This book was written neither for fame nor money. The primary purpose of the book is to preserve for
future generations the genealogy and history of the Dixon family. We have also prepared brief sketches
from the lives of certain members of this family by which the authors wish to impress upon the minds,
and instill into the lives of others following after us the noble principles, high ideals and rugged
character of those of us who have lived, loved, and passed on as well as those who are still struggling
along.

It is very much regretted by the authors that more of these sketches could not be obtained. We also
lament the fact that some one did not begin this work some fifty or more years ago, when the life
histories and interesting sketches in the lives of older members of our family would have been available.
Grandfather Hilliard was amply fitted to do this. No doubt he would have gone back two or three
generations before his fathers time, and would have given valuable information that is now lost to us.
But there is no Grandfather Hilliard now.

This book comes to you, dear reader, as a result of much painstaking research work, many personal
interviews, much letter writing, and, in general, a lot of difficult, though interesting work. However, we
shall be amply repaid if this book serves its purpose — to preserve for generations yet unborn, the
history of the Dixons.

We wish to urge some one of our posterity, years hence to continue for the Dixon family this work.
Take this record as a base, and from it record the coming generations of this grand old family of which
we are justly so proud.

We want to thank and bestow due credit to all those who have so generously assisted us by giving
names, dates and sketches, which made this book possible. Limited space forbids our mentioning all
the names, but to all those who have contributed anything we are truly grateful.

 The Authors[1]

The name of DIXON is of Scotch origin, and was originally spelled Dickson, being first taken as a
surname by the son or sons of one who bore the nickname of Dick, short for Richard. It is found on
ancient English and early American records as Dicson, Dixson, Diksone, Dikson, Dykson, Dyckson,
Dickson and Dixon, of which the last form mentioned is that most generally accepted in America today.
It is said that the CLAN Dickson of Scotland, from which some of the Dixons undoubtedly trace their
descent, was a branch of the Keith family, Earls Marshall, one of the most powerful Scottish lines.
Richard Keith (commonly called Dick) son of the Great Marshall Hervey de Keith by his wife Margaret,
daughter of William, third Lord Douglas, was the father in the early thirteenth century of a son named
Thomas Dicson, who was also recorded on the early records of Scotland “Thomas filius Ricardi,” and
as “Thome filius Dick”.

Many of the branches of this Scottish family settled in England, where the name was most frequently
spelled Dixon. One of the earliest of these branches was that of Thomas Dixon, of County Kent,
England, about the beginning of the sixteenth century. He was the father of Nicholas, Humphrey and
William. William, third son of Thomas Dixon, of Kent, had a son named Thomas, but his records are
not complete.

Henry Dixon, of Yorkshire, about the beginning of the seventeenth century was the father by his wife
Clemens Weedon, of a son named Henry, who left issue by his wife, Barbara Corbett, of another Henry,
who was the father by his wife, Elizabeth Burdot, of among others, a son named Samuel.
It is not definitely known, in every case, from which of the lines of the family in the British Isles the first
emigrants of the name of Dixon were descended, but it is apparent from the colonial records that they
were among the very early pioneers in the New World.

The first of the name in America was Adam Dixon, Yeoman, who came to Virginia in 1612, and made
his home on the south side of the James River. His records are not complete. Other early records of
the family in the South includes those of Reich Dixon, of Henrico Co., Va., in 1636; Christopher Dixon,
1636; John Dixon, of Charles City Co. Va., in 1638, William Dixon, of Henrico Co., Va., in 1642;
George Dixon, 1643; John Dixon, 1654; Matthew Dixon, of James City Co., Va., 1638; Thomas, 1654
and several others. Also quite a number of this name settled in New England about the same time.
Members of this family are now to be found in most every state of the Union. Many have been known for
their leadership, resourcefulness, initiative, business ability and fearlessness.

The foregoing is taken from the genealogy of this family as compiled by the Media Research Bureau, of
Washington, D. C. While there is one or more missing links, it is evident the Dixons listed herein are
lineal descendents of those listed above.

Matthew Dixon was born of English parentage, in South Carolina, 50 miles from the coast, in 1776.
Some time in early life, he moved to middle Tennessee, near Lookout Mountain, where he married (if
not married in South Carolina), and reared a family. Some time in the 1840’s, he and Jim Cooper, then
a boy, fitted themselves with corn meal, salt and rifle guns, mounted a horse each and rode through to
Izard County, Arkansas, killing game on the way sufficient to provide them with food. They stopped on
or near the headwaters of Mill Creek after a long and tiresome ride. Here they erected some log cabins
for his family of children - all of whom had married, and soon thereafter they all left Tennessee and
came to the New Country - coming in wagons about the year 1850.

Shortly thereafter, Matthew’s wife died. Being then well advanced in years he declined to enter land and
establish a home, preferring to live with his children. “Grand Daddy,” familiarly so called by all who knew him, was an industrious man, and a devoted lover of fine horses - a trait that continued in the family for some generations. Even after reaching the age of 90 years it was a habit of his to raise a crop of sweet potatoes every year, which he kept through the winter and sold in the spring for seed, thereby obtaining money enough to supply his needs.   He died at the home of his daughter, Caroline Cooper, on Rocky Bayou, near Lunenburg at the age   of 96 years and [was] buried there beside his wife.

But little is known of Tom Dixon, son of Matthew. In an early day of his life his brother John B.
(Brushy), set him across Duck River in middle Tennessee, and he went west - into Texas.
Some time after the close of the war, one of his children wrote back to some of the Dixons on Mill
Creek. Nothing more was ever heard from them.

  Matthew Dixon had a sister, Eunice, who married a Warner, and settled on White River. Some of
  their descendents were Captains John, Will and Ed, each of whom operated steamboats on the
  White River prior to building of the rail road extension from Batesville. Hattie Warner married Owen
  Herbert. Sells Weaver married one of the girls. We did not trace the Warners, as they were not of
  our branch of the tree.

Hilliard Dixon - farmer and country school teacher - was a plain, unassuming, inoffensive man of rather
reserved and passive disposition, small in stature - approaching the effeminate - yet with all strong and
determined in favor of the right as he saw it. Against secession from principle, he believed and
advocated the perpetuation of the Union. Yet, when his adopted state declared in favor of secession five
of his sons, with his hearty approval went forth to battle for the cause of the South. He was a Whig in
politics - a strong admirer of Henry Clay - but afterwards affiliated with the Democratic Party until his
death.
In 1872 he taught school in Howell County, Missouri, where a number of his people then lived. He
returned to his home - one mile west of Melbourne - when one afternoon he walked to his daughters,
Fannie Thompson, where his wife was staying for a few days, spent a few hours with them, and left for
his home. Next morning his wife started home accompanied by one of Fannie’s boys, Tom. On a
by-path, which led down by the Evergreen schoolhouse, near his home, they found him lying by the
side of the path, dead. As he was in his usual health the evening before, it was presumed that he died
of heart failure. Thus ended the life of another upright man.

 HARRY DIXON

Harry Dixon – a farmer, and in early manhood, an overseer of slaves. A good judge of horses, and
especially fond of racehorses, and not afraid to back his judgement of them.

He was more positive than his brothers, Hilliard and “Brushy”, usually taking a decided stand for or
against a proposition, and strongly contending for his convictions. He was a Calhoun democrat - favored
and urged secession. All his sons joined the Confederate Army at the outbreak of the war. Only one of
those boys survived the war - and we could find no trace of him, or even his name.

 There are two versions as to Harry Dixon’s death. One is that he was thrown and killed by a spirited
 horse. The other is that he was murdered by a brother of his second wife, Bill Shook. Bill Shook  was a renegade. They had some trouble between them, and Harry told him he knew enough against  him to hang him. However, sufficient evidence and proof as to his having killed Harry could not be  obtained. As he was riding a spirited horse when he was killed, it could have been either way - although he was used to handling spirited horses.

 JOHN B. DIXON

John B. Dixon, better known as “Brushy”, was a farmer, wagon and cabinet maker, in all of which
occupations - as well as with the fiddle and bow - he ranked in a class by himself. It mattered not what
“Uncle Brushy” undertook to do; he accomplished it highly satisfactorily to all concerned.

Soon after coming to Arkansas, he built a wagon shop at his home and began to build the wood work of
wagons, while Jim Cooper, a black-smith, did the iron work for him. And so well finished and
substantially constructed was his product that he was depended upon to make wagons for the people
of the entire community. He would go to the woods and personally select his timber, cut and split it,
haul it to the shop and let it season at least one year before using it in his wagon work. He entered 240
acres of land at $1.25 an acre, and he and his children opened up a nice little farm. Most all his
children, both boys and girls, played the violin - some very efficiently. His home was 3 miles west from
where Melbourne now is. He was one of the fiddlers supplying music for dances at the Centennial
celebration held at Newburg, July 4, 1876.

At the outbreak of the Civil War, his sympathies being with the Union, he and his family were treated
somewhat of contempt by most of the people in that country. They stole his stock, and even threatened
his life. His father let him have his horse one year to make a crop. To keep it from being stolen, they
kept it hidden of nights in a pine thicket. One evening, Amanda went out to feed the horse and came upon two men just ready to take it away. She grabbed the reins and was in the act of mounting the horse when they overpowered her and took it. Threats against Brushy’s life forced him to stay hidden every night. One night however, he slipped in home to spend an hour or two with his family, when two men entered to take him away. A general fight ensued - most of the girls being well grown and strong, they succeeded in driving the intruders off. They then decided, for their protection, to refugee to Missouri, near Rolla, where was stationed a Union fort. Uncle Brushy went on ahead to make preparations for the family, they following in ox-drawn wagons. The wagons being filled with household goods, the family had to walk. Within a few miles of their destination, the oxen gave out. Driving them off the road a short way, they stopped. The oxen lay down and died. Two of the girls walked on to the Fort to secure aid to take them on. A detachment was sent after them - their father going with them when they were taken to their destination. The next year the war closed and they returned to their
home.

A year or so later, Uncle Brushy was elected Justice of the Peace, his Court being held in his home.
Thus, this house - now standing, was the first house where law and order were meted out since some
time before, and during the war. Wm. C. Dixon kept the records for him.

We believe there are now more descendents of John B. Dixon living than any of his brothers and sisters. He died at home.

While Clerk during the war, in order to protect the County records from the ravages of war he took
across the river and hid them under an overhanging bluff. Mice got to them, gnawing some of the heavy
bindings. These records were later burned with the burning of the courthouse at Melbourne some years
later.

In 1867 he moved back to his farm and engaged in farming and the practice of law until 1880, when he
sold the farm at Melbourne, and move to and opened up a new farm three miles west of Mt. Olive,
where he remained till his death.

Unlike his father and older brother, T. J. he was not content to wait till “something turned up” – on the
other hand he made it his policy to go to work and “turn something up” -- by reason of which looked to
and largely depended upon by his immediate family and friends in local affairs, as well as assuming a
leading role in molding public sentiment, and shaping political affairs in the County.

Whether as a farmer, teacher, Clerk of the courts or attorney at the bar his slogan was “Whatever is
worth doing is worth doing well.” He was not satisfied to do a thing “just as well” as others, but to
perform it in a better manner – hence his court records and decrees were never subject to correction;
his pleadings were never thrown out of court by demurrer.

A devoted Christian, his greatest pleasure during the last few years of his life was reading the
scriptures, and writing commentaries on bible subjects.

A good liver, honest, reliable and respected.   At the aforementioned battle of Shiloh he was shot through the jaw on April 6, 1862. One of his   comrades, Sammy Sams, received a like wound at the same place and date. They were taken to  the hospital where they remained until they were able to travel. Then left the hospital and walked   three days, neither being able to speak to the other. During this time, they had no food, when they   reached a place of transportation home. After recovering from his wound he returned to the Army.

He accepted a position as hotel clerk at Batesville, and during idle hours spent them writing a history of
the Seventh Ark. Regiment, of which he was a member. This regiment – “The Bloody Seventh” – so
designated from the fact that when mustered into service was composed of ten full companies of 100 men each, man and officers, and when mustered out at the close of the war there remained of the survivors not a sufficient number to constitute a single company. This regiment was made up and organized on the head of Mill Creek, one mile east of Melbourne, and was composed largely of Izard County boys.

 Returning to Izard Co., from Batesville he married, his wife dying a few years later. So, left alone, a  cripple and health impaired, he located at Melbourne, and spent the rest of his life with his nephew,   Gus Dixon, where he died in 1894.

 A more extended biography of Samuel is precluded from the fact that soon after marriage he move  to Howell Co. Mo., and from there to Independence Co. Ark., hence of his activities after leaving  Izard but little is known.

“Uncle Jim heard of a shooting match to be held down on White River about where Ran Gulley now lives. He went, then being a young man. A four year old steer was to be shot for, the best shot taking the best choice of quarters, next best second choice and so on. Upon his arrival at the scene of  operations he took off his saddle to let his horses back cool, when it was discovered he had a sack placed over the saddle blanket. Some wag, in an effort to be funny, remarked – “Hello Stranger, what did you bring that sack for?” Uncle Jim in reply told him he intended to take some of that beef home in it. “Oh, no, stranger! You will get no beef. We are marksman down here, and you’ll not need that sack.”

The money was made up to pay for the steer, and the shooting began. Uncle Jim, in relating this experience to a crowd in town afterwards said “That man was right when he said I wouldn’t need that sack.  I didn’t need it, for I drove the steer home on foot.” He got not only first choice, but all others as well, including hide and tallow.

Uncle Jim Cooper was an exemplary citizen – honest, industrious, truthful and attended strictly to his own business affairs, and was well liked by all who knew him. He never spoke evil of anyone. As was the custom in those days he wore a long beard.
He, too, was a fine fiddler, and played at the Centennial celebration. He and Jeff Dixon most always played for the balls held at the Courthouse in early days. He lived and died at home at a ripe old age.

 The present and coming generations of our family will make no mistake in emulating the lives of
 those we have mentioned, as well as others referred to later.

Sam Cooper was a gifted man, possessing a retentive memory, and a teacher surpassed by none in
that country in his day, which he followed as a profession. He was one of the ablest readers this writer
ever heard.
On the last night of December, about the year 1876 or 7 (watch night) he, together with other neighbors
spent the night at our home, where all sat up until 12 o’clock to bid a farewell to the old and to greet the
New Year. When the church bell in town began tolling the hour Sam began reading or reciting, a piece
in the old McGuffie’s 6th reader – a school book then in use – “The Departing Year” – beginning with
“Tis the knell of the departing year. Silence is now brooding, like a gentle spirit, o’er the still and
pulseless world.” When he had finished reading there was not a dry eye in the house. He served for a
time as Post Master at Melbourne.

 Sam was indeed an upright and honorable man, and well liked by those who knew him. His death
 was a loss to the community.

Tom Dixon, farmer, and among the best of fiddlers, and very handy in repairing household machinery –
such as clocks, sewing-machines etc., and could hammer out a real nice finger-ring from a silver dime.
When visiting his neighbors for an over-night stay – which he frequently did – he would invariably take his fiddle and tinkering kit of tools along. When he would visit at my father’s home the three youngest girls, all quite small, would vie with each other seeing who could first climb onto his lap. Some times all three would be on him at the same time, pulling his beard, tousling his hair and asking all kinds of questions. He enjoyed it as much as they did and would tell them stories and funny anecdotes till all would be in an uproar of laughter.

 We know nothing of his activities after leaving his home in Izard Co., going to Howell Co., Mo. Quite
 a number of Tom Dixon’s descendents are above the ordinary in intelligence.

A TRAGICAL INCIDENT

Thomas F. Thompson, the subject of this sketch, was working at the old gristmill and a gin at Melbourne in 1884.
On the morning of Nov. 21, he started to work as merrily and as happy as a healthy care-free youth can,
little dreaming of the sinister tragedy that was to befall him on that day; a tragic accident the effects of
which he would carry to his grave years later.
Reaching the mill, he fired the furnace, and started the machinery. He went up stairs to tend the
machinery there. As he started to throw the belt, it somehow caught him and dragged him beneath, and before help could arrive he was cut almost in two. The flesh was ripped open to his spinal column. It seemed impossible for him to live from one moment to the next. His mother, who lived near the mill,  was called, as was also Dr. E.A. Baxter, the family physician. When Dr. Baxter saw his condition he thought that the wounded boys minutes even numbered, and asked the boy’s mother whether she wished him moved to the house. “Yes”, she answered, “The move will surely hasten the end”, replied Dr. Baxter. “He will die anyway,” answered the grief stricken mother, “And I want him to die at home”.
The injured youth was conscious all the time, though so severely wounded, and remembered all that
happened. He was placed on a cot and carried to his home where he lay bed-ridden for 18 months, and was confined to the house for three years.
He recovered, to an extent, but carried through life a frail body and a weakened constitution, but in spite
of this handicap he lived to the age of 62 years.
(The above was written by his daughter Frances.)

Tom was a modest young man. He would come to my father’s house occasionally after we had   moved down near White River, and spend a few days with Jeffery and myself hunting and fishing.   He was also a member of our baseball team at Melbourne – “The Junior Growlers.” Many of our  youthful days were spent on Mill Creek hunting, fishing and at ordinary play.

W. M. or Mack, after leaving Ark. in 1922, was streetcar conductor for a while in San Francisco, Calif.
For the past 14 years has been in a beauty shop in Berkeley. Calif., owning a one half interest in it.

Emmett worked for the S.P. Railroad Company for a number of years, first as Machinist, then later as
Brakeman. At present [he] is employed at a health resort in Calif.

Zola is rearing her family in her grandfather’s old home, being one of the first houses erected on Mill
Creek.

As was the case with many of the Dixons, Bradford was a noted “fiddler.” While working at a shingle
machine he suffered the loss of all four fingers on his left hand. One would naturally think that a mishap
of this kind would end his fame with the violin or “fiddle.” Quite to the contrary, as it only added fame,
for this plucky man refused to be daunted; so, taking his beloved violin in his right hand and holding the
bow with his stubbed left hand kept right on “playing the fiddle.”
When Bradford’s children were most grown, they, too, had become proficient with the guitar, banjo and mandolin. They could and did render the very best of stringed music. It was a real treat to hear  that family perform on those instruments.

But little is known by the writers of Jim Dixon and of his family. One son, Henry, is now living at Salem,
Mo., and is operating a garage and service station.  A daughter, Fannie, and her husband own and operate a grocery store in Los Angeles.   Some others of Jim Dixon's sons failed to reply to our letters of inquiry.

While space will not permit mention in these sketches of all the younger men of this family, yet it is
evident from what the writer has learned in the gathering of data for this book that, as a whole, they are
coping with the problems of everyday life in a manner that bespeaks well for them and their country.
While none of the family has reached National distinction, yet they have proven themselves to be
self-supporting, and mingle freely with the upper classes.

It will be noted that most all trades have been, and are now represented, showing a diversity of preferment. So far as we know no one of the name has ever been convicted of any serious or felonious crime, which speaks for itself.
We have striven hard to secure more sketches, but possibly through modesty or other causes were reluctant to give information as to their lives and achievements. But, taken as a whole, this writer is PROUD OF OUR FAMILY.

MY NEIGHBOR’S APPLE TREES

Memory takes me back beneath
 My neighbor’s apple trees.
 (My neighbor was a sweet ol’ lady
 Who was always kind to me).
As I trudged the country lane in autumn,
Homeward from the village school,
She welcomed me to ripe, red feasts
Neath branches sweet and cool.

                             All the beauties crowd around me
                             Of those wayward trips to home,
                             Wayside Goldenrod and Asters,
                         And wild grapes ‘neath hanging dome.
                              Autumn leaves in forests sailing
                                    In a golden playful mood,
                              Squirrels hiding nuts with glee
                            In stumps and under twigs of wood.

                       And the Twin Lakes, with a road between,
                                 Where frogs by twos and threes,
                   Sometimes scared me with their sudden croak,
                       As ‘neath lilly pads they sprang from me.
                                 Although every wayside spot
                                    Was somehow dear to me,
                                I can ne’er forget my neighbor
                               And her spreading apple trees.

                                                                 By: Iva Turner.

Our father was in the Legislature in Little Rock, and mother was at home (Mt. Olive) with her three
small children, Gus, Fannie and Jennie, the oldest being only nine years of age, when Jennie was
taken very ill. Father came home and it was not long before they realized that their little one was fast
slipping away from them. All that loving hands could do was done for the little sufferer, but to no avail.
The birth of a fourth child was imminent, and Jennie lay at the point of death.

One night during the weary watching by the bedside, Aunt Sarah had taken mother’s place and she
had lain down for a much-needed rest. She said she might have been dreaming, or was it a warning?
Suddenly, she saw perched up on the foot of her bed, a large black bird, as large as an eagle. Looking
straight at her she heard it say, “I have come after your baby,” then spreading its wings, it flew away.
She screamed, and her cries brought Aunt Sarah to her bedside.

The following night mother, with the pains of labor upon her, sat by the bedside of her sick child
throughout the night. She said she felt like that would be the last night she would get to be with her
baby on earth. All through the night she sat there trying to ease the dying child, with a prayer in her
heart that her deliverance would come before the angel of death took Jennie away. She didn’t believe
she could stand the ordeal otherwise.

A loving Father, who ever loves and cares for His own, heard her prayer. That day a baby boy was given
to her about five hours before the pure spirit of sister Jennie was released from its house of clay and
took its flight back to its blessed home far o’er the jeweled skies.

In a letter written to father after he went back to Little Rock, mother said “our baby boy makes up the
number, but can never fill the place of our dear departed Jennie.”

EARLY DAYS ON MILL CREEK

The Dixon and Cooper families settled on and near Mill Creek in the late 40’s and early 50’s, buying
virgin land from the Government at $1.25 per acre. They erected large log houses, cleared and
cultivated land, soon accumulating live stock sufficient for their needs. The women plied the old style
spinning wheels and looms, making all the cloth used in their homes. Clothes were made by hand
sewing, and all cooking done in and by an open fireplace. Tallow candles were used for light at night,
which were made from the tallow of beeves killed in fall and winter. Wheat was threshed by horses
tromping it on the “tromping ground” – the chaff cleaned out by the wind. Finally, Bob Drumright, a
cabinetmaker, made a fan for this purpose – hand operated – which was then used by the entire
community.
A log schoolhouse was erected on the bluff overlooking Hilliard Dixon’s home, called “Evergreen.” There
being no school tax, subscription schools were taught, each man paying the teacher one dollar per
month for each of his children sent – usually three months in summer. Branches taught were spelling,
reading, writing and arithmetic. When one wanted to build a house he would cut and hew his logs, haul
or drag them to the place, then ask all his neighbors to a “house raising” on a certain day. By night the
walls were up in good shape. Women would go and quilt all day, and a square dance followed – some
times all night. Uncle Brushy, Uncle Jeff Dixon and Uncle Jim Cooper played the fiddle for them.
In those days no notes or mortgages were given for debts – a man’s word being as good as his bond.
These people soon became prosperous, for that era, and happy.
Then came the war, which made a mighty change in every thing. Quite a few of the able bodies went
forth to battle – some of whom never returned, while others were maimed for life.

We believe it appropriate to give here a short account of the depredations and trials during the war of
Brushy Dixon and family. He was a Northern sympathizer, as were also two of his sons-in-law,
“Yankee” John Richardson and Shan Marchant, while two of his boys, John and Tom were in the Union
Army. For this cause there was not the same consideration shown them as was to others; especially
so by a lawless band of “bushwhackers,” who would not fight on either side in the war, but who
sympathized more for the South than the North. They would steal from Uncle Brushy his horses, cattle,
and any thing else they could get away with, even threatening his life. They having stolen his last horse
they decided, for their safety to move into Mo., an account of which has already been given.

  During the war salt became very scarce and hard to get. The people would dig up dirt in their smoke
  houses where salted meat had been hung to smoke and cure, boil this dirt and drain off the water,
  then boil it down till what salt was in settled to the bottom of the vessel. A slow and tedious
  process but secured for them a little salt. At one time Amanda Dixon went with a wagon train to
  Cape Girardeau where they got a sack of salt each. At one time William C. Dixon paid $75.00 for
  one bushel of salt. But his was near the close of the war, and Confederate money had dropped to a
  very low value. It was this kind of money he paid for the salt.

 To thank Robert for his gift, he can be reached at:

 Robert W. King
 I'm an ingenieur, NOT a bloody locomotive driver!
 SnailNet: 19023 TV Tower Rd, Winslow, Arkansas 72959
 BellNet: 501-634-2086
 InterNet: robtking@prioritysolutions.com
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