Polly- Parrot- Polly- Parrot- Polly ….. jus damn, it can break a man. Hear tell cumpases were hard ta come by!

Any a way – their wagon runed up on some other wagons, and for a time, the wagon riders exchanged stories, ideas, beliefs. N’ ya wonder jus WHERE the sayin … NEVER discuss religion or politics came from! God have mercy, the wagons split up … Ole Wilder’s buzzin something fierce, just tryin to git his head back. For he knew it, things git quiet ….. odd kinda quiet. Hum …. Guessin Parrot n’ Polly hitched a ride on another wagon – vaguely recall some woman named Calamity, a looker and a talker … thinkin Polly found lost kin …. Anywho

Now Wilder could focus on his fortune he was gunna find. Thinkin’ he wus mixed up n’ where the sun started, n’ where it ended …. But he found sumpthin alright … a damn swamp, WHY – who knows, lost his mind n’ stayed anyways. Decided he was gunna found this settlement – later to be crystened – Little Schitt’s Crossing n’ known for miles around ….. people talk ….. ya jus don’t SEE goats in the middle of a swamp unless yer in Little Schitt’s Crossing –  then ya do. Word has it the population peaked somewhere about 13 …. Records were sparse in them SW Tennessee parts those days … Odd, but three were relative Schitts. No one knowd jus HOW more then one Schitt can find a swamp but they did … goats … cousins … tryin REAL hard not ta think about it. Narry had any trouble with local tribes … mostly ‘cuz Wilder narry recalled meetin’ any … Probably cuz of the goats ….

That brings us…. Well dernit’ thinkin’ Ah missed the Revolutionary War. Sometimes things git scrambled, but I kin tell ya sompthin I’m sure you never knowd …… Believe it or not – family even has a General Schitt in the ranks …. Yess sir —Proud son o’ Ashley W. Schitt (1712) n’ Bonnie (Butler) Schitt (1717) — Lieutenant General Boregard Bullion Schitt (1739). Guessin ya never knowd it cuz ya can’t find it written anywhere ….. told it musta been one of them battlefield promotions er sompthin. They did that I’m told. Family’s been divided over that fact for near onta 75 years. ….. n’ It’s the deng Scheister side that’s agin it.

Now the wild old west has a way of beatin the family tree down … many a family lost everythin they had somewhere between the Mississippi River and anywhere west … but we is talkin about the Schitt’s … no matta how hard ya try, ya just CAN’t get rid of the Schitts! They’ll pop back up when ya least spect em to. … brings us to um, well …. A kinda respectable Schitt – Horace B. Schitt (Boregard- didn’t like using it even iffin Bullion was daddy’s middle name! LG Boregard Bullion Schitt n’ his momma Odelina (Medici) Schitt. …

Now ole Horace was a respectable man, used the family name to help advance the machine inventions durin the industrial revolution nye onta round 1790’s, meybe …. Eh 1800’s. See ….steam power was makin machines do good work, factory machines did things faster, drillin machines drilled deeper and faster … farmin machines made work easier. SSOO – Horace, in good conscious with the family name … invented a steam powered manure spreader, said it would help fertilize entire fields for plantin in no time ….. tinkered with the design for months …. Machine worked perfect …. Sorta …. Well, once ya started it … it was goin! Goin! Goin! Goin! Til it ran outta steam …. No barn was safe, no house was far enough away … reportedly lost several structures at the test run ……… LAWD, people avoided that side of town for weeks …. For ole Horace, things jus didn’ work out.

For the Schitt family … times were hard to live down. After Horace, things were quite for a time, ya don’ hear much about Bertram Schitt – his momma n’ daddy Matilda (Villanueva) Schitt n’ Bourbon G. Schitt, Lemuel Schitt, or even Mire Schitt … Now see Lemuel courted and hitched up with Eunice Guano ‘n Mire done run off with Emily Coprolite. thou sumtimes people git frustrated sayin they’re mired in schitt, but don’ think they were speakin kindly of the man. Seems it took a good long time to forget Horace’s machine debacle. Fer keepin track, Lemuel n’ Eunice had a little girl Peruvian Schitt. Bout same time Mire n’ Emily had a girl too – Impercunious Lettia Schitt … Why in heaven ya name a girl that?

Still, we reach the early 1900’s, the world is getting to be an ugly place. War busted loose over in Europe in 1914, n’ by 1917 the U.S. got grabbed inta it too. UM, times be tough. Yet, no one, no where can say Schitt’s are not patriotic – no sir. The Army got them one Private Lucky Schitt, n’ boy was he ever. Come from Strome Schitt n’ Crystobelle Tinoco. Survived every engagement and skuffel he got himself inta. Boy returned home PROUD! Served his country, not a scratch! After the home parade, he ended up being hospitalized after attemptin’ to pet a goat! Damn goat kicked poor Lucky three blocks up main street – quite the spectacle. Not sure WHY that goat decided he needed set straight, but it happened. Lucky took three months to recover n’ won’t go near a pettin’ zoo. Where he met nurse Elanor Peabody, ya know what happened then…

After the war, times here in the States were hard. Even Schitt’s were running into difficulties they’ve never encountered before …. Sure, crossing the Atlantic was hard, goin’ west was hard, seein’ manure spread for miles & miles was well … no words … man tried. ASUGH – Great Depression came on everybody. Bout that time … family birthed a boy, much confusion bout the name. Eligah Schitt n’ Beatrix (Moneypenny) Schitt. LAWD, by the time the birth records were found – another Schitt discovery — boys name — Broke P. Schitt. Boy was learned … wrote everthin’ down he heard, WHY – no one knew – but … ya could ask him sumpthin, n’ if he wrote it down, he could tell ya. Boy was a pioneer for family records. … cept, well, made the bright decision to keep his writtens in one place, jus one place … under the loose board in the chicken coop. Makes reedin tween the lines hard, specially when 8 people look at it an no one agrees on the words, smudges, hell, maybe even them HI-RO-GLIFIC’s stuff.

Now Broke P. Schitt may not have had much money, but he had notebooks. Lots of notebooks. Family stories, tavern stories, church stories, goat stories, stories folks specifically told him NOT to write down. Boy wrote every last one of ’em anyhow. And ya know — boy fancied Alreda Sue Lister. Yep, nother Schitt woman!

Family still uses Broke’s records to this day. Mind ya, whether they’re accurate is another matter entirely. Half the pages are smudged, a quarter of ’em got pecked by chickens, and one whole volume appears to have been used as nestin’ material. Even so, if a Schitt done it, chances are Broke wrote it down somewhere.

Course, findin’ it is the hard part.

Sooo, yer askin’ fer more are ya …. Lawdy, guess I got the time … OK then

THE 1920s — Little Schitt’s Village gets respectable… sorta

Course Lucky weren’t the only Schitt tryin’ ta make sumpthin of himself after that first war. Them 1920’s come rollin’ in, everybody wus talkin prosperity, automobiles, radios, electricity n’ all manner of things nobody in Little Schitt’s Village was entirely certain they needed.

Now Lucky Schitt, havin survived the whole damn war without so much as a scratch only ta git near killed by a goat after he come home, settled down some. Nurse Elanor Peabody, the woman who’d tended him while he recovered, apparently decided any man lucky enough ta survive Germans n’ unlucky enough ta lose a fight with a goat probably ‘quired permanent supervision. Eventually she became Elanor (Peabody) Schitt.

Lucky never did take kindly ta goats after that.   Didn’t hate ’em exactly.

Jus preferred they conduct their affairs someplace he wasn’t.

Little Schitt’s Crossing weren’t much of a crossin’ no more neither. Over the years folks kept showin up — Schitts mostly, but some perfectly respectable families too. Had farms, livestock, county workers, a mercantile, books, records and eventually places a person could git fed without killin it theirself.

Quackenbush’s Mercantile handled most everything a body needed, and several things they didn’t. Folks could buy flour, lamp oil, nails, feed, tobacco, patent medicine n’ whatever Mr. Quackenbush claimed had just come in from Nashville. If he didn’t have it, he’d order it. If he couldn’t order it, he’d explain why ya didn’t really need it.

Then there wus Etta’s Diner.   Now Miz Etta Lott could cook.

Didn’t matter whether ya had money neither — though Etta preferred ya did. Place become one of them spots where everybody knowd everybody, everybody knowd everybody’s business, n’ by breakfast most everybody knowd what everybody else had done the night before.

Etta’s wus where news got served with breakfast. Man could sit there half a mornin’ with a cup of coffee n’ know more about Little Schitt’s Village than the county clerk did. Didn’t matter whether ya asked neither.

Folks talked. Etta listened. Everybody else listened harder. Probably shoulda had somebody writin’ all that down. Didn’t yet.

Nobody wrote nary a thing down ‘xactly. Leastaways, nobody we found yet.

Didn’t help. They said it anyway. By then folks had started callin the place Little Schitt’s Village. Ain’t clear anybody officially changed the name. Can’t find no proclamation, incorporation, ceremony, ribbon cuttin’ or nothin’. Seems one day it wus Little Schitt’s Crossing and sometime later everybody wus callin it Little Schitt’s Village.

Great Depression came on everybody. Bout that time … family birthed a boy… Broke P. Schitt.

THE 1930s — Broke finally lives up to his name

Now all that prosperity folks wus braggin about didn’t last. Come the end of the 1920’s, money started disappearin faster than food at a Schitt reunion. Banks got nervous. Businesses got nervous. Farmers wus already nervous. By the time the Great Depression settled in proper, weren’t much left in Little Schitt’s Village that wasn’t nervous.

That’s bout the time young Broke P. Schitt discovered his name weren’t nearly as funny as everybody thought. Boy didn’t have no money — course neither did most anybody else — but he had paper. Any scrap he could git his hands on, Broke wrote sumpthin on it.

Food scarce? Broke wrote it down. Neighbor lost a mule? Wrote it down.

Bank closed? Wrote that too. Somebody’s husband disappeared three days n’ claimed he’d been huntin’? Broke wrote THAT down twice.

Nobody knows exactly when Broke decided he wus the family recorder. Far as anybody can determine, nobody appointed him. Boy jus started. An’ once Broke started writin, that man didn’t know when ta stop.

Births. Deaths. Marriages. Arguments. Church socials. Tavern fights. Livestock incidents. Recipes. Weather. Who owed who money. Who wusn’t speakin ta who. Who shouldn’t have been speakin ta who but apparently wus.

All of it went inta them notebooks. Which mighta been one of the greatest contributions anybody ever made ta Schitt family history…

…had Broke not stored the whole damn archive under a loose board in the chicken coop.

Now, thinkin’ Little Schitt growd ’cuz, well, nobody prospered, — dang nobody had enough money to go anywhere. Times wus hard everywhere, but Little Schitt had one advantage outsiders didn’t understand: Folks there had been makin do without much of anything since 1869.

Garden didn’t produce, somebody else’s did. Roof leaked, somebody had tin. Needed meat, somebody knew somebody with a hog. Needed cash… Well, ya probably stayed needing cash. But ya ate.

Families doubled up. Cousins moved in with cousins. Folks traded work fer food, food fer repairs, repairs fer whatever somebody else could spare. Quackenbush extended credit longer than he probably shoulda, Etta fed people who couldn’t always pay, and more than one account from them years ends with some variation of:

“Settled later.” Ain’t entirely clear how much later. Some may still be open.

And somewhere along them Depression years, Little Schitt’s Village started losing the Village. Again, no record anybody voted on it. County papers shortened it.

Mail shortened it.

Folks shortened it. By the middle 1930’s, more n’ more records simply say:

Little Schitt, Tennessee.

Same swamp.     More people.     Still goats.

Things wus finally startin ta look a little less hopeless toward the end of them 1930’s.

Not good, mind ya. Jus less hopeless. Then folks started hearin troubling things from Europe again.

Germany. Poland. Hitler. War. People in Little Schitt had heard that kinda talk before.

Most hoped this one would stay over there. Course… there wus another Deep Schitt comin of age. And that particular man’s records get peculiar real damn quick.

NOW, world done went nuts agin … started WWII LAWD — n’ patriotic as always, a Schitt stepped up …. SGT Deep Schitt Sr. – no DIRECT relatin’ to the later Deep Schitt twins, er so the Scheister side contends … but then that bunch wuda contend the sun commin up ifin they thought they could win it. N’ iffn’ it aint the Scheister’s it’s tha Malarakey’s … LAWD … back to SGT Deep. His military file is unusual ….. at least three pages stamped – further inquiry not recommended, nother half a dozen stamp’d NOT ON FILE, n’ yet another bunch stamp’d ‘Unable to figure out if any classification exists’ … there ya have it. Not sayin’ it, but probly one of them spy fellows they don’ talk about much.

War finally ended in 1945 n’ Deep eventually found his way back ta Little Schitt. Leastways most of him did. Like a lotta fellers comin’ home, he didn’t talk much bout where he’d been or what he’d done. Family learnt pretty quick — if Deep wanted ya ta know sumpthin, Deep’d tell ya. If he didn’t, best leave Deep alone.

Little Schitt wus changin too. Boys came home, families started growin, roads got better, automobiles got common n’ electricity finally reached places folks had been swearin didn’t need it. Quackenbush’s had things nobody’d heard of ten years earlier, Etta’s kept feedin anybody with money — n’ a fair number without — n’ the goats remained completely unimpressed by progress.

Now, durin all this, two youngins’ wus growin up right there in Little Schitt.

First wus Awe Schitt, born 1936. Boy’s mama named him Awaan, thinkin more along the lines of Arabian Nights. Everybody else apparently thought that wus too much work, so Awe it became.

Then there wus OH Midden, born 1937. Her mama had blessed that child with the fine Irish name Orfhlaith. Oh gracious almighty! OH hated it. Don’t know who shortened it first. Probably somebody tryin ta pronounce it.

Anyways, Awe n’ OH growd up around Little Schitt, survived the war years, the Depression leftovers, rationin’, family, goats n’ each other. Somewhere along the way them two got sweet on one another.

By 1957, Awe Schitt married OH Midden.

Now, stop.     Read that agin’.     Awe Schitt married OH Midden.

Family records confirm it. A year later, 1958, they had themselves a boy.

Named him Jack C. Schitt. Middle name Clay. Hehehe, ah still makes me laugh …

An’ there he is. Jack Schitt. Now most folks start the story right about here.

They’ll be tellin’ ya who Jack married, who his children wus, who married who, who Deep wus, who Dip wus, who Dumb wus, n’ before long everybody’s laughin like they jus’ discovered sumpthin. Hell. We been draggin this family through wars, swamps, taverns, goats, bad marriages, worse directions, chicken-eaten records n’ several hundred years of questionable decisions jus ta git ya here.

So yea… We know Jack Schitt. Question is —     do you?

TA BE CONTINU’D