100 years and counting: Still sharp as a tack, Melba Willis recounts a century of living
Sep. 18—Over the course of a century the world has evolved drastically — from the garments we wear to the advent of TVs and interstate highways. We've put men on the moon, won a second World War, faced a global pandemic and carry devices in our pocket that put the world at our fingertips.
During those same 100 years, Melba Willis Goodyear was living out her own personal changes and challenges, gracing those in her life with love and memories that have carried for generations.
A century's worth of celebration
Melba Willis of Canton reached the century mark on Thursday, August 24 — a milestone many strive for but few reach.
"How do I feel to be 100? I don't know whether I'm 100 or not," Melba laughed to herself while pondering the question. "Well, it's awesome. You don't know what it's like to think about way back down yonder, 100 years ago. Everything has changed. I remember when our bathroom was a little house right there in the yard, everybody's was."
Melba's 100th birthday began with a Facetime call from Canton Mayor Zeb Smathers. Smathers was unable to attend her party later that evening, but didn't miss the opportunity to wish one of his town's longest residents a special birthday.
"They had a little chat, it was a nice gesture," said Melba's nephew, Cecil Willis.
Cecil frequents Melba's house to spend time with and care for his aunt.
"So many quotes, so little time," he said when asked about Melba. "I'd say she's not afraid to be her own person or speak her own mind."
"If they don't like it, they know where the doors are at," Melba chimed in.
"They know what to do with it, don't they?" Cecil quipped back.
"Yep. My foots not very big, but both of them together can give em' a good shove," Melba said.
Even at 100 years old, Melba's fiery personality still shines through. Cecil was right about her speaking her mind.
Melba conversed with transparency about growing old, speaking to the difficulties that come with each new century — new losses, new loves and more memories to bear.
"It's just so hard. They say getting old is wonderful. Well, it may be wonderful, but you know it's going to end one day. You just don't know how soon," Melba said. "You have all these memories and they just flood in your head. It's hard to separate them at times. But if you just lay down and go to sleep, they separate themselves to an extent."
Melba talked about missing her siblings, the people she shared life with.
"I sat here the other day and I was thinking, and then I started crying. I think I sat here and cried for a long time," Melba said, rattling off the names of those no longer with her. "You don't know whether they'll be here tomorrow, or you'll be here — it's awful to not really know. But we don't really need to know. Just let it happen I guess, ain't nothing you can really do about it."
When asked about what she would tell her younger self, "enjoy what you do and live a good, clean life," Melba said.
She spoke candidly about her golden years and the questions one ponders as they age.
"I have done things that I shouldn't have done. But I guess it's human nature when you're growing up. You don't stop to think about 'Is it gonna hurt somebody?' But if you have anything up here," Melba said tapping her head, "You'll stop."
Growing up dirt poor
Melba was born in 1923 in Hope, Arkansas. In 1935, at 12 years old, Melba's family moved to Canton.
"We were in flat land, I mean flat, sandy land between your toes," Melba said of her childhood home.
Melba was one of six children. They lost their father when they were young, but banded together.
"Mama had a hard time, I know. It was hard, but you don't think about it being hard. You look back and say 'Well that wasn't hard, but it was, not knowing where the next biscuits were coming from," Melba said.
The children all chipped in, from sewing to canning.
"I helped mama can stuff, beans and things like that for the winter. I think there's some stuff in the basement right now that we probably canned. I'm not sure, but I'm not gonna eat it," said Melba, who still lives in the family homeplace.
Melba graduated high school with cardboard in the soles of her shoes. She still remembers purchasing her first store-bought dress with her own money after getting her first job.
"We didn't have anything. We were dirt poor, and I'm not joking. But mama made sure we didn't quit school. She wouldn't have allowed it," Melba said.
Despite making do in hard times while growing up, they were happy.
"We would get out and play. We played up until we were 14, 15 years old. Girls now are grown at 10, but back then you were still a child until you was about 15, and you'd enjoy life," Melba said. "I mean the best you could. Even though you didn't have anything, you'd enjoy it."
WWII was a turning point for the nation, eventually raising the country out of the Depression.
"We really just lived from payday to payday. I guess that's the way everybody did," Melba said. "I know this may sound crazy, but the war was a life saver for people. There was more money."
Melba worked different jobs in her prime, including delivering the very paper you're reading now, The Mountaineer, for 20 years.
"I delivered up to Stanley Cove, up to Center Pigeon, up near Henson Cove," Melba said, reminiscing on her old paper route. "I had the best route. Everybody else got jealous, because I had the most papers to deliver."
She also spent some time working at Roses 9 and 10 cent store and Western Union, back when it was a telegraph company.
Changing times
Melba recalled the time before her house had electricity, but had a good fireplace — or in Melba's case "one of the best in the country," when you'd "sit up next to the fire and burn your shins" while your back got cold.
She recalled the days before every household had a car.
"We didn't have a car. If we wanted to go anywhere, we walked. And walking wasn't crowded, but we walked," Melba said. "Which I guess was healthy, was good for us, but it's just so much different now."
And she recalled the days before cell phones — or even phones for that matter.
"Well didn't many people have phones then. But you didn't think much about it. You just didn't think about not having a phone," Melba said. "It didn't take long to remember that you didn't need one."
Back then, sounds from the radio filled living rooms and captivated her and her siblings.
"We didn't have telephones, we didn't have TV, we had a radio to listen to the Grand Ole Opry on Saturday night," Melba said. "I love that easy going, smooth music. It plays and just sorta calms you down."
The home was also filled with the sounds of her father playing the fiddle and banjo when she was younger.
"He'd sit there and play that banjo and just tap that foot," Melba said.
After their father passed away, Melba's oldest brother, Herschel — Cecil's father — took over the father figure role.
"My father was the oldest of his brothers and sisters, so he sort of replaced the daddy as far as being a patriarch," Cecil said.
Church was an anchor throughout Melba's life as a member of Rockwell United Methodist Church for nearly 80 years.
"I don't sing that good, but somebody at the church came up to me the other day and said, 'Oh, you've got the most beautiful voice. I was sitting right there beside you at church, and you was just a' singing.' I thought, 'Who are you talking to woman? My voice ain't that good,'" Melba said.
Family bonds
They say there's strength in numbers, but there's also strength in love. Melba's family is a testament to both.
"We lived together peacefully," Melba said, then paused. "I mean, of course young'uns gonna fuss and fight, but we wouldn't do it a long time."
All of Melba's siblings lived to a ripe old age.
"Except for my father, who lived to be 85, they all lived into their 90s," Cecil said.
Some might suggest good genes, but their long lives can be attributed to more than a sturdy pair of Levi's. They've got grit. And while that might sound like a cliche in a town full of hardworking people, the Willis' are no doubt resilient.
"They were clean living people I guess you'd say, and that was a part of it. They had a busy life. They were active in the church, Boy Scouts and in the community. They kept themselves active and their minds active. That's my assessment, but I wasn't around the whole time," Cecil said with a laugh.
As Melba crosses the century threshold, she wonders what mark she's left.
"I haven't done anything. I've tried to help my brothers and my sisters and all those little guys that come around here. They're the future," Melba said.
Though, despite her self-doubts, the sea of people at her 100th birthday party was a testament to how treasured she is in the community.
"We've got cousins here, cousins there, probably on the moon," Melba joked.
Melba was only married for seven years to a man who drank too much. While she never had children of her own, she loved her many nieces and nephews like her own — and their children like grandchildren.
"We just love our little nieces and nephews. They're the best things that ever happened to us," Melba said. "I'd just love to do something for all of them, but I can't."
Except she already has. Countless family members of every generation gathered at her birthday throne. showering her with gifts and returning all the love that she has poured into them over the years. Love that has nurtured generations of Willis'.
"You've done a lot, and you still do a lot," Cecil reassured her. "You keep me in line."
