Hello, my name is Leonard Thadeus Yaskell…L. T. to my friends and Leonard to my wife, Louise, and, Uncle Leonard, to our lovely niece Gwendolyn. Those of you native to Southport know Louise as Louise Standland. Louise and I did not have children, but we were very involved in Gwendolyn’s life. Gwen’s mother was Louise’s older sister, Alneta. Alneta died in December 1915, when Gwendolyn was just one year old. Gwendolyn was always a joy and Louise and I were so proud when she named her daughter Alneta after her mother.

I was what people now call a “Newcomer.” I made my way to Southport shortly after World War I. I was a Marine corporal and commanded a gun crew on the cruiser USS Charleston. During my time on the Charleston, we did escort duty in the Caribbean. We also made two convoy voyages to France during hostilities and later took occupation troops to France and then brought combat veterans home.

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. I was born in 1898 in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. My father was Michael (Micha) Yatskoslavage. He came to America from Poland in 1888. My mother Mary, who was 10 years younger than my father, came in 1890. They were married in 1893. I had two older brothers Brunslaw (Bernard) and Adam, plus two younger sisters (Matilda and Stacy). My father was a coal miner. He worked in the hard coal (anthracite) mines, mines that go hundreds of feet underground. The men would say: “I no speak English, hard work…any job!”

Life was very difficult for immigrants in the coal regions and many stayed just a short time before returning to Europe. Did you know that, when my parents came here there was virtually no such thing as “illegal” immigration… anyone who was healthy and not a criminal was allowed into the country. Once here, the “hunkys” (as they called us), both men and boys…went to work in the mines 10-12 hours a day. It was a hard life, which was made more difficult because the people who came to America before us did not like us…they said we were dirty and ignorant…lower class…not worthy to be Americans…even the head of the U. S. Immigration Service said that we were not mentally and socially as good as the earlier immigrants. Many people said we were ruining American culture. In fact, in the 1921 and 1924, congress passed quota laws designed to keep Polish, Italian, Hungarian and other immigrants from central and southern Europe out of the country.

So, you’re thinking how did I get to Southport? Well, like I said, I was born in Wilkes-Barre, PA and like most sons of miners, I spent some time working in the mines. Then a friend told my father about St. Helena, North Carolina, where Mr. Hugh MacRae was selling 10 acre farms for $240…$90 down and the rest in equal payments over three years. Seeing this, my father and mother made the decision to go to St. Helena. Unfortunately, my father died (perhaps because of black lung disease) shortly after we arrived in NC, but with myself and all my brothers and sisters working with mother…we made our dairy farm work. I eventually took a job as a salesman for the Carolina Trucking and Development Company. And, it was that job that brought me to Southport in the early 1920s. Back then Southport was a dusty, windblown pogie fishing village. Sometimes the odor from the pogies would be terrible, but what Southport founder Joshua Potts called “salubrious breezes” took away the odor.

One of the differences between a soldier and an officer, is that an officer needs to learn to choose his battles carefully. Otherwise, it’s possible to win the battle but lose the war.  Such a story happened at Fort Caswell in 1911 when Captain Howard L. Landers decided to go to battle with a local Southport farmer over the price of watermelons.

It seems that this farmer, 26-year-old Wallace Moore, was in the habit of selling watermelons to the men stationed at the fort. He would load up a boat with the melons and row them out to Caswell. Once there, he charged a little bit more than what he would sell them for in Southport — a convenience fee, if you will.

On one hot July day, Captain Landers, Acting Commander of Fort Caswell, decided to put an end to what he perceived as price gouging.  He told Moore that he would only permit him to sell his melons at the fort if he charged 25 cents apiece. Since Moore had already gone to all the trouble of rowing his crop to the fort, the farmer decided he might as well go along with that plan.

A little while later, Capt. Landers was informed that Moore was selling the melons for 40 cents rather than 25 cents. Incensed at this insolence, Landers ordered that Moore be detained until he could speak to him. Later, Landers would testify that his men had gotten a little over-zealous in carrying out his order. He hadn’t actually meant for Moore to be thrown into the brig.  And Moore would testify that he had never over-charged for the melons. He had simply tacked on a delivery fee for toting the melons from the boat to the officers’ quarters.  

Unfortunately, by that afternoon when Moore was finally released from the brig, neither man was in a conciliatory mood. Furiously, Moore rowed back to Southport and headed straight to the office of one of the town’s lawyers. 

And just like that, a letter was sent to Senator Lee Overman in Washington, D.C. From there, Sen. Overman lodged a complaint with the military. And in less time than it took to slice a watermelon, Capt. Landers was served with a court-martial.

The trial took place in Wilmington and lasted three days. Nine military officers heard the case. The juicy story was picked up by papers from NY to Boston and from DC to San Francisco. Sides were quickly drawn. It seems everyone had an opinion on the watermelon war.