

SIXTEEN Vs

Book One: The Childhood Years

By Victor Cox

Copyright 2013 Victor Cox

Smashwords Edition

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Book cover: The Rocky Road, Copyright, Andre Klopper, Dreamstime.com stock photo

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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This is a work of nonfiction. However, some names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents, though true, have been changed for privacy purposes. Where applicable, fictitious names are used. If the circumstances match the reader's, it is purely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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Table of Contents

Introduction

Section I: The Story House

Chapter 1. The Story House

Chapter 2. Craw Fishing

Chapter 3. The Mystery Catch

Chapter 4. Doctor Mama, MD

Chapter 5. Electricity

Chapter 6. Going to School

Section II: The Alvin Bronson House

Chapter 7. The Alvin Bronson House

Chapter 8. Throwing Cotton Bolls

Chapter 9. The Spotted Horse

Chapter 10. Goatee the Milk Cow

Chapter 11. Changing seasons

Chapter 12. My Superman!

Chapter 13. The Big Hog

Chapter 14. One Stormy Afternoon

Chapter 15. The Broken Cup

Chapter 16. Mama's Punishment Philosophy

Chapter 17. The Wasp Nest

Chapter 18. The School Bus Fight

Chapter 19. Running Pole Beans

Section III: The Cokomo House

Chapter 20. The Cokomo House

Chapter 21. The Pasture Fire

Chapter 22. Commodities

Chapter 23. The Bullfight

Chapter 24. The House is Falling

Chapter 25. Them Little Suckers

Chapter 26. Stealing Tractor Gas

Chapter 27. The Pendant Stone

Chapter 28. Peg Leg Jack

Chapter 29. Stealing Watermelons

Chapter 30. Killing Velma

Section IV: The Holmes Bronson House

Chapter 31. The Holmes Bronson House

Chapter 32. The Hurricane

Chapter 33. The Blister Bug

Chapter 34. The Rabid Dog

Chapter 35. Let's Go Hunting

Chapter 36. My First Alcohol?

Chapter 37. Going to Church

Chapter 38. The Neighbors Hog

Chapter 39. The Lifesaving Cow Track

Section V: The Start House

Chapter 40. The Start House

Chapter 41. The School Yard Fight

About The Author

Connect With The Author

Other Books By Victor Cox

Introduction

Sixteen Vs? Odds are you can only think of maybe six or eight. Take a minute and try it. I'll even start for you; Valerie and Veronica. Common names, but not used in our family. Several of our names are uncommon. I'll name them later, you can compare. I've won several sodas from people that said they could name them all. Never happened. Do you owe me a soda too?

No! We were not! A Little House on the Prairie or a modern day The Waltons. They were good shows made for TV. Watch a few episodes of those TV favorites and see how civil and easy going the parents were. Nothing was ever very serious. Everyone sat down and talked their problems out. There was never much anger, any whippings, or kids getting into all kinds of trouble. The harshest discipline might be a long talk or stopping them from going somewhere. There were few, if any, brother/sister rivalries. Yes, those were, and still are, good TV shows. They stressed family values, honesty, and always doing the right thing. But, I don't think they accurately depicted the daily life of the average country family back then. Their families were not as large as ours and, maybe, that had something to do with it. Often, the TV kids had nothing to do and, usually, were polite around each other, even helped each other out. That was the "TV land" family. I say it was all made just for TV. Many viewers liked their lifestyle and wished they could live like that also. People escaped their real world and lived in the TV fantasy world for maybe an hour. Then, the real world started turning again and their real life was very different from the TV show.

No, our lives were nothing like those. I couldn't imagine our lives being that simple. Maybe we were that poor, but rarely that civil. Read the accounts that follow of my history. Step out of "TV land" and get a taste of the real life being poor, in a large family, in the 1950's and '60's. I want you to feel the fabric of how we lived. It changed often between burlap, cotton, and silk. I was born, almost, in the middle of the pack. See how we got along with each other in the real world. Our interactions with Mama and Daddy, the big kids, and the younger ones. Our interactions were all different and, by necessity, had to be flexible and constantly adjusting to different situations. Read my recollections of just one of the Sixteen Vs in our family. It's fairly common, I'm sure. In this first book in a series run around with me from my earliest memories to almost twelve years old, living in five different houses.

I want you to feel the gritty dust in your mouth as you run around with me. Sit right beside me. Think what I thought. Look at the things that happened through my eyes. Feel the nail as it punctures our bare foot. Help me fight and squabble with rivalries up and down the family chain. Feel the pain of the switch and belt whippings. Compare how you'd feel and what you'd do with my thoughts. Walk with me through the woods. Pick cotton, corn, or garden vegetables right beside me. Realize the pain, and hop around with me, from a flying steel wedge that jumps out of a wooden block and hits your shin bone. Sense my fear. See my horror. Taste the good food and enjoy my happiness. Comfort me in sadness. Watch through my eyes, and feel the iron grip turn into a gentle touch. Notice and feel the anger in my parents, and in me. Sense the desperation, despair, and disappointment in Mama as one after another child quits school. Which one, if any, out of fourteen will graduate? Cry with me. Then, almost just as passionately, feel the gentle touch and hear the comforting, loving, and forgiving words. React to unspoken words, glances, hand signals, and eye contact. Join me, and all of us, in exhilarating adventures and gut-busting fun. Feel the closeness between family members and join our team as we unite to take on all outsiders as a family. Sense the camaraderie between family members and know the pride we had as we struggled daily.

It had to be hard raising such a large family. Discipline was necessary in an attempt to keep us in line. There was no time sit down and hash out all our frustrations. At any given time, Mama and Daddy had probably twelve of us at home. Slowly, the number decreased as Mama quit having children and the older ones left home in marriage. Mama, mostly, and Daddy had to find a balance between young adults with sexual desires all the way down to changing diapers. There's a very wide gap between the two. I'm amazed at how they managed without going completely crazy. I guess after the first four or five, Mama just let nature raise us with corrective whippings to keep us on the right track.

I don't know exactly how we all got names that started with Vs. There are several stories. I know Mama and Daddy chose the first two or three, then, it was someone they knew, or the name of a doctor, in my case—along with my grandfather. A few names were relatives on both sides of the family. Almost all our middle names came from a relative. Based on our first names, they were at a loss on a few, I think. But, by then, they had to keep the trend going.

I've never met another family that had all first names starting with a certain letter as big as ours. Again, many families with the same first letter of their names, but never as large as ours. I won many soft drinks by people trying to guess all our names. I'd tell them Mama's and Daddy's names and they bet me they could figure out all the others. Never did anyone name them all. I guess, because a few are very unique and not the common names that most people heard before. However, about 2004 the TV aired the real Duggar family with eighteen, later nineteen, children from one mother and father. All their first names started with "J." It's a very good show. They had Christian values and were hard workers. But, with TV sponsorship and other private finances, they didn't struggle like us with a farming background. Plus, there were several other "TV families" that lived in cities that many people can remember. They were nothing like ours either.

Having fourteen children is a big family. But, back then, in the '40s and '50s, it wasn't too far out of the ordinary. Many families were big, just not quite as big as ours. A big family then was, maybe, ten. Many times throughout my life, I've heard people talk about big families and, invariably, asked how big? Usually, it was eight or less. Sometimes, ten. Only twice in my life did I run into someone that had fourteen, or more, children from the same father and mother. I met many people that had more family members, but they were usually two or three parent families. I don't consider them a family unit like ours. However, I talked to several of them to compare their lifestyles with ours, and invariably, they had discipline much like our family. Plus, they were usually just as poor.

No, we were nothing like The Waltons as to how we lived and interacted with family members. And, unlike The Waltons with no apparent rivalries or discipline problems, we had plenty of both. Of course, we weren't a "TV family." The only possible similarities might be, we were poor, and with me, like "John Boy Walton," aspiring to write a history of how we lived. Like John Boy, I've tried to weave how we lived into the stories without overtly stating how poor we were. All stories are actual events that happened with hardly any embellishment. They didn't need any! Numerous statements throughout the stories are actual quotes burned into my memory. Other conversations are accurate renditions of what happened. Everyone remembers different things about the same event—just like real life. These are my memories and the significant things that happened to me, mostly, and probably varies somewhat with others in my family. So, curl up, relax, and travel along the adventures with me. You'll find them unbelievable, enjoyable, entertaining, scary, and comforting, as you touch, taste, and feel the texture of our lives.

OK, how many did you name? Let's compare. Father and mother: Vester C., Viola, then top down: Virgil, Virginia, Vernon, Vester L., Velton, Vennie, Velma, Vera, Victor, Vinnie, Verlon, Vada, Venton, Vickie. All the boys except the oldest and youngest had nicknames that are usually indicated. The girls didn't, except one, Vera, who we called Vear. Although, a couple girls, went by their middle names. Yes, I know, you owe me a soda too.

1960, L to R: Adult/Big Kids: Vester Lee-21(Snookem),Viola-44(Mama),Vernon-22(Buster),Velton-18(Boy),Virginia-25(Louise),Vennie-16,Velma-15,Vester Chester-58(Daddy),Virgil-27. Little kids back row: Vera-13(Vear),Victor-12(Cotton Top), Vinnie-11(Marie), Front row: Vada-7, Venton-4(Don), Vickie-2, Verlon-8(Man)

SECTION I: THE STORY HOUSE

Chapter 1. The Story Houseplace

The earliest memories of my childhood started at the Story house place on Snake Ridge, Louisiana. This is the first house I can remember living in. Mr. Story was the preacher at the church about twenty yards from their house. Several of us little kids attended the church while we lived there. I was between four and six years old, in 1952 to 1954. Vera a year older and Vinnie (Marie) was a year younger than me and Verlon (Man) was a baby.

Being number nine of the fourteen children, I remember my older brothers and sisters getting on the school bus and me staying home. I envied them as I watched the big yellow bus swallow them and couldn't wait until it was my turn to go to school. The two oldest kids Virgil and Virginia (Louise) already quit school. In fact, Louise was already married. The school bus driver always waved at me and had a big smile. Even though I didn't go to school at the time, I often walked to the end of our dirt road with my brothers and sisters to watch them get on the bus and wave at the bus driver.

I think because Mama couldn't read or write she made going to school a priority. She got up very early every morning to make a breakfast of biscuits and gravy from scratch. All her efforts, thus far, resulted in no one finishing school yet. However, she had hope in each child that started school. It was too early for me to notice the despair and disappointment she had as each of the older kids dropped out of school.

The Stories lived in a white-painted clapboard house. It was on the full-gravel road at the beginning of a third mile semi-dirt and gravel road leading to our house. There was a small wooden bridge about half the distance between our houses. I don't think they owned the land or the house we lived in, but we called the place that name.

The Stories had several kids. Important to me was a blonde-headed boy and girl about my age, that I played with a lot. They were skinny people just like me and about my size. We played many times before and after church. I don't remember much about the Stories as a family, but Mr. Story was a pudgy, balding, and relatively short, man. Sometimes, the Story boy, and occasionally the girl, met me up the road at the bridge and we played or tried to catch something under the bridge.

Our house was old, had many cracks in it, and a tin roof. The unpainted boards were split in places and it was a cold house in the winter. Then, we burnt up in the summer. Our house was situated in a semi circle clearing carved out of the woods all around and close to the house. We continually fought the woods to keep them at bay from closing in on us. We provided enough foot traffic to keep the relatively small yard and dirt road clear. Seemed like we never lived any one place very long for some reason, and that was the case here.

We didn't have electricity and used kerosene lamps in the house at night. We had a wood burning kitchen stove and fireplace. It was a major crime if any us little kids were caught even touching one of the lamps at night. We walked a big semi-circle around the lamps. I guess it was because of safety more than anything else.

None of us little kids ever wore shoes that much. Only the kids going to school had "brogans." They were brown leather shoes that were ankle high and smelled like leather when they were new. Us small kids usually had hand-me-downs if we had any at all. Because of no shoes, usually, plus never wearing shoes at home, it seemed like we stepped on nails frequently. They punctured our feet and we hopped around howling back to Mama. She usually poured coal oil (kerosene) on it and maybe wrapped it with a rag. (More on this later) We limped around a few days before returning to normal. In winter time, if we had shoes, they were usually too big but Mama always said, "you have room to grow!"

We rarely got any hand-me-downs that were way too big because someone in our family could always wear them.

I don't remember Daddy saving me some Coca-Cola, but know he did because he always did that for the youngest child. I remember watching him doing that for the younger kids and know I had my turn too. Something else that was a family tradition was, about the time you were able to walk, you ran to get between Daddy's legs as he sat in a chair. That was your safe haven. No one could ever bother you if you were between Daddy's legs. He protected you from everything. As I got older, and we got new family members, I was replaced with the next youngest person Vinnie (Marie). Then, I watched Daddy protect her and save her some Coke while I, and the other kids, tried to "get her." Just like me, she always ran to Daddy and the safe haven. Later, I watched this cycle repeat as my other siblings were born. Each child probably spent a couple years in the safe haven before the next child was old enough and took you place.

I learned many years later that Daddy's stomach was about one half sheep's stomach. I'm not sure what, but something happened to his stomach before I was born and part of it had to be removed. They replaced it using part of a sheep's stomach. Therefore, Daddy had to drink a Coca-Cola every day to have enough acids in his stomach for digestion. Every day, that I can remember, he drank at least one Coke. While you were the youngest child, you used him for protection and he always saved you a swallow of Coke to drink.

Mr. Sane and Mrs. June Murray lived across the gravel road near the start of the dirt road leading to our house. They were across the road at an angle from the Stories. Mr. Sane was a nice old man and I think he got that name from mending fishing seines. I watched him for hours at a time fixing seines. He cut out broken sections and retied the nets just like new. I was amazed how he did it so fast. He tied the lines and fixed the nets for most everyone around that area.

Upon arrival, the seines and nets looked like a big ball of tangled string and I helped him untangle the nets and stretch them out. He stretched them between two trees and cut out the ripped and broken parts and started retying the nets. They looked like new when he was through. Mrs. Murray usually had a cookie or something to give me when I helped him. He was always full of stories which he told me while he worked. It amazed me all the things he had done. I always liked going to their house.

Chapter 2. Craw fishing

Crayfish, crawfish, crawdads, mud dogs, we mostly called them crawdads or crawfish. They look like miniature lobsters, even with vicious little pincers. They seem to be in every pond, ditch, or body of water, in Louisiana. Even an area that just stays moist may have them. I was six years old in 1954, and one of my earliest memories is when we lived at the Story house. There was a small wooden bridge over a little creek between our house and the end of our dirt road. There was always a little water under the bridge. On many summer days I sat on the edge of the bridge, dangling my feet, fishing for crawfish.

The fishing pole was nothing elaborate, just a stick maybe three or four feet long with some "catgut" (mono-filament) line on it. Usually, I just tied some meat on the line. The crawfish, evidently, smelled the meat and came to it. They grabbed it with their pincers and held on if you tried to move it away from them. The trick was to jerk them onto the bridge before they let go of the meat. Usually, you had to be pretty fast, because when they broke free of the water, many times, they let go.

With the sun bleaching my hair white and giving my exposed skin a copper-tone color, I sat on the bridge fishing for hours. For entertainment, I watched mockingbirds, Blue Jays, red birds, and the occasional squirrel dart around in the nearby trees. I learned all their calls and mimicked them many times while fishing. I marveled at the beauty and antics of mosquito hawks— dragonflies—butterflies, and bugs as they lit on me or crawled around. Hour after hour I watched the tell-tell slight movement of the line indicating a crawfish bite. Slowly pulling back on the line usually caused them to latch on with their pincers. Then, you had to move fast to land them on the bridge. Many times, I jerked to hard and either took the meat away from them, or, they let go in mid flight. Some sailed over the road and back into the water on the other side. Sometimes, the Story boy, usually, and occasionally, the girl, joined me fishing. (It reminds me of how I used to watch Richie, Richard-my son, fish the same way near our house in Oklahoma.)

I used old strips of bacon or pieces of Vienna sausages—when I didn't eat them all. Mostly, I used grasshoppers, crickets, or any piece of meat left from the dinner table; which was sort of rare for us. But, my brothers killed a lot of game and we usually had some meat left of some type. The summer days were hot and muggy and I sweated a lot sitting in the hot sun on the bridge since there was no shade. But, you should have seen all the crawfish I caught! Big ones too!

Occasionally, one got me with it's pincers and I danced around yelling and pulling it to remove it. Sometimes, if it really got me good, I killed it and used it as bait to catch others. I had a coffee can or a number two foot-tub to put them in. (a relatively small round container, just the size to put two feet inside it) I caught them most of the day and usually had thirty to fifty by the time I went home. We kept them to use on a trot (trout) line either in the Beouf River, or a pond near our house. I don't know why we didn't eat them. I guess, we had enough game, besides, it'd take a lot of them to feed us. I never caught that many. Mama never seemed to mind that I spent most of the day at the bridge. She could see the bridge from the house although it was a couple hundred yards away.

Occasionally, I either slipped off the bridge or jumped in the water on purpose. Sometimes, if I caught a pretty big crawfish and it let go of the meat before I got it on the bridge, I jumped in after it. Every now and then, I actually caught it just as it hit the water and usually suffered the pincers getting me. Of course, I had to sit in the sun long enough for my clothes to dry before going home. Mama could always tell if I jumped or fell in the water, somehow. Never quite understood how she knew. Guess it was the muddy water on my clothes after they were dry.

Also, on occasion, when I jerked up on a crawfish and it came off in mid flight, I actually caught it in my hands like a fly baseball coming down. Sometimes, I caught a couple at the same time at opposite ends of the meat. When that happened, I had my hands full trying to catch them without getting pinched before they got off the bridge. They raised their pincers real high and you had to be careful to slip your hand behind them to grab them on their semi-hard backs.

We teased the Story girl with them and, sometimes, the Story boy and I picked one out and had them pinch each other. We pulled them to see which one was the strongest. It's amazing how strong they are. If our hands slipped off the crawfish, we had fun trying to stay away from the pincers while trying to catch them again.

Chapter 3. The Mystery Catch

It was another typical summer day in 1954. It was hot, humid, and muggy. I was six years old and at the bridge between our house and the Story house crawdad fishing again late one afternoon. This particular time, Vera—we called her Vear—one year older, was with me sitting on the bridge fishing.

I had a few crawfish in my coffee can already when, suddenly, my line went tight and started pulling. That was very unusual for a crawfish. I slowly pulled back on the line and felt a good weight on it. I knew it wasn't hung up because the line was pulling back. I continued to pull back and told Vear (Vera) to look at what was going on. We were both pretty excited and I didn't know just what to do. If I jerked on it, whatever it was would surely get off. If I just pulled on it, whatever it was would steal the meat. Vear was yelling to jerk it out of the water and tried to grab the stick. I fought her off and pushed her back yelling that it was on my stick. She let go and I decided to just pull a little harder and see what happened.

As I started pulling whatever it was up, it started swimming under the bridge. I slowly pulled up on the line and the mystery fish began to come to the surface with my bait. Almost straight under us now, I pulled harder as Vear and I were thinking I might have a bream, sunfish, or catfish. Finally, we both saw what I had.

Both 1955; Victor-7, Vera-8

A loggerhead snapping turtle. It didn't want to let go. I lifted it about one foot out of the water before it dropped off. Vear and I were very excited and ran around the bridge sides to the water. I brought the stick and bait and as we stood on the bank I quickly put the bait back in the water close to where the turtle dropped off. We fully expected the turtle to bite again and, sure enough, after about three minutes, I felt and saw the line going back under the bridge.

I tried to talk Vear into jumping into the water as I pulled the turtle close to the bank, but she said she wouldn't do it. So, I told her to slowly pull the bait toward the bank and when it got just shallow enough for me to see the top of the shell, stop, and I'd jump on it and catch it. Vear pulled on the bait just right and the turtle came with it toward the bank. Surprisingly, it held on and Vear pulled it right up to the bank.

Just about when it's nose broke the water, it let go. Too late! I saw it's back by then and jumped over to pick it up by it's sides. Immediately, it swung it's head, on it's long neck, and tried to bite me. For a few seconds, it looked like I had a hot potato, switching each hand as the turtle tried to bite first one hand, then the other. It seemed to be getting closer each time it changed directions and I thought I was about to get bitten when I threw it on the bank.

The turtle started scrambling back toward the water as Vear and I tried to push it back up the bank. Vear used the stick while I half picked it up and shoved it with my hands, and a couple times, kicked it with my bare feet. Of course, when it almost got me on my big toe, I decided not to use my feet anymore. At the time, I wasn't concerned about my fingers. The turtle was winning. It was getting closer to the water as we struggled pushing it back up the bank. Vear and I were hollering at each other to stop it, but seemed like neither of us could. Between it's mouth snapping and the claws scratching me as I tried to pick it up, we had a dilemma trying to stop it from getting back to the water. Finally, only one foot before it got back to the water, I grabbed it's little tail and picked it up. It couldn't lift it's body around high enough to bite me, but it could reach me with it's back feet claws. I wasn't about to let it go, though.

I kept trying to get it's claws away from my hand as it tried to claw my hand off it's tail. It started slipping out of my hand and I told Vear to push up on it with the stick so I could get a better grip. When Vear put the stick near its head to push up, it bit a plug of wood out of the stick. We were pretty excited already and when that happened, we got pretty scared, too. I slung it up on the dirt road and we jumped up there to battle some more.

This wasn't a large turtle, but big enough to do damage to our little fingers if it caught one. It was about four to five inches around and, as typical, had a large head for it's size. On the dirt road, I pinned it down with the stick and wanted Vear to pick it up. She said, "you're crazy, I'm not going to pick it up."

I finally got her to hold it sort-of still with the stick and I picked it up by grabbing it toward the rear and holding it's back legs in it's shell. That way, it couldn't push my hands off, and my hands were too far back on it's body for it to reach me with it's mouth. I finally got it under control and we headed for the house.

We got about half way home before I dropped it. Vear left the stick at the bridge and I had to kick, push, grab, and try to keep it on the road until she ran back to get the stick to hold it down again. I thought I was going to loose a couple fingers or toes before she got back. Finally, I got it again and away we went.

After dropping it once more before we got home, it was pretty exciting when all the other kids ran out to see it. Mama heard the excitement and came out on the porch to see the turtle. She told us to let it go or we may get bitten. We did intend to let it go, eventually. We all took turns putting sticks close to it's mouth and watching it clamp down on them. It broke a few of the smaller sticks and bit chunks out of the larger ones, or just held on. We pulled it's head way out of it's shell before it let go. After maybe fifteen minutes, now what? We knew it wouldn't last long in a bucket if we tried to keep it, and sooner or later, it would get lucky and bite one of us if we kept playing with it. We didn't want it back in the water at the bridge where we waded often, so we decided to just kill it.

When the turtle was dry on it's back, I could hold it with one hand by pushing one of it's back feet up into the shell and gripping hard. The other back foot couldn't reach my hand and neither could it's mouth. Now, how to kill it? The ax was too big so we decided to get the hatchet. I wanted Vear to pull it's head out real far with a stick in it's mouth while I used my other hand to chop off it's head. Vear ran to get the hatchet while several of the other kids stood around to watch the execution.

When Vear got back, she wanted to chop off it's head while I held it. I grabbed the hatchet and we had a pushing and pulling struggle while we argued. We were standing next to the chop block where we split up smaller blocks for the wood stove. There was a lot of wood on the ground and I stumbled a little as we shoved each other for the right to kill the turtle. All of a sudden, Ouch!

I guess during our struggle, I must have loosened my grip a little and the turtle twisted around and caught me on the middle finger on my left hand just before the first joint. My finger was pretty fleshy there and the turtle bit completely through my finger just barely missing the bone. I was hollering and let go of the hatchet and swung around trying to sling the turtle off my finger, or pull it off. The first happened.

I slung the turtle off. It still had hold of my finger, and proceeded to rip a good chunk of skin on my finger. Blood started poring from the rip. At first, I thought it bit off the end of my finger.

Well, that settled who was going to cut off it's head. The other kids put some wooden blocks around the turtle so it couldn't get away and I ran in the house to show Mama my finger.

Mama heard us coming and probably knew what happened. The first thing she said was, "Uh huh!, what did I tell you about that turtle? Come here by the wash pan. Velma go get the coal oil (kerosene). Vear go get the alcohol."

She went to get a rag to wrap around my finger then came back and poured alcohol over my finger into the wash pan. I thought it would hurt more than it did. I guess a fresh wound doesn't sting that much. Then, she wrapped it with a rag after carefully placing my finger tip back in place and poured coal oil over the rag. All this took only a few minutes and when she got through tying off the rag, I thought I was free to go back outside. She told me to wait a minute as she put the alcohol up and told Velma to take the coal oil back outside.

I was a little confused at first about what else she had to do. My finger had bled a lot, but was pretty much stopped now with the tightly tied off rag soaked with coal oil. What else was there to do? I found out as she entered the kitchen.

One little minor thing; give me a whipping. I figured I'd suffered enough with the turtle bite, but that didn't change the fact that I was careless and got bit. Mama always kept a switch about the size of her first finger in a couple places in the house. They were dried good too. Not much chance of them breaking. She whipped me good and got Vear too. Not as bad on Vear as me, though.

Well, for certain, who was going to kill the turtle now was settled. Still crying, and with Mama telling us to get rid of the turtle, we both wanted to take our anger out on that sucker.

Without any further words, Vear got a stick, I picked up the hatchet, the turtle bit the stick and held on as Vear laid it down on the chopping block. I put my hand with the wrapped finger on it's back while Vear pulled it's head way out. With the hatchet in my right hand, I chopped off it's head. Vear wanted to get a little revenge on it also and took the hatchet and hit it in the middle of the shell. Didn't cut it in half, but broke it pretty good.

We picked up the head and body and took it to the woods to throw them away. We both agreed that the next one, Vear could chop off it's head. We slowly walked back to the bridge as both of us wondered why Vear got whipped since I was the one that caught the turtle. Well, no matter, we had crawfish to catch. I still have a visible scar on that finger to this day. I think it's smaller now than it was then.

Chapter 4. Doctor Mama, MD

I previously mentioned "coal oil," or "kerosene," and back in the '50s it was called "white gas," because it was clear, compared to leaded gasoline which had a weak copper color. The "white gas" designation changed somewhat as leaded gasoline phased out. Because unleaded gasoline was much more clear, it became referred to as white gas and kerosene was usually called oil-gas, or just kerosene. We used kerosene in our lamps to illuminate the house at night. Also, as far back as I can remember, Mama used kerosene for curing anything wrong with you on the outside of your body. She had basically two medicines; kerosene for anything wrong on the outside of your body and "Castor Oil" for anything wrong on the inside of your body.

Many times if we stepped on nails, it just got rinsed with coal oil and wrapped with a cloth soaked with coal oil. Seemed like if you only had a scrape or minor cut, maybe less than a quarter inch deep, you might get some "Rose," or "Rose Bud salve," the salve was pronounced "save," put on it. Usually, you came crying to Mama and she got the alcohol, or iodine, or, the "good stuff that didn't burn," Mercurochrome. Later, we got some Merthiolate, and she may put it on your cut or scrape. Seems like we were always out of the "good stuff that didn't burn" and got the alcohol or iodine. It always burned and we hopped or danced around to evaporate the substance to make it stop burning. Sometimes, Mama might blow on it and that seemed to help some, but usually, the burning was so great, we had to move our bodies by jumping around or something.

If your cut was around a quarter inch deep or more, it got washed out with coal oil and a rag tied around it. Occasionally, Mama made a poultice of some type and smeared the greasy stuff into the wound. Sometimes she let the wound bleed some to "flush out the dirt" and we typically thought she was going to let us bleed to death. Other times she washed the dirt from around the wound with water, wiped it off some, then put alcohol on it, followed by some jumping around. Then, she followed that with iodine—some more jumping around—and finally, a good coating of coal oil and a tight rag. We wore that combination of cures until we healed. That was the problems on the outside of your body.

1951, Viola -35 (Mama), Vester C.-49 (Daddy)

For the inside, there was basically only one cure. Castor Oil! That junk was clear, and flowed like syrup or molasses in the winter time. It was awful to taste. No, that's too kind of a description. It was worse than awful! We hated the stuff! It was like motor oil. In fact, I've tasted 10 W 30 Quaker State motor oil, and I'd rather have motor oil than Castor Oil. I bet over my upbringing, I drank over four gallons of the stuff in one to three tablespoon full's at a time. The stuff was oily and sticky and the taste lasted a couple hours. Then, you belched the smell and got sick again. It was awful, I'm telling you. You almost threw up when that stuff hit your mouth. Every now and then you would throw up, or vomit, especially the girls. But, Mama gave you another chance to swallow it, stating, "now you're used to the taste," and "it won't be as bad this time." Mama used that stuff for anything that ailed you on the inside of your body. No matter what was wrong, you got some Castor oil first. I think it was just a method to make you not complain about anything unless you were really sick. Believe me, it worked. I put off a sniffle as long as possible to keep from getting the Castor Oil. Inevitably, you got a cold, or stomach ache, or a sprain in a muscle, that hurt inside you body, and you got Castor Oil.

Mama used it a lot in the spring time. Of course, we were always eating green things like; plumbs, peaches, muscadines, scuppernines (scuppernongs), 'possum grapes, May Pops, and "Billy goat" grass.

Billy Goat grass and Muscadines

(Possum Grapes are wild, tiny, pencil-sized, purple grapes, when ripe. They're mostly seed and grow in clusters of fifteen to thirty. They have a sweet tartness and grow on low hanging vines. Many people confuse them with muscadines, which are also, purple or black, but grape-sized. They are a little sour, but we liked them. Also, possum grapes were sometimes confused with scuppernongs, which are bronze, or golden colored. However, a scuppernong is actually a type of muscadine with that color when ripe. Both grow on vines from middle, to tree-top, high. They're much larger individual berries than bunch grapes and grow in smaller pods, or bunches, and have a thicker skin. Many people make jellies and jams from them.

"Billy goat" grass is a plant with clover-like leaves and little yellow flowers. The leaves taste tangy, almost like vinegar. Many people call it "wild sauerkraut," or "Rabbit grass."

May Pops had many names like; may-apple, molly-pop, pop-apple, apricot vine, maycock, and the Holy-Trinity flower, or wild passionflower. It was a very pretty flower growing on a climbing vine from six to twenty feet long, usually, on a fence row or in full sun. We ate the seeds from the smooth, round, usually green, two inch diameter fruits that turned yellow when ripe. People said you could even eat the flowers, but we never did. They were too pretty, being about three inches wide with several petals and a purple fringe. They smelled good to, sort of like carnations. The yellow, base-ball sized fruit has many flattened, dark-colored pulpy seeds, about raisin-size, covered with soft, edible, Jell-O stuff. It bothered me why they were called May Pops when they didn't get flowers until, at least, June and it was July, or later, before they got ripe. Some people said they "may pop" when they got ripe was the origin of their name. I don't really know. They were pretty bitter if you didn't wait until they were ripe.

Passion flower and May Pops

[NOTE: years later, I learned they were Passiflora incarnata, the Purple Passionflower, purported by early Spanish explorers to represent the sufferings of Christ. A close look at the center of the flower resembles what the Spanish took as Christ on a cross. Plus, there were other regional names for it such as: passion vine, granadilla, maracoc, maracock, and white sarsaparilla. The plants bloom from June to September and develop the sweet-smelling, yellowish fruits in two to three months after flowering. Usually harvested from July to October]

I always ended up with a stomach ache or some kind of hurting inside and always got the dreadful Castor Oil. Mama had it in gallon jugs. I guess it was cheap to buy because we seemed to go through at least a gallon each month. You really had to be hurting to go see Mama with something hurting on the inside of your body.

Mama never changed. She always started out with the Castor Oil. If you still hurt after three days, she may try something else. I remember that for some ailments, she had some "Black Draught" tonic and some "SSS," called "Triple S," tonic that she gave us after a few days of hurting. The first few years the tonics came out, it was almost as bad as the Castor Oil, but later they started putting cherry flavoring in it and it wasn't so bad. But, you always got the toxic Castor Oil before you got the good stuff. Seems like even for sore throats or colds, she started out with Castor oil, just to see if you were faking the illness, I guess.

If you were stuffed up and couldn't breathe, she broke out the "Vicks Vapor Rub." She waited until bed time, and rubbed some on your chest and sometimes on your upper lip. It was so strong at first, you couldn't go to sleep, but being kids, sleep overtook us and when we awoke, we were always better, at least for a while. You got the same treatment for maybe three nights then, as the cold ran its course, you were feeling better and started improving, so no more treatments were necessary.

Yes, you had to have something really wrong with you before you went to Mama. You knew what she started with, and only pain drove you to Doctor Mama. Even to this day, I can still remember the taste of that Castor Oil when I think about it, even though I've tried to purge my brain of all memories. Also, I can still smell the coal oil she used on the many rags around my foot from stepping on nails and other problems.

Once at school, being barefooted, I managed to step on a nail that went barely under the skin. The board had a nail that was barely sticking out. It was bleeding a little and I hopped to the teacher.

She panicked! She grabbed me up and we ran to the principle. The next thing I knew, we were uptown and I was getting a "tetanus" shot. I later found out that it prevented "lock jaw" that may result because of infection from a rusty nail or such a wound. The shot hurt worse than the nail! I wasn't going to do anything but wash off the wound myself, but the teacher scared me as much as I did her.

This wasn't a serious nail puncture. However, that did start me thinking, in the future, I had to watch out at school and at home. Only with a puncture that went one half to one inch deep did I think about the shot. We had a good laugh about the school incident when I told Mama. She said all it needed was a good washing and a coal oil rag.

I asked Mama about the shot. She said it was really only needed for serious injuries worse than nail punctures. I was glad I didn't have to get another of those shots. It wasn't until about the tenth grade, I learned that the tetanus shot was good for ten years. That would've eased my mind a lot back then if they had told me that.

But no matter, Doctor Mama had everything under control. She must have, we all lived through those times and except for a few scars, we were well taken care of. However, I do have one permanent scar on my brain, it's the one burned into it by the taste of Castor Oil.

Chapter 5. Electricity!

I still remember when Daddy got electricity in our Story house. I was still six years old in 1954. I don't know how things worked out, but one day a man came in with a bunch of white wire and some lights. There was a lot of talk about the light company putting up a light pole close to our house. The man ran the white wire up the sides of the walls and stapled them to the walls. He ran some wire to the center of the room and put a light socket, with a long pull string, on a metal box. He did that in several rooms. He put a light in each socket and we waited for the light pole to be put up. Sure enough, in a few days, they put up a light pole and ran some wires to the house. They put a metal box on the outside of the house and connected the wires. It was getting a little dark when they finished and Mama was just fixing to light the lamps. The light man came in the house and, with all us kids watching, turned on the light. That was an absolute miracle!

He told us all we had to do was pull on the string to turn the light on and off. Then, he asked us if we knew what a lightning bolt was. Of course, we all knew that and had seen lightning thousands of times. He told us, "the metal boxes on the wall have a lightning bolt inside them. You should never stick anything in the holes on the box. Only adults and big kids are allowed to plug anything into the metal boxes."

We all laughed and said, "there's no way a lightning bolt will fit in that little box."

"Just wait a minute."

He went to his truck and came back with a strip of wire with the insulation gone on both ends.

"Ya'll stand back and never do what I'm fixing to do, because it will kill you if you don't know how to do it."

He had on some big black rubber gloves and told us his shoes had rubber on the bottom. Then, he stuck one end of the wire into the metal box on the wall. The other end he held apart. With all us watching, he said, "here's the lightning bolt I told you about."

He touched the ends of the wire together and sparks flew everywhere. Every one of us little kids ran for our lives and the big kids jumped back. Sure enough, there was a lightning bolt in the box. That was it for us kids. We started walking around the metal boxes like we did the lamps. The man said, "the lightning bolts can't get you unless you stick something in the holes that's not supposed to be there."

We never even thought about putting anything in the holes. That was instant death to us because we saw that lightning was inside the box.

But, the light was something different. It was pure magic! We all got our share of whippings for playing with the lights. We were amazed at how they worked. Mama told us, time after time, to leave the lights alone. It was like a bear going past a bee hive. We had to pull the light string and turn it on just to see if the electricity was still there, then turn it off. It took us several days before the newness wore off. Of course, the whippings had something to do with that to.

I got several whippings for the cause of science research over the lights. I claimed I could turn on the light and get out of the room before the light beat me to the door. No one believed me until our argument heated up one day. I finally had to prove I was faster than the light. Several of us kids went in the house and gathered in a circle under the light string. I made a path clear to the door and got down in my three point stance to take off headed for the door. I had someone else turn the light on with spotters at the door facing to verify that I was past the door facing by the time the light got there.

On my first attempt, I, maybe, got up from the stance when the light got to the door. I said it was because Vear pulled the light string before I was ready. Next time, we counted to three before we each started. This time, there was a debate over if I actually took a step or not before the light got to the door. I told them what was wrong was, I had to have a running start. I made a plan.

I'd run through the room and pull the string as I ran through. So, we cleared out an area and everyone watched as I came running through the room and grabbed the string. With me running and grabbing the string, I'd actually get a step or two past the light before it was pulled enough to turn the light on. The first attempt was inconclusive. The spotters weren't sure if I beat the light or not. One said I was at the door at the same time and the other said I didn't beat the light.

Of course, this required another attempt. That time, both spotters said no. I complained that I was getting a little tired and wasn't as fast as when I was fresh. Mama heard us in the house and caught us playing with the light again and whipped us. That broke us up until I built it up that I could beat the light again.

A few days later, we all gathered in the house to test my theory. Mama was in the garden and we all had some reason to be in, or at, the house. With the spotters in place and the light string hanging still, I took off hard and fast. I grabbed the string and pushed hard for the door.

Oops! the light string broke. Now what? Did I get to the door first or not? The spotters said no. I accused them of lying and a big argument started. I was still shoving, and pushing, and holding the light string when Mama appeared in the doorway.

Instantly, you could hear a pin drop. Mama looked at the light and saw maybe one foot of string hanging down, then looked at me holding the rest of the string. As if trying to see what story I'd come with now, she asked, "is that the light string?"

We all looked at the string and I just nodded my head. I thought about saying, "what string?" But, she already looked at the light. My Adams apple was stuck in my throat and I couldn't talk anyway. She stomped over to me, grabbed me by the arm, dragged me into the kitchen, and got the switch. She wore me out good, all the while I was yelling about doing an experiment and it was for science. That didn't seem to make any difference to Mama. She whipped all us in the house at that time and sent us outside again.

After Daddy got home, I remember hearing Mama telling him that I broke the string trying to out run the light. I listened most intently now, waiting to see if he was going to whip me too. Daddy tied the string back up and all I heard him say was, "he can't out run the light."

Well, maybe I didn't, but still think it was a tie a couple times. But, what was more important was that we had lights and moved into the modern world. Since the results weren't clear, I soon abandoned the cause, mostly, because I couldn't get anyone as spotters anymore. I figured I'd wait until I was grown up to try again. Later, the sixth grade ruined everything for me. I learned that light traveled an average of 186,200 miles per second. At first I couldn't believe it. I verified the number. Well, guess I never did out run it after all. But I never told anyone that.

We got a radio shortly after we got electricity and we all loved to sit around it listening to the stories and the music. We were amazed at how the sound got into the radio. We all had our own way of thinking. Some thought it was just in the air all the time but we just couldn't hear it until it went into the radio. I figured it out for us all, though. I explained that since lightning was in the metal box the radio was plugged into, that's where the sound came from. My logic was reasonable.

I explained. Did you ever see lightning that didn't have thunder you could hear? Well, the sound and music was in the thunder that was with the lightning. The radio had some wires that slowed the sound slow enough that we could hear it. It was always there, even outside, but you just couldn't hear it because it had to go through the wires in the radio first. Another proof was when the wind blew past the wires on the light pole. You could hear the whistling which was all the music trying to get out of the wire but it had to go through the radio first. No one usually argued with me except every now and then one of the big kids said something stupid about sound waves. Who ever heard of something like that?

We finally got a black and white TV. A small one, but it was a TV. We were really "living in high cotton" then. (High cotton was favored over low cotton because you didn't have to bend over so far to pick it.) Thus, started our Saturday evening viewing of Gunsmoke with Matt Dillon. I think I outdrew him many times. Of course, my wooden gun didn't have bullets, so I was never sure. However, all us little kids stood up and tried to beat him. We all argued about beating him. But, when the commercial was over, it was total attention to the show.

There were many shows I remember watching when Mama allowed the TV to be on. Mickey Mouse and Tom and Jerry cartoons, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, and Gene Autry westerns, Howdy Doodie and Clarabelle the Clown, and eventually, Captain Kangaroo with Mr. Green Jeans. They were golden shows to watch and we all loved them. There was never a time when we just turned the TV on. It was always Daddy or Mama, or one of the big kids with permission from Mama, or the TV stayed off.

Of course, I had to explain how the TV worked to the little kids and it wasn't so hard to figure out, either. See, they already knew where the sound came from because the TV had a little radio in it. Since it was plugged into the box with lightning, everything was plain as day to me. I explained that lightning was actually taking a picture of what was going on all the time. All us kids had our picture taken every so often and we all knew the flash was like lightning. Even in the daytime, the flash went off. The result, was the picture that was developed. So, when the flash, or lightning was visible, a picture was taken and the lightning captured whatever was going on at the time.

There was only a short step from a picture to a TV since lightning was the primary driver. There was lightning all over the US and we watched the lightning move out of our area into another area taking pictures of that area as it went. We watched in the news every day when a storm passed, and saw pictures on the TV of what damage was done to the area. The lightning took a picture of the damage and the TV had more wires in it that slowed the pictures down so we could see them. You could look in the back of the TV and see the lightning going through the tubes and being slowed down enough to be seen on the screen.

The screen was like a pull down window shade that showed the images made when the light was on our hands. The lightning stored up the pictures and it took a long time for all the pictures to be shown on the TV. When you changed channels, you saw what was going on in other parts of the US. The lightning took pictures of those areas and stored them up to be shown in our area when all the pictures of our area were used up.

That usually only took about thirty minutes when the news was on. I was glad I didn't live in the west with all those Indians, but figured as smart as I was, I could manage.

Chapter 6. Going to School

All us little kids envied the big kids going to school. We knew some day, we'd get the chance. Many days we waved at the bus driver when he turned the bus around in our yard. Mama kept telling us that some day we'd be going to school too. Eventually, that day came for me. I turned six years old in 1954 and was smiling from ear to ear when the bus drove up to our Story house. I was a "big kid" now. The others let me get on the bus first and the driver made a big 'to do' about me riding the bus. He told me the rules and let me sit on the first row up front. I knew that going to school was going to be special and I loved every minute of the whole day.

I met my teacher who had a whole class of new kids. Some were crying and others, like me, were so excited, we could hardly stand it. My teacher was nice and it was such an exciting time, meeting all the other kids, and the teacher making learning fun. Mostly, it seemed like playing all day to me, but sure enough, I was learning things. The teacher put little stars on our papers when we did real good at something. We took them home and I showed Mama, then I pulled the little star off and put it in a cigar box.

When we did something like writing or adding numbers real good, the teacher "wrote something" on our papers. It was really a prize to have her write something on your paper. Of course, we couldn't read it, but we knew it was something better than a star if she wrote on our paper. After showing Mama and having one of the older kids read whatever it was, usually something like "this is great" or "Victor is doing very good!" I'd tear the writing off the paper and put it in the cigar box with my stars. I loved my teacher and school.

When we weren't having fun "learning" we had recess and I went outside to play with other boys. This was great; going to school.

There was one thing about the first grade I didn't like. Nap time! Everyday, after lunch, the teacher made us lay down and take a nap. I didn't need a nap and wanted to learn or play some more. Just returning from the lunch period recess I was usually still excited. Most kids brought a pillow from home to sleep on. Usually, I didn't have one from home, and either the teacher, or the school, had one for me. The teacher told us to lay down and go to sleep and she'd wake us when it was time for us to learn again. Most of the kids just went right off to sleep. I usually tried to fake sleeping when I heard the teacher walking by. Guess it was the smile on my face that gave me away.

She usually told me to stop playing and go to sleep. Many times, I tried to play with someone next to me while we were on the floor and they tried to go to sleep. The teacher told me that I had to sit in the corner if I didn't go to sleep. Usually, I wound up sitting in the corner. There was a little stool in the corner and you had to sit facing the wall. Without anything or anyone to play with, in less than five minutes I was asleep with my head leaning against the corner. It was always strange to me how I remembered going to sleep on the stool and woke up on my pillow with the rest of the kids. I figured I sleep-walked back to my pillow.

I guess I was a handful in the first grade. The teacher's worst punishment was either to verbally scold us or tell us we may not get a star on our paper if we misbehaved. Another punishment that didn't work on me was the teacher putting me in the coat closet. It was a long hallway type closet. It had hooks that we put our coats on and many shelves that our pillows and other supplies for the class were stored. There was a stool at one end and a door at each end. Every now and then, I had to sit in the coat closet for punishment.

When I first went in, it was dark and I couldn't see anything. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness I saw some light coming under the doors. That light was usually just enough to illuminate the coats hanging on the hooks and they were always Indians or monsters that I had to kill like on TV. I started killing the Indians and making all kind of racket in the coat closet and the teacher soon realized I was having fun. That usually ended up with me sitting on the stool in the corner. That was awful punishment since I could hear the other kids doing things that I wanted to do and couldn't. Usually, I called the teacher and told her I'd act right if she let me join the other kids. After a promise, she let me join in and everything was right in the world again.

The whole first and second grade was a fun and exciting time for me. I loved going to school and the teachers made learning fun. I especially liked the singing part. Singing good old songs like "The Erie Canal," and "Sweet Betsy from Pike," and "John Henry was a Steel Driving Man." Everyone's favorite was Tennessee Ernie Ford's song "Sixteen Tons." Who can forget the course line? "Sixteen tons and what do you get, another day older and deeper in debt, St. Peter don't call me 'cause I can't go, I owe my soul to the company sto'." The songs were little stories to me, along with another favorite, "I've been Working on the Railroad." I could visualize people working and singing these songs as they built the United States and worked in the coal mines. Often, the teacher told us the story behind the songs. I guess that's why we liked singing them so much.

It was all fun to me and I told the smaller kids all about the fun I was having and knew they envied me like I did the others before. Somehow, in all the fun, I was actually learning things. I liked that. Just as important to me, I was a "big kid" now and rode the school bus.

SECTION II: THE ALVIN BRONSON HOUSE

Chapter 7. The Alvin Bronson Houseplace

I was seven to eight years old here between 1955 and 1956. This was the second house I remember living in. It was still in Snake Ridge, Louisiana. It already had electricity. The old wooden board house was like the other houses; cold and drafty in winter and hot in summer. I was in the second and third grades. There was a big, open, wooded area east of the house where we got wood for the fireplace and our wood cook stove. When it was cold Boy (Velton) and I had to get wood for the family. Boy was six years older than me. He was big-boned and large for his age and all muscle. We had a big wheelbarrow that Boy pushed to put wood in. We used a "buck" saw mostly, and an ax to cut the wood. The buck saw was about three feet long with a thin steel blade. It was shaped like a "D." Sometimes we had to use the cross-cut saw for bigger pieces, and to cut a tree down to get our wood. The steel cross-cut saw was about six feet long and six inches wide with large teeth. It was an eighth inch thick. It had a wooden handle on each end we used to pull the saw back and forth through the wood. I was no match for Boy pulling the saw, so he pushed while I pulled.

1955, Victor-7, 1956, Boy-13

Many times it was close to dark when we had to get wood and Showboat '55 or '56 was on our black and white TV. It made me mad that I missed Showboat to go get wood. Sometimes, I talked Boy into going early so we could be back in time to see all of the show. Of course, we had to have all our other chores done, or have an agreement with Mama to do them later, to watch TV. The other chores were feeding the animals and pumping the water used for the house.

We got wood many times in the cold and rainy fall and winter. Seems we never had enough wood. I helped split the wood blocks for the cook stove and always took loads of wood in while Boy split it up. Since he was so much bigger and stronger, he usually split most of the wood. If the blocks had knots, we drove triangle steel wedges into them with a sledge hammer to split the knotty blocks. We used the ax to help split the blocks when we had large splits in it from the wedges.

We seemed to move around a lot when I was little. Moving didn't seem that big of a deal to me. I guess, because I was to little to worry about it. We didn't have much to move anyway and it was just another exciting event in our lives. All us little kids liked to move because we had new territories to discover and new things to do. I never knew we were considered "poor" by everyone else. I thought everyone lived like us.

We always had enough to eat and I thought everyone had a big garden like us. All us little kids liked it when school started. A few of the big kids got new, or at least better, clothes from somewhere and we got the hand-me-downs. That meant, pretty much, everyone got a different shirt and pants, or two, to wear. It didn't matter if it was a little too big at first, that's what belts were made for. Eventually, you either "grew into" or "out of" the clothes and passed them up or down the family chain.

Crosscut saw and Bow "Buck" Saw

By now, I old enough to help out around the house and picked up chores like cutting and splitting wood for the cook stove or fireplace. Pumping water seemed like a favorite chore for us little kids. We had the old draw-type pitcher pump with the handle sticking out and just about any little kid could work the handle. The pump was usually away from the house several yards and the bigger kids had to bring the water buckets in until we got big enough to do it I pumped water all the time, seemed like.

When you're the one doing the pumping, you got mad when you saw people wasting water. My bigger sisters seemed to enjoy getting a dipper full of water, drinking one or two swallows, and pouring the rest in the wash pan. There wasn't anything I could do about that, except complain. Of course, they claimed they needed to wash their hands, and Mama never said anything about that.

Over time, I started watching the water bucket and how the water was used. I knew who'd be pumping it full again. Plus, at night, I had to pump enough water in the number three washtub to wash our feet. Then, every few days, I had to pump enough in the number six washtub for us to take a bath. That was a lot of water. Vear (Vera) helped me sometimes. We couldn't carry the buckets or the tubs when they had a lot of water. Most times, Mama put the tub where she wanted it and made us carry smaller buckets of water back and forth.

During spring through fall, I helped out in the cotton patch. Tractors planted the cotton and while it was getting big enough to "chop," or thin out, we worked in the garden. About the time the cotton got four to six inches high, it was time to chop it. Everyone from me up got hoes of various handle lengths and went to work. The tractor planters normally put down a steady stream of seeds and our job was to cut one hoe width between hills. Plus, cut any weeds. Between the cotton patch and the garden, we kept pretty busy.

We had to "hoe" the cotton a couple times while it was growing to keep the weeds down. The garden always needed work either cutting weeds or harvesting food. When the cotton started getting "ripe," or the bolls started opening, we started hand picking it. I started out with a twenty five pound flour sack. Mama got our flour in these bags and poured it in our flour barrel and put a strap on the sack for me to pick cotton. Of course, everything is fun at first to little kids. When we had to keep filling it up all day long, it got to be work. I used a flour sack for the first year. Since I was six years old, I didn't get in trouble for the amount of cotton I picked. By eight years old, I had a five foot cotton sack and had to pick between fifty and 100 pounds every day to keep from getting a whipping from Daddy. By twelve years old, I had a seven and a half foot cotton sack and had to get at least 150 pounds to avoid a whipping. That was a lot of cotton for me and I had to keep busy all day to get it. It made me mad when Daddy knocked off—subtracted weight—for the dew at weigh ins.

We started early in the mornings and, of course, there was dew on the cotton, but I never liked Daddy knocking off ten to twelve pounds. You didn't say anything, though. You just got in the trailer, emptied the sack, and started over. Usually, by the second sack full, he only knocked off five or six pounds.

By fourteen years old, I used a nine foot cotton sack and had to get at least 175 pounds. That kept me scrambling. Depending on how thick the cotton was, sometimes, I just barely made it. At sixteen, I had to get 200 pounds. That was a lot of work for anyone. I didn't have any time to waste. If the cotton was poor and not very thick, I didn't want to stop to eat dinner (lunch) until I was sure I could get the rest of the weight before sundown. Daddy always meant what he said, and if he said you'd get a whipping if you didn't get your weight, you did. If Daddy thought you worked hard enough and the cotton was poor, he was a little lenient and let me get by with some less than 200. But if he thought the cotton was good enough, I got a whipping if I didn't get my weight, regardless of whether I ate lunch or not.

Daddy pulled up a few cotton stalks and whipped me good, several times. The others had weight limits too. He was harder on the boys than the girls. Daddy always picked cotton on two rows at a time and you had to stay ahead of him. If he caught you, you got a whipping. We usually only picked one row when I was little, but I had no choice but to pick two rows as I got more weight to pick. We, as a family, averaged one 2500 to 3000 pound bale of cotton every three days. Depending on the cotton, it may take four days to get a bale.

We had a couple milk cows that we milked also. Seems like we spent a lot of time at a churn making butter. The churn was a six to eight inch round clay container about two feet high with a lid that had a hole in the center. You filled the churn about three quarters full with milk from the cows. Then, we moved a wooden stick with a star or "X" pattern on the end through the milk. The constant up and down motion separated the milk fat, used to make "cow" butter, from the milk. Churning the milk with up and down strokes got very monotonous and if you didn't have anything else to do, you got the churn. Even little kids shared their turn at the churn.

We had a big "garden" called a "truck patch" across the road from the house. We spent many days in it, either watering, hoeing, pulling up grass, or harvesting the vegetables. Mama and the girls spent many hours canning everything and putting the vegetables in "Mason" jars of various sizes. I can still hear the hiss and rattle of the relief valve on the pressure cooker. Of course, come winter, the canned food was just like eating it fresh from the garden. Boy, it was good.

We didn't have any close neighbors. Fred Stevenson lived up the road from us maybe a half mile and I went there to play with little Fred in the summer and, every now and then, during school. Pat Patterson lived about three quarters of a mile down the road from us. We rarely went to their house, but we saw their several kids on the school bus. One of the girls was about my age. Her name was Christine. She was my "girlfriend." At least, everyone picked at me about her all the time. We did get along good and picked at each other a lot.

On past their house down the road another mile was the "Days Bough Swamp." We went there hunting all the time. Of course, I was too little at the time, but my bigger brothers and Daddy went there a lot. Daddy had some leg-hold traps set out in the swamp and before we moved from there, I went on his trap line a few times with him. That was no fun either, carrying those traps and the weight of the 'coons we caught. It was always interesting running the traps because we were out in the woods and usually saw lots of animals. But, I was always glad when we got back to the truck. Several years later, I was hunting in the Swamp with my brothers.

Another place we and hunted was the old "Mrs. Wooten" place where, presently, Mrs. McCullum lived. I spent many days in the woods behind her house squirrel and deer hunting.

Lloyd Dean Rinehardt was another friend of mine. He got off the school bus before I did and we played a lot together on the bus. He lived too far away for me to go to his house.

Judy Hewitt was another of my "girlfriends," although I don't think she knew it. She got off the bus before me also. They lived in a pretty colored brick house. Behind their house is the Hewitt Cemetery where Daddy and Mama would, eventually, be buried. Mama had a plot for her and Verlon (Man) next to Daddy.

Chapter 8. Throwing Cotton Bolls

Almost as soon as the cotton bolls started opening, we started picking cotton. We had chopped it, and hoed it, up to this point, and now we had to pick it. I heard about a mechanical cotton picker, but none of us had ever seen one. A few people at school didn't believe one existed. Regardless, we hand picked ours. It was 1956 early in the picking season. I was eight years old. We didn't mind it too much because Daddy didn't require us to get our weight limits until the cotton opened up pretty good. All us kids picked new bolls, about nickel size, and ate them every now and then. They were sweet, and we sucked the juice out, and, occasionally, ate the cotton too. Usually, Daddy and Mama knew when we did. Daddy could tell from the green stains on our mouths and Mama could tell when our stomachs hurt, or was tore up. So, out came the Castor Oil.

I hated that stuff. It was like any standard old thirty weight motor oil for your car. I bet I drank four gallons of it over my childhood, one tablespoon at a time. Mama used it as a general purpose internal medicine for anything. I guess it was very cheap to buy because we always seemed to have it by the gallon jug. It was the internal ailment cure like kerosene for external problems. If you had a bad cold, she broke out the Vicks Vapor Rub and spread it on your chest. Inevitably, getting some in your nose then covered you up real good with clothes, and sent you to bed. But, because a cold was an internal problem, you still got a tablespoon of Castor Oil first. I really think it was Mama's way of making you want to avoid getting a cold or any type of sickness.

There were several types of cold tonics and we liked taking them. They usually tasted good and certainly helped wash down the Castor Oil. No telling how many things were wrong with me at various times that I never complained about. Of course, if I told any one of my sisters or brothers, they told Mama and I usually got some Castor Oil just in case. Even when I was obviously sick, I tried to lie my way into perfect health. Usually, it never worked. I can still smell and taste that stuff just thinking about it.

Anyway, Vear (Vera) and I were ahead of Daddy picking cotton and since we only had one row, and Daddy had two, we usually didn't have much trouble staying ahead of him. Being only about five foot four inches at about 130 pounds and a slender body, he could pick cotton fairly fast. Maybe it was his persistence. He never seemed to take a break or rest any. He just kept picking. We had to make sure we stayed ahead of him. We both knew what would happen if he caught us so we worked hard enough to avoid the whipping. Vear was closest to Daddy and sometimes when Daddy started getting close, she motioned for me to pick some of her cotton so she could pull away from him. We frequently did that and seemed like Daddy never caught on. I'm sure that was the source of him smiling sometimes when we looked back at him, even though we thought he never knew.

No matter, the rules were simple and we all knew what they were. Daddy never changed his mind except very rarely. I helped Vear get pretty far ahead of Daddy, maybe twenty yards or so, and we pulled a fresh boll to eat. All of a sudden, I got nailed on the back with a good size cotton boll. Stunned at first, I looked up in the sky behind me. I couldn't imagine where it came from. Had one just fell out of the sky? I looked ahead and saw Boy (Velton) busy picking cotton and, although not beyond him, he didn't seem to have thrown it. I looked further ahead of him and Velma was busy picking also, and since she was my arch enemy, I figured she threw the boll, even though it was a long throw for her.

Boy picked two rows and Velma only one. Velma was big-boned for a girl. She was three years older than me, but at least twice my size and weight. Sometimes she picked two rows, but not today. I asked Vear, "did you see who threw that cotton boll?"

She looked puzzled and said, "no."

As we finished eating our boll, I bent over and started picking again, rubbing my back a little. I had one eye half way looking ahead to see if this phenomena happened again and in my mind started blaming Velma for it, anyway.

Then, I saw Boy glance back at me. I didn't think anything about it at the time. I turned to face Vear again and told her I thought it was Velma that threw the boll. Vear pointed, and loudly whispered, "look out!"

I spun around quickly to see Boy turning around after throwing the boll that barely missed me. So, it was Boy!

Only about ten to fifteen yards ahead of me, I decided to fight back. I pulled several bolls and threw them at him, hard. Then, Vear threw one at me! I was caught in the middle and we let several bolls fly between us three trying to keep a low profile, pick cotton, and not get caught by Daddy.

Of course, Daddy knew what we were doing and said, "you all better stop throwing those cotton bolls. Victor, get back to work and don't let me catch you throwing any more bolls."

Well, I was seen somehow. I guess he saw me throw one at Vear. That was enough for me at the time, I got back to picking cotton and motioned for Vear to stop before we get in trouble. Vear was about ten yards ahead of Daddy, I was about twenty yards and Boy about thirty yards ahead. Boy didn't hear Daddy's warning and since I hadn't thrown one at him in a few minutes, he decided to throw one at me, and at Vear. I saw it coming, and dodged mine. He missed Vear pretty badly. It tore through the cotton leaves as it landed only a couple yards from Daddy.

Without even breaking stride, it seemed, Daddy just slipped off his cotton sack and headed toward me. Of course, seeing him take off his cotton sack, I got back to picking in earnest. I glanced back at him when he was about five yards from me. He pulled up a few cotton stalks, shook the dirt off the roots, came up to me, and jerked my cotton sack strap off my shoulder.

I started yelling, "Daddy it wasn't me, I didn't throw that one back there, it was Boy!"

Didn't matter, by then, he had grabbed me and started thrashing me good. All he said was, "you been throwing them and I told you to stop."

He beat all the leaves off the stalks and they started breaking up, so he finally quit whipping me.

He looked at Boy, "If I catch you throwing bolls, I will whip you too."

He walked back past Vear, put his cotton sack strap back on and started picking cotton like nothing ever happened. Boy saw what I got and snickered a little then went back to picking.

I walked up to him still crying a little and told him, "I'll get you back for this."

I didn't know how I was going to do that, since he was probably three times my size. I don't know if he said anything, but I went back to picking cotton and figuring out how I could pay him back. I don't remember if I ever did. But, knowing me, I imagine I did some how.

Chapter 9. The Spotted Horse

One of my first memories of the Alvin Bronson place was a spotted horse in the pasture. I was seven in 1955. We wanted so much to pet the horse, but were told to watch out for him because he "didn't like little kids." Since I was seven years old, I was thinking I wasn't one of the "little kids" that the horse didn't like. There were three kids younger than me in our house, and surely they were who Mama and Daddy were talking about. Most times when I walked along the fence in our pasture, the horse trotted over to the fence and, like I was training the horse, walked along with me.

Of course, it was in the other pasture where there were more woods. I walked on my side of the fence and the horse walked right behind me on it's side of the fence. Almost daily, I went to the pasture and waited until the horse came up to me, then off we went walking along the fence. I probably walked a quarter to a third mile one way, stopping a few times to look at the horse. It always stopped and put it's head over the fence and looked at me. At first, I stayed back a little since I didn't know if the horse and I agreed on what "little kids" were. Just to be sure the horse didn't think I was a little kid, I kept my distance.

I didn't understand exactly what the statement "didn't like little kids" meant. No one ever told me. Plus, how do you find something like that out? I figured he may try to stomp me to death or buck me off like I saw many times on the western TV shows. But, I wasn't trying to ride him and he was on the other side of the fence. As time passed with our daily routine, I started petting him on the head between his eyes and nose. I tried it a few times each time we walked. Slowly, as the days progressed, he was waiting for me at the fence for our walk. Soon, I could pet him on his jaw and slowly worked my way to his neck and the top of his head. My brothers kept warning me to stay away from the horse but I wasn't convinced he'd hurt me. I figured it was typical brother talk to stop me from having a horse as a friend. Plus, I figured they were just jealous because the horse didn't like them.

I kept taking my daily walks and every now and then when I tried to pet his neck, he acted like he was trying to bite me. I dismissed it altogether, or took it as a friendly gesture. Then, usually petted his head or between his eyes and nose. Sometimes he jumped back after one of those so-called nips at me and I just started walking off again. The horse fell in stride and walked along.

The air was a little nippy one day and, evidently, the horse was feeling pretty good. He ran up to the fence, bobbed his head up and down a few times, then ran off in the woods making a big circle, then came back to the fence. During our walk, the horse ran up to me and as I turned to pet him, he took off running away only to return behind me later. After several run offs, he came up to me and stuck his head over the fence like he wanted a petting. I immediately went to pet him and rubbed him just above the nose and moved close to the fence to pet his neck.

This time, he reached down, grabbed me by my left shoulder, and clamped down. He lifted me off the ground slightly, with my shoulder in his mouth. I sort of panicked! I slapped him pretty hard with my right hand about the time he let me go. I fell on the ground and the horse reared up like he was going to stomp me to death and actually broke the top two strands of bob-wire fence. I thought he Was going to kill me. I scooted backwards trying to get up and run at the same time.

Through my clothes, he didn't break the skin, but left a good bruise, and more importantly, scared me to death. That broke our friendship, immediately. As I ran back to the house, he ran on the other side of the fence along with me and even made a few circles before I got back to the gate and safety. Of course, when I told Mama and the others, Mama got the switch and whipped me for fooling around with the horse in the first place. The whole time everyone telling me "I told you so."

It was a few days before I went back to the fence again. Sure enough, he was waiting for me. I walked cautiously toward him and immediately, he reached over the fence and tried to bite me again. Well, that was a bad move. He was in a pasture and, presumably, couldn't get out, and there were just too many rocks around to throw.

Over the time that we lived in the Alvin Bronson place, I must have cleared an area about 100 by 100 yards in our pasture of rocks. Every time I saw the horse, I threw a rock at it. Eventually, it either ran away to far to be hit by the rocks, or tried to hide behind a tree. I bet some of those trees are still skinned up from all the rocks I threw.

I especially liked it when he hid behind a tree. He was so stupid. He would get behind a tree only about three or four inches in diameter and turn side ways to me just sticking his head out from behind the tree. Of course, he was a big target for me and I loved it when he did that. Eventually, he got smarter and either picked a bigger tree, or ran too far away for me to hit. But, you could plant a garden in our pasture where I picked up all the rocks. And, I finally figured out that I must have been one of the "little kids" to the horse.

Chapter 10. Goatee the Milk Cow

Just like most families back when I was eight years old in 1956, we had a couple milk cows. One was named Brownie and the other was Goatee. Both had calves and one of my duties was to hold the calves away from the cows, especially, Goatee while Mama milked her. Brownie's calf was small enough that it wasn't a problem for me to hold. The routine was to let the calves suck about one minute to get the milk flow started then pull them off. Mama washed the cow's teats and started milking. Brownie was a gentle cow and I think you could even ride her without any problems, of course, we didn't do that. The calf was small and I had no problem holding it back from Brownie.

However, Goatee's calf was a little bigger and created a lot of trouble for me. Being the "runt of the litter" in our family, I wasn't very heavy and was small for my size. The calf weighed much more than I did. Many times Mama helped me pull the calf away from Goatee and put the rope around a fence post for me to hold. That usually worked. I held the calf back with a little struggle and since I wouldn't let go of the rope, it often pulled me into the post crushing my hands, or knocked my head against it. Sometimes, I had to put my feet on the post while holding the rope. I'd be horizontal to the ground. That is, until the calf seemed to notice and took a step toward the post. I hit the ground which usually scared the calf and it took off for Goatee. Which, usually, gave me another lump on the head or crushed my hands as I hit the post again. We repeated this several times during the milking process.

Mama milked pretty fast, but was never fast enough for me. Occasionally, when the calf got a step or two on me, it pulled me hard into the post and caused the rope to slip in my hands. This burned my hands and I let go. I yelled at Mama that the calf got loose. Mama grabbed the bucket and stepped back. When the calf got there, she grabbed the rope and pulled it back to the post for me.

Milking was always an anxious time for me, and, Goatee. She didn't like kids at all and Mama took her to the other side of the lot to milk her. She always watched me about as much as I watched her. Several times, when the calf got loose and ran for Goatee, I instinctively ran for the rope. Goatee saw me running toward her after the calf. Goatee met me half way several times and head-butted me pretty good. A couple times, she flattened me hard. This caused chaos in the milking lot because usually Goatee kicked the milk bucket over trying to get me. When Goatee head butted me, Mama tied off the calf and I didn't have to hold it. It always bothered me why she didn't do that all the time. I think Mama was probably laughing at my struggles until, either the calf knocked me pretty good on the post, or Goatee got me. There was no love at all between me and Goatee.

I figured if I kept coming to the lot with Mama, Goatee would eventually get used to me. I don't think that ever happened. Me and the calf were mortal enemies too. That sucker stood there, big-eyed, pulling back on the rope, and sometimes ran sideways pinning me against the fence. That gave it just a hint of slack and off it went for Goatee, pulling me into the post. That made me mad and I wrapped the rope around my arm and got horizontal to the ground with my feet on the post pulling back. I never gave up and always walked away thinking I beat the calf when we were through.

Even letting the calf go was hard. All I had to do was pull on the loop that went over it's nose. That took some doing, and timing. I had to hold the rope tight until I got my hand on the nose loop, then give the rope some slack to get my fingers under the loop and pull it off the calf, before it turned and tightened the rope again.

Many times, I was caught and pinned at the same time. With a little slack, the calf thought it was free, and with my hand under the nose loop, the calf jumped away from the post before I had the nose loop all the way off it's nose. That caught my hand under the nose loop and slammed me into the post at the same time. Now, I was pinned. The calf pulled and I wasn't strong enough to get my hand out of the nose loop, nor pull the calf back toward the post to get some slack on my other hand at the post.

Mama had to rescue me. I, usually, was allowed to swat the calf with the rope as we walked past it to leave. I don't think the calf ever felt it much because it never flinched. It just kept sucking. However, I was always on the other side of Mama when I did that in case Goatee decided to take a run at me.

We struggled like that for a few years. The calf got bigger, but I didn't. I got smarter! I learned how to tie off the rope. Things were much easier after I learned how to tie off the rope. Mama helped me pull the calf to the post and by the time Mama turned around, I half-hitched the calf to the post and proceeded to tie all kinds of knots in the rope. Problem was, when it was time to let it go, the calf had pulled the rope so hard, it was hard to untie the knots. Getting the nose loop off got easier when I learned to pull on the calf's ear until it took a step forward giving me some slack to remove the nose loop. The calf took off and I'd spend five minutes or more untying the rope while Goatee eyed me.

Every now and then, the calf walked toward the post and, somehow, got the nose loop hung on a knot, or something on the post, and pulled the rope off. This always scared Goatee, and us to, because it was unexpected when the calf hit the cow to suck. It happened so rarely, we didn't think much of it. I usually tried to find what the calf hooked the rope on.

Day after day, Goatee was finally getting used to me a little. With the calf tied off, I often moved behind Mama and watched her milk Goatee. Usually, Goatee turned her head and watched me closely while Mama talked to her calming her down. Mama told me not to make any quick moves because that scared Goatee and she might spill the milk bucket. So, day after day, we repeated this procedure and I got a little closer and closer.

I milked Brownie many times but found my ultimate challenge was to milk Goatee. At first, Mama wouldn't even consider it. As the days passed, there were many times that Goatee didn't even look around at me as Mama milked away. When I caught Goatee not looking, I moved a little closer and talked to Mama about letting me milk her. I justified my reason being that Goatee wasn't even looking. Mama said Goatee could feel the difference and get scared. That made logical sense, but didn't satisfy my childish logic and I tormented Mama to let me milk her.

Eventually, I got Mama to say, "well, OK maybe, someday, but not now."

I heard that for a month and think I was wearing Mama down, like all kids do. I got used to the challenge of milking Goatee and told everyone about it. It was something I was going to do unless one of us died first. Everyone laughed at me and said the cow would never let me do it. That made me want to milk her even worse. As usual, my mouth got me in trouble again, and now people were asking me if I milked Goatee yet.

It became an obsession, but I had to do it right or Goatee would get me for sure. I don't know how long we repeated the same steps of me kneeling next to Mama, but eventually, I started touching the teats to test Goatee's reaction.

Almost immediately, Goatee sensed my touch and turned her head to look at Mama. I don't know if it was the fact that there were now two hands touching her, or she just felt the cautious, unsure, tentative, feeling of my hand. Goatee made an anxious step while looking back, and Mama talked to her some and that was all I wanted to do at that time. Just get her use to my hand. We did that now most every day and finally, with Mama between me and Goatee's head, I reasoned that it might be strange for Goatee to be feeling two hands which made her nervous. Mama and I took turns milking Goatee a squeeze or two. I think Goatee knew I was doing that, and occasionally, looked back at us and, sometimes, took an anxious step. This proceeded until one time I did almost all the milking, with Mama in between me and Goatee's head.

I felt like I finally succeeded, but when I bragged about it, everyone always asked if Mama was there beside me. Personally, I didn't care, I had milked Goatee as far as I was concerned, but didn't get the recognition I deserved from the rest of the family. Mama even took up for me, on occasion, but there was still the nagging fact that Mama was between me and the cow. Still we worked on the milking until Mama just stood up and I did all the milking and it seemed like Goatee didn't mind after a while.

My plan was that, slowly, Mama would move away from Goatee until she was standing behind me and if Goatee ever looked around and saw me milking, she wouldn't do anything. That would pass as me milking her alone. Everyone agreed with that.

So now, I had to be patient and do it. At first, Mama was standing up and touching Goatee with her hand. Finally, Mama dropped her hand and stood there. Still nothing more from Goatee than a look every now and then. Eventually, Mama moved away a step. Nothing more than an anxious step. I had succeeded, just about.

Day after day, Mama moved a little further around behind me. One day it finally happened. I was milking and Mama moved completely behind me and we started laughing at my success. Not too loud or we may scare Goatee. She already looked at me a couple times and took a couple anxious steps. But with Mama there talking to her, she didn't do anything. Things were going great and I was enjoying my victory, even talking to Goatee myself. That caused her to turn her head and look at me. For that instant, she seemed calm. Then, it happened!

Yes, while Goatee was looking at me, the stupid calf got loose, ran over, and hit Goatee in the side. That scared all of us and, especially, Goatee. I had my left arm up and was squeezing a teat. Goatee swung her head around to the other side and kicked me right in the bicep of my left arm. My left arm flew through the air like a rag doll, with the rest of my body flying after it. It felt like she kicked it completely off my body. She turned around kicking the bucket of milk over spilling the three quarter full bucket, then jumped forward a few steps before Mama could catch her.

Goatee turned around looking at me as I slowly got up from the ground. Everything happened so fast, I didn't have all my senses back. Mama yelled at me to get on the fence and yelled at Goatee at the same time, while trying to get the rope for the calf. As Goatee moved toward me, I started crawling backwards as fast as I could. Still a little groggy from the kick, I was kicking the dirt and slipping, trying to move backwards, and get up, at the same time. Everything was in slow motion, seemed like, except the cow.

Mama stepped right in front of me just at the last instant and Goatee turned to the right a little to miss Mama. She yelled at Goatee and that split second gave me enough time to scramble onto the fence. Goatee ran right up to the fence looking at me. I'm sure my eyes were as big as cups looking at her.

I was holding on with my right hand. Seems like I didn't have any feeling in my left arm. Mama pushed Goatee back around and grabbed the calf rope to tie it off. Goatee was still looking at me as I scrambled off the fence to the other side. Mama finally got Goatee settled down enough to finish milking her. I sat down and watched my left bicep swell up like I was a world-class body builder.

Mama finished milking and let the calf go and had only a quarter bucket of milk. She came over to me and looked at my arm. I said I wanted to kill the calf.

Mama only said, "Well, you did milk her by yourself!"

I was sore almost two weeks and my whole bicep was bruised and blue. I really had something to brag about now, though. Mama vouched for me that I actually milked Goatee, fair and square, plus I gained some pity from my hecklers for having the bruise to show what happened.

I never tried, or wanted, to milk Goatee again. I told Mama, I'd milk Brownie if she wanted me to, but I was through with Goatee. I never milked Goatee again, but was in the lot most of the time and made sure the calf didn't get off or untied again.

Goatee always watched me from that point on. It wasn't long after that incident that Goatee tried to jump a barb wire fence and hung her bag (utter) on it and ripped a big gash in her bag. We had to get the Vet out to put some black tar-like antibiotic on it until it healed. It was a long time before anyone milked her again.

Chapter 11. Changing Seasons

There were many long days riding the bus home from school. For us seven and eight year olds, it was like prison. It was 1955 and 1956. We couldn't play or do anything but sit on the bus. We were one of the last to get off. We rode a little over one hour from our Mangham, Louisiana school.

Daily, I looked out the window watching the seasons change. During spring, seems that no one else cared that the trees budded and eventually sprouted leaves. I marveled at the process and kept watch as they grew from bud to leaves. I tried to tell others about the wonder of it but they didn't care. I wrote down how the trees looked from one week to the next. I never looked to see what I wrote the week before until I was ready to write the present week's observations down. That way, I could clearly tell the difference from one week to the next. There were certain trees I used as my standards to watch.

I did arouse excitement for some time in the late fall and early spring when there were few leaves on the trees. As the bus went past large tracts of timber, I looked intently for squirrels moving in the trees. Both morning and evening I watched. Every now and then, I saw one and told someone, but we were usually gone past it before someone could find it. Therefore, without someone else seeing the squirrel, it was my word against theirs. Eventually, I got a couple boys to help me watch as we went past this large patch of woods. When we all saw a squirrel at the same time. We caused such a commotion, we usually got everyone on the bus looking for them. It was fun to hear someone seeing one and everyone else trying to find it to before the bus got to far away.

There were lots of arguments over knots on tree limbs. When there was an argument, we all looked at the same place next time to see if the knot moved. If it had moved, it was a legitimate squirrel. Occasionally, we all saw a squirrel actually moving in the trees when the bus went by. That caused a big commotion and everyone rushed to one side and, usually, scared the driver. I was never afraid the bus would turn over, but guess the driver was. We had lots of fun looking out for squirrels until the leaves got so full we rarely saw one. By then, most everyone had lost interest.

I kept recording the changes I saw, and by the fall, I started trying to tell the different colors and quantity of leaves still on the trees. Then, when enough leaves fell, we started looking for squirrels again.

I sat many hours with my knees propped up on the back of the seat in front of me looking out at the trees. My legs went to sleep every day and I liked the weird pin-sticking feeling I got when the blood started back in them. Sometimes, it hurt and sometimes not so bad. I had to time how soon we got off the bus to allow time for my legs to be functional again. Often, I waited too long and had to crawl off the bus and sit on the side of the road until the feeling came back. The bus driver laughed and teased me about my timing.

Although against the law now, I frequently rode standing up near the front windshield next to the driver as the "door boy." Or, I sat on the front seat and jumped up to open and close the door for people getting on and off. Occasionally, as we approached people getting on the bus, they stood a little too close to the road and when I opened the door, it pushed someone back or sideways. We all laughed about it then, guess now, the school might have been sued.

Chapter 12. My Superman!

Polle (Pol'-lee) Stevenson was his name. I was probably in the third or fourth grade. He was in the eleventh grade when we started riding the bus. I was eight in 1956. He thought I was cute and liked me a lot. He was huge compared to me. He was about six foot four inches and weighed maybe 250 pounds. He was all muscle. Just a huge boy and to me, as strong as superman.

He could do some superman stunts too. His favorite during the summer was to catch a wasp inside the bus. He held the wasp with his fingers and put it on his arm and let everyone see the wasp sting him. Somehow, he was completely immune to their stings. Then, he usually held it between his fingers and mashed the tail enough for the stinger to come out, grab it, and pull it out of the wasp. Usually, he threw the 'stinger-less' wasp on someone and yelled that they had a wasp on them. He'd put it in a girls hair and watched her scream for life.

Several people during the summer usually got stung because of a wasp they thought Polle put on them. Grabbing it, they quickly found out he didn't do it. Usually, however, Polle jumped up, grabbed it, and killed it. Or, he pulled it's stinger out and let the person torture the insect while they swelled up. I saw Polle do that so many times he had me convinced I could do it too. He talked me into trying it, but when I agreed, he wouldn't let me go through with it. I was glad because I'd swell up too.

But, if Polle told me to do something, I wouldn't hesitate. He had to watch what he said to me because he knew I'd do whatever he said. He was my protector. No one, especially on the bus, ever messed with me.

There were some bullies on the school yard that messed with me one day pushing me down and I skinned my arm. I told the bullies I was going to get Polle on them and they just laughed and said go get him.

The High School and Elementary didn't have the same recess time except for lunch, and even that was staggered. I was crying and knew from talking to Polle about where he was during the day. Of course, going into the High School area was like entering the forbidden zone. I was scared to death, and still crying, when I went into the High School class areas going into the first room I came to. I asked for Polle but the teacher said he wasn't there. He showed me which room to go to and Polle may be in it. I went there and, sure enough, when I entered the room, Polle was so big, I spotted him immediately.

Crying, I went straight to Polle and disrupted the class in progress. The teacher asked Polle if I was related to him, he said no, but he watches out for me at school. The teacher let Polle out of class to handle me since I was crying and disrupting the class. I told Polle what happened and he said, "let's go see those bullies right now."

He took me by the hand as I quit crying and we were off to see the bullies.

When we came out of the Elementary hallway going outside, Polle looked like a dinosaur walking among us. We went straight over to the bullies and I spoke up that this was Polle. He reached down, grabbed both the boys by the front of their shirts, picked both of them up, and held them at arms length up in the air. Their eyes were about to pop out. Polle told them that if they ever bothered anyone again, especially me, he'd be back and pull their heads off. He asked if they understood and they only nodded because they were speechless. Polle put them back down and told me to watch them and let him know if they ever bothered anyone else again. I said okay and Polle left me there. The bullies became my friends pretty quick and never bothered anyone in my presence again.

It passed around the school yard that anytime, anyone, was mean to someone else, Polle would come and get them. For a very long time, there were no incidents, except pure accidents, that happened on the Elementary school yard.

Polle could take a metal bottle cap and bend it double with his fingers. We all thought he was superman because he could pick up two big girls on the bus, one on each arm, and walk around with them. Also, he could hold down most people with one finger, which he proved many times on the bus. He never got into a fight, obviously, and was a really nice person to everyone. He could have been the worst bully at the whole school if he wanted to. I saw him break up fights before and never did anyone want to try him.

Of course, with Polle being my hero while he was in school, I'd do anything he said and never thought he'd steer me wrong. I was talking to him one day about how he got such big muscles, and he said just eating and taking these pills. That was it for me. I had to have some of those pills. I ate sufficiently, so it must have been the pills. I bothered Polle for maybe three months to bring me some of those pills. Eventually, since I wasn't going to let him forget it, he did bring me a few pills. He told me to take them just before I went to bed. He gave me about five pills told me to only take them before I went to bed and drink a glass of water with each pill. I was to take one each week for five weeks. Any more than one per week may hurt me.

I wrapped the pills in a piece of paper, and put them in my pocket, and carried them home. I followed his instructions exactly for three weeks but didn't notice any change in my appearance. Polle told me to just wait, they may take time to work since I was so small. On the fourth week, I couldn't wait any longer and wanted to hurry up and get some results. So, I took the pill early.

It was about five in the afternoon when I took the fourth pill and I waited for something to happen. It did! I went to sleep! About thirty minutes later I was still asleep. That was extremely rare for me and all my family got worried. They woke me up and wanted to know what was wrong. I only told them I was sleepy and nothing was wrong. Mama knew something was wrong and threatened me with Castor Oil, her internal medicine. I told her about the pills Polle gave me to make me big and strong. She wanted to see the last one. Looking at the markings on it, we eventually decided it was a Dristan PM. A nighttime aspirin.

They never bothered me before because I took it just before going to bed. Mama took the last pill from me and gave me a good talking to. Neither Polle, nor us, had a phone, so when Daddy got in, he drove down the road about a half mile to their house. They were good friends and laughed about it, I heard, but Mr. Stevenson jumped all over Polle for doing that.

He apologized to Daddy and said he had to do something because I bothered him so long about the pills. He figured I'd take them as directed and nothing would ever come of it. When they didn't work, he was going to tell me I was too little for them to work. I'd have to wait until I was older.

(So, now you know why I don't have a lot of muscle. I don't have any more pills now that I'm all grown up.) Polle and I stayed friends, and I fell for the "you're too little" tale. Polle was gone after the next year. I lost my superman.

Chapter 13. The Big Hog

Polle's little brother was Fred Stevenson. He was only a year or two older than me. I was eight, it was 1956. We liked each other and hung around with each other. Fred was a tall boy, for his age, and real friendly. He was thin like me and had a big toothy smile. He wasn't anything like Polle. Fred was going to be a tall guy, not brawny like Polle. We got along good and had lots of fun playing with each other. Many times I went to his house, about a half mile from us, and we acted out scenes we saw on western TV shows.

Sometimes, he killed me and later in another scene, I'd kill him. Like us, his family always had a garden and many farm animals. On many fall days, when I went to his house, we sat on the South side of their house in the sun. It was warm there as we talked and watched the leaves fall. Every now and then, a vehicle passed on the, mostly dirt, gravel road maybe 100 yards from his house.

Fred's dad had a big "Durrock Red" hog. It was huge and long. We were scared that if she ever fell on either of us, she'd crush us to death. The hog was very gentle around us and we spent many days riding on her back like a horse. She didn't seem to mind and never ran away with us. Mostly, she went where ever she wanted to go and we were just along for the ride. It didn't seem to bother her if both of us were on her back, but usually one of us rode her and the other guided her around the yard. That is, until she got tired.

We watched her carefully and if she looked like she was about to sit down, we yelled, "jump off." We certainly did! Like us, the hogs favorite place was right next to the house on the south side, soaking up the sun. Often, we went to sleep with our heads on the hog. Occasionally, she jerked and kicked a little like she had a dream or something which woke us up, temporarily. Usually, we drifted off to sleep again.

We rewarded her by scratching her side, which she obviously liked, and we thought a smile came on her face when we did it. One day, Fred's father told us we shouldn't be riding her much for the next week or so. We didn't understand until he told us she was fixing to have pigs. We were all excited. Boy, we were so good to her then, scratching her all the time, and giving her food scraps from both houses.

Every day we waited for the big event. We didn't notice anything different about her even though she was going to have pigs. We never understood how Fred's father knew that. But, sure enough, one day we came home from school and she had ten little piglets. I don't know which of us was the proudest. Immediately, Fred and I went about naming them and treating them like they were prize show pigs. We never thought the Mama pig might be hostile toward us and just jumped right into the pen and picked up a couple pigs. The Mama pig just looked at us and put her head back down. She was the most gentle pig I ever saw.

We were a little cautions at first because we heard what a Poland China hog did to it's neighbor one time. After having pigs, the Poland China mothers get very protective and usually no one can even get in the pen with them. Even the owners have to be careful. One Poland China mother attacked a neighbor of the owner and bit him in the leg and ran him out of the pen.

Not our pig, though. She let us play with the pigs and handle them all we wanted. I think she was glad someone gave her a little relief from a few of them. To this day, I think a small pig is the most fun to be around. They have an automatic smile and the way they run around when they're happy will make anyone laugh.

They are more mischievous that most people think. Many times they sneaked up on us and nipped us on our toes. Then, when you tried to catch one, it ran like crazy a few feet and stopped, looking at you with that smile on their face. We spent many afternoons laying on the Mama hog with several of the little pigs asleep on us.

We liked to fool them also. You could hold out your finger and they'd suck it like it was their mother. Of course, they'd suck our toes also. It was always a lot of fun playing with them and we watched them grow up fast. Eventually, some were either given away or sold to other people. Fred's Dad always kept a few to "raise for the table." We couldn't imagine killing one of them, however.

With new pigs to feed, we didn't ride the Mama hog as much and helped her feed and look after the piglets. We spent many hours fooling with, and playing with, the pigs.

Chapter 14. One Stormy Afternoon

One day when Fred and I were playing with the pigs, there came a serious thunder cloud. It was 1956 and I was still eight years old. Since I lived about a half mile from Fred, when the wind picked up off the cloud, I figured I better get home before the rain started. After giving all the piglets, and the Mama hog a scratch, I took off for the house.

I was only about fifty yards from the house when the sky busted open. I was soaked by the time I got home. I arrived just in time for Mama to whip me with the switch for being out in such a lightning storm. I really think she was worried about me and that was the way she told me. I think words were better, though.

While I was sitting down, and squirming a lot because of the whipping, the rain pored down and the lightning was really bad. There was a light pole with a transformer in the pasture about a quarter mile from the house. It provided electricity for our house. After maybe fifteen minutes of rain, thunder, and lightning, there came a terrible, and very loud, clap of thunder and lightning and our power went off. We knew where the transformer was and several of us ran to the windows on that side of the house looking out.

We arrived just in time to see the light pole falling. Evidently, the big lightning bolt hit a tree close to the light pole and split it in half. When that happened, one half of the tree fell on the power lines which, in turn, pulled the light pole down. There were a couple horses, one mostly white and one mostly black, that stayed in that pasture. We thought the way they were running, they were either, feeling very good, or were scared to death by the lightning.

The black horse ran full speed across the pasture and appeared to be heading back to the barn. The power lines fell directly on the black horse and it was interesting to see the horse stop and freeze in place so quickly. We saw sparks fly near the black horse as the white horse veered away just in time to miss the lines. We all watched, amazed, at the site.

There was smoke coming from the black horse and we saw it jerking around as it was electrocuted. You could hear a pin drop in the house. All us kids inhaled and were holding our breaths. After what seemed like five minutes, someone yelled they better go tell Mama. Daddy wasn't home at the time.

We were so used to getting whippings, the first thing I heard was someone telling Mama we didn't do it. Then, proceeded to tell what we saw. As Mama came into the room, we all, almost in unison, said, "we didn't do it." Of course, we didn't do it, but we wanted to get that cleared up, immediately. We knew Mama and Daddy were going to be pretty mad about that. I remember later a few of us laughing that now "God was going to get a whipping." One of the smaller kids, maybe Verlon or Vada, defended God saying that Mama wasn't going to whip Him. Us older kids quickly jumped on that, and I think, had Vada convinced that since Mama whipped us for almost anything, did she think Mama was going to let God get away with that? Anyway, she ran to Mama and asked her if she was going to whip God? I think Mama laughed and told her no. Since Mama laughed, that cleared it for us to laugh too.

Finally, the storm passed, Later that evening, when Daddy got home, we ran to him and everyone tried to tell him, at the same time, adding that we didn't do it. Plus, we were making jokes that Mama wasn't going to whip God. After a little while that evening, several of us walked to the dead horse to look at it. Someone drove to Mike Bells store to call the electric company and tell them what happened.

Then, Daddy drove over to the horse's owner and told them what happened. We all had lamps and candles that night for light. The next day, there were a lot of people that heard about it and came over to look at the dead horse.

I never saw a dead horse before. It seemed so un-natural to see it laying there. It was a big horse and had several holes in it where the electricity fried it and exited the body. When the power company verified the electricity was off the transformer, they used chain saws to saw up the tree. I was very surprised to find the tree so dry. At the time, I couldn't figure out why. They used a chain and tractor to pull the horse away.

After a few days, everything was back to normal and we had the site cleaned up and power back to the house. From then on, every time it came up a thunderstorm, we were watching out that side of the house for lightning to hit the transformer again. It never happened.

Chapter 15. The Broken Cup

It was 1956 at the Alvin Bronson house and I was still eight years old. Mama ruled our house with an iron fist, actually a wooden switch. Although, the switch wasn't made out of iron, Mama sure knew how to pick them, because it seemed like it'd never break. At one time, there were twelve of us kids at home. Whippings were the norm for us. Mama couldn't be watching everyone at the same time so she had a few rules we all went by. I got many whippings and, many times, for no apparent reason. Seems that whippings weren't so unusual for me.

You see, Mama had this rule that when anyone was getting a whipping, everyone within ear shot better come to see why. I think it was her way of reinforcing discipline. With so many of us kids around, I think whipping was the only way to control us most of the time. She didn't have time to sit us down and explain what we did wrong and maybe give us a time out like kids today. Besides, we usually knew what we did wrong. She just grabbed whoever she thought was at fault and whipped them. Problem was, sometimes, she didn't stop with just whoever was at fault.

Many times I got a whipping, and after Mama was through with all of us, I had to ask someone what that one was for? Here's just one example.

Once Vera and Velma were washing dishes and one, or the other, was drying them and putting them up. As usual, they were arguing with each other and had a few side arguments going on as well. Mama was out back at our big black cast iron pot washing clothes. I was outside on the other side of the house splitting stove wood. I didn't know what was going on inside the house. Sure enough, Vera, or Velma, dropped a cup and broke it. Mama heard it and grabbed the switch as she entered the house.

When she started whipping Vera, everyone ran to the scene and lined up on the wall watching and hoping Mama wouldn't whip them. I heard the screams and crying and knew what was going on, but not why. Per Mama's rules, you better get into the house and watch the punishment being doled out. By the time I got there, everyone else was present and lined up on the wall. Mama just finished whipping Velma when I ran into the room.

Hardly without breaking strokes, she let go of Velma and grabbed me. She blistered me good while stating, "you should have been here already, or was you just not planning to come see who got whipped?"

I yelled back, "I was splitting wood and got here as fast as I could."

She slung me against the wall and pointed the switch at everyone there asking, "anyone else want any more of this?"

Of course, no one said a word.

Me, Vera, and Velma were still whimpering and rubbing the whelps left by the switch. Luckily, she was through for that session and yelled for everyone to get back to work. We all ran like a bomb exploded. After maybe ten minutes, I sneaked back in the house and asked Velma what I got a whipping for?

At first, she said, "because you needed one." Then added, "Vera broke a cup."

Of course, Vera said Velma did, and I really didn't know what that had to do with me. But, I vowed to get both of them back for me getting a whipping. I don't remember if I ever did, however.

Chapter 16. Mama's Punishment Psychology

For my generation of kids, Daddy rarely punished us. That was good because, you remembered every time Daddy whipped you. It was serious. In 1956 at the Alvin Bronson house place when I was eight years old, Mama did most of the discipline and only rarely did she tell Daddy to whip you.

I guess in today's society, both Mama and Daddy would've been arrested for child abuse. When in fact, I was probably only abused a few times in my whole childhood even though, as I always said, "I got a whooping every day until I was seventeen."

Abuse was when either Daddy or Mama was actually mad at a few of us and took it out on me or someone else. Usually, only then did you get "whooped" more than you deserved. But, we never considered it that way. We often heard the Bible quote that to "spare the rod is to spoil the child." (Proverbs 13:24, NIV, actually states, "he who spares the rod, hates his son") I guess to them that was justification, and usually, we had it coming anyway.

Just for the record, I have used "whipping" throughout these recollections because most people understand what that means in today's language. However, there was quite a difference in the terms "whipping" and "whooping" to us. Most of our "whippings" were actually "whoopings." We always referred to the whippings as what a parent in a store or supermarket did to their naughty kids. Usually giving them a swat or two on the back side with their hand and verbally scolding them afterwards. It was extremely rare for us kids to actually get a whipping by that standard. Most of our discipline from Daddy was with a belt, leather strap, or horse reins, and most of the time a "switch" from Mama. Using their hand wasn't as effective and never hurt that much.

A switch was a limb, with or without, branches from a tree. Usually, about a quarter to half inch in diameter at the bottom. Using those items as a guide, you can see there is a big gap between a "whopping" and a "whipping."

Both parents used the same technique. Usually, they started hitting you about the calves and worked their way up to your shoulders and sometimes back down again. Occasionally, they broke the skin on your back or legs but it was usually nothing severe. Then, many times, you had a modern day "time out." But, our time outs were when you were just left alone until you quit crying. There was none of the "go to your room" or "that's it, no more TV, phone, computer, etc. for you." Or "you're grounded." Those would've been great for us. Probably wouldn't have done any good to correct us from our errors, either. Much like today when those techniques are used, in my opinion.

I think Mama and Daddy used the "no pain, no gain" philosophy on us. If it didn't hurt, you didn't remember, thus, no gain in understanding of what you did wrong. Usually, they let you quit crying then told you to get back to work, or chores, or something else. Depending of the situation, you may have to continue working while you were crying.

Mama had a "win-win" situation and all us kids had a "lose-lose" one. Everyone knew the rules and many times when I was out of ear shot when someone got a whipping, I didn't report for the punishment. Mama, seeing that I wasn't present told someone to go get me after the whippings were over. Someone usually yelled at me telling me Mama wanted me. That meant, get there pretty fast. There was no "lolly-gagging" around when either Mama or Daddy called you. You got there in a hurry.

I still remember busting into the house to find Mama holding a switch. She asked me where I was? I told her and she usually asked me if I knew she just whipped someone. Of course, I'd say no, then, get a whipping for not being present.

You see, us kids had a "lose-lose" situation. You may get a whipping if you were there, and almost surely get one if you were not. Again, there were many whippings I got that I had to ask someone what that one was for.

When Mama wasn't in an angry mood, I asked her once why we got so many whippings. She always said 'it'll make you grow.' That is the same thing we got from everyone. Seems like no matter who we asked, we got the same answer. Many times we got the same answer for why we had to take so many baths, also.

Being scientifically oriented, and pretty smart, I set out trying to figure out why this was so. Then, after I did, I went about explaining the phenomena. See, considering myself logical, for years, I had it figured out that us kids were like spiders and snakes. We had to get our outer shell busted every now and then so we could grow bigger. I figured the skin had to be split with whelps which allowed us to grow taller since we didn't have an outer shell to discard. It seemed like we were always straining against our skin to grow taller and the whippings served two purposes. To discipline us when we did something wrong, and to help us grow. It worked for Boy (Velton) and all the other kids that were much bigger than us, so it must work that way.

I explained the process many times to all my younger siblings and even Vear (Vera) was convinced I was right. Velma always disagreed with anything I said, but she didn't count. I was the exception, however. Since I was the "runt of the litter" that logic didn't apply to me. My problem was, I got too many whippings! It seemed that for me, when my skin was busted, it split apart and formed a scar, which I saw thousands of times draw the skin tight as it healed. Therefore, that's why I wasn't growing like everyone else, and actually stayed small. I was amazed to see that I actually grew a quarter inch or so from year to year. I figured the skin was really stretched tight against all the scars for me to grow. Plus, I had such a short time to grow after my skin was busted until a scar formed which stopped my growth.

I was probably in the tenth grade before I finally figured out what was really going on. Making us grow was actually in our heads. Meaning, we should be getting smarter every time we got a whipping and therefore, growing, that is, maturing. Well, by then, I'd figured out that I must have been pretty stupid not to have grown in my head and thus avoid so many whippings. I told everyone most of my young life that "I got at least one whipping everyday until I was seventeen." Some days, more than one. And get this, I had it figured out that I was one of the smarter kids. Of course, maybe that was my problem too.

Another "lose-lose" situation for us kids was getting our own switch. If you did something especially heinous, Mama told you to go get a switch so she could whip you. I've always thought that was "cruel and unusual punishment." Both mental punishment and, ultimately, physical. Us kids had a big dilemma because you couldn't afford to get a switch to little, or small, because it wouldn't afford Mama enough time to properly punish you before it broke. If it broke, you had to go get another one.

If, however, you got a really good switch that wasn't likely to break, you paid for it by getting a really good whipping. You can't imagine how cruel that is to select the switch you were to be whipped with. There was no secret to picking one out, either. You had to evaluate every single limb in a tree to select just the right one. Not to little and not to big.

We all could identify a hickory tree from the womb, I think. You never picked one of those. A peach limb was a good choice because it lasted for a good whipping and if used to aggressively, it broke. Of course, Mama didn't want you cutting out the peach tree limbs, so if you did, you had to pull all the leaves off. We had many oaks and pecan trees around and usually one of those were used.

If someone cut an especially good switch, after the punishment, Mama put it up to dry out. That made some woods brittle and others lethal weapons. Mama seemed to always pick the type for lethal weapons. We hated to see her drying out another switch. That usually meant, it was a good wood and when put in use, was going to hurt.

I think all mothers must go to school to learn human anatomy. They must have because they knew just where to hit you for the most pain. Mama usually started on your calves and worked her way up. For maximum effect, she hit the calves several times and while the pain was sinking in, she jumped to the buttocks. After several hits there, and when it was stinging the most, she moved to your back. That was especially effective because we all wore hand-me-downs and the shirts were always thin on your back. Several hits from the small of your back to your shoulders usually finished her up with an occasional extra few hits on your calves.

If she was really mad, she started over. All the while this was going on, she had you by one of your wrist. It was legal for you to pull back a little and run around in a circle, but you never wanted to jerk free of her hand. That made her more mad and resulted in more punishment. You knew when she was through by her letting go of your wrist. Of course, you were screaming like you were being murdered, even when the whipping wasn't so bad, just to make Mama think she was killing you. Seemed that never worked very good for most of us, however.

Mama whipped you until she thought it was enough regardless of how much you were hollering. Also, it was obligatory to promise you'd never do what ever you did, again, during the whipping. This was especially hard when I didn't know what the whipping was for.

We all knew Mama really loved us because in Sunday School, we knew the Bible verse that stated, "God punishes those He loves." (Hebrews 12:6a, NIV, "because the Lord punishes those he loves...") I think Mama used the same principle for us. Of course, most of us wished she didn't love us so much.

Chapter 17. The Wasp Nest

Another typical hot Louisiana day in 1956. I was eight years old, and living on a farm. I had many opportunities to find trouble. One of my favorite pastimes was finding a wasp (pronounced with a "t" on the end—wast) nest to destroy. With so many farm buildings with overhanging roofs, we always had wast nests everywhere. Seems like all us boys liked to fool with them. We especially liked to find one when the fields were freshly plowed because we had plenty of ammunition with all the dirt clods available.

I convinced Vear (Vera), Vinnie (Marie), and Man (Verlon) that it was fun to find a wast nest and knock it down. The fields were recently plowed and we were tired of getting whippings for throwing dirt clods at each other. So, what else could we do? We set off searching the barns and tool sheds for wast nests. Without fail, we found several, but wanted one somewhat close to the field so we could get dirt clods easily. We finally decided on one at the corner of the tool shed and close to the cow pen.

This nest was located at the corner of the shed facing the house. The nest was nestled up close to the inside corner of the rafters. It had maybe ten to fifteen wast on it. They were the big red ones too. I hated them. They were a little bigger than the regular red and yellow-faced wast. They were larger than the orange-red ones too. These suckers were mean, and since I'd been stung by them before, they were my mortal enemies. I played them up as not so fierce for Vear and Man because I wanted them to stock me good with dirt clods.

Once you started throwing, usually there was no turning back unless you were pretty far away. You had to bombard them pretty fast and kill them as quickly as possible. If they started flying around very much, you had to abandon the attempt and let them settle down. Of course, you had to make sure you ran away fast enough so they couldn't catch you.

We figured out our plan. We got a number two foot tub and filled it with dirt clods. We all went up sort of close to the corner to check out any other strategies we may have to consider. On our approach, as usual, several wast spread out their wings and looked like an F-16 Fighter jet. Maybe one or two started fanning their wings, but didn't fly. Guess they were warming up or something. We backed away and figured we had the advantage since the sun was to our back and in their eyes. I knew that was a good thing to have from all the war movies and westerns I watched.

We got back about fifteen feet and put the tub beside us. All of us picked up a couple good dirt clods. I told them to throw the best they could and if you see any wast on the ground, we had to run up next to the shed and kill it with a stick, since we rarely wore shoes. It was a good plan and we felt good about the outcome with so many dirt clods and our stick at the ready. I told them to let me throw first because I was going to run up to the barn, throw both clods quickly, and run back to get the stick. They were to be my cover on the run back by pelting the wast with the dirt clods. Plan ready, I took off.

My first throw was right on target. The dirt clod hit the nest almost perfectly. The clod crumbled against the nest and for a few split seconds, it pinned the wast in the corner. My second dirt clod was almost as good, but by that time, the dirt was falling from the first throw and so were the wast. I ran back to the tub while Man, Vear, and Vinnie started their throws. Vear yelled that one was following me while she was throwing. I jumped down spread eagle for the stick and the wast that followed me, only strafed me flying a couple feet above me before turning back.

Man threw his dirt clods at the nest and reached in the tub for another clod. Upon seeing the wast after me, he and Vinnie took off running. Vear was still throwing and I grabbed the stick and looked around for any wast on the ground. There was a couple on the ground, but with the nest almost knocked down, only dangling, the others recovered enough and were flying five or six foot circles about the corner of the shed. I grabbed the stick going back to the corner of the shed to kill the couple on the ground. Vear was still throwing clods and yelling that the wast were coming after us. I made my way back to the corner to start beating those on the ground, and trying to look up at the same time. I got a couple hits on the ground wast, but realized there were too many still flying and I had to get away.

I guess all my movement attracted their attention. There were several flying around me with Vear running away from a couple also. Man and Vinnie already ran far enough away that they were out of danger. I sort of crawled backwards still swinging the stick at the wasts and actually hit one. They were all over me now and my scooting backwards wasn't getting me away fast enough. Trying to stay as low as I could, I semi stood up and started to run away. I swatted them with my hands while still swinging the stick and trying to get away.

Well, I thought I was winning when I passed the tub of clods and figured a few steps past was far enough away for them to give up the chase. They were already thinning out and, so far, I wasn't stung. That changed about the same time I had the thought. One got me in the back near my right shoulder. I instinctively turned around clawing and slapping at it. Vear got away from hers and Man yelled at me to look out, that I still had a few after me. I looked up briefly at Vear and Man as I turned around. I did knock the one off my back and just as I looked up at the others flying around me, I was surprised to see three more still buzzing very close to my head.

It looked like they were searching for a place to land. Then it happened! I slapped one of them with my hand but one got threw my swinging hands and stung me right between my eyes. I grabbed it off my forehead with my hand and crushed it to death while screaming. That gave the other wasts just enough time to pop me on my left temple area. I guess it caught onto my hair and finally got it's stinger to my skin. I slapped it down and took off running for the house.

I guess I out ran any others that were there. By this time, Man, Vear, and Vinnie were back at the house and with all the noise we were making, it drew everyone out of the house to see what was going on. Mama ran out and heard enough from Vear and Man to know I'd been messing with wast again. As soon as I got there, she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me in the house and whipped me good while telling me I could have got all of us stung and I better leave them wast alone.

Well, my heart was pumping quite fast before I got the whipping and, by now, it circulated the sting venom pretty good around my head. With sweat poring off me, and crying, Mama asked me if I was stung. I said three had stung me. I showed her my back which had a big knot growing and the two places on my head. My face was already swelling up and I could tell my eyes were getting puffy.

Mama said, "I guess that will teach you to leave them wast alone. Now go out to the ice house and chip off a piece of ice and put it on the stings on your head."

I went out crying and hurting from both the whipping and the stings. The ice helped ease the pain a little, but didn't stop the swelling. Within two hours, my eyes were swollen completely shut. Mama called for me again to check on me. Now, I had another problem. I had to get there in a hurry, but I couldn't see.

I grabbed Vear, who was still sitting beside me watching me swell up, and told her to lead me to Mama. She grabbed my arm and off we went. Of course, Vear could see and knew where the obstacles were in my path, only she didn't think to tell me. I fell three times and ran into the door facing trying to hurry back to Mama.

Mama looked at me and asked what was wrong with me. I told her I couldn't see. She grabbed me and pushed the puffy skin of one of my eyes apart and I could see a little when she did that.

She said, "Boy, I ought to whip you again."

I started crying again, but she said she wasn't going to whip me, but she ought to. Then, she made a cold pack of ice and put it on my face and mixed up some kind of paste to put on the stings. The ice felt good and I guess the paste helped too.

My face stayed swollen for several days. It was almost two days before I could see as the puffiness around my eyes slowly went down. I walked around pushing apart my puffy eyes to be able to see. That gave me a week to plan my massacre on those wast.

Of course, Mama had warned me to leave them alone, but she didn't tell me to leave them alone. There was a big difference. By the time I was ready to fight again, Boy (Velton) told me about using some gasoline. He said it would kill them instantly. Why was I just now learning about this miracle death? I wanted Boy to demonstrate how it was done and on the very wast nest that got me.

Boy got a small coffee can and filled it about a quarter full with gas from the tractor. Running by the corner of the shed, he dashed it on the nest about the time a few were just starting to fly. That was it!

Instantly, they all fell dead! Within three seconds, it was all over! There were thirteen wast, dead! I picked them up and put them in a jar and carried them to school to show how big they were and let people see the results of their wrath on my face. Of course, in the end, I had showed them. I had them in a jar, dead.

Within three weeks, that incident was almost forgotten and we had other nests to raid. I liked using the dirt clods though, and with a few more people helping out with the throwing, we got rid of all the local wast nest around our house. I never had to use the gas on any of them because, with each nest, I figured out a better plan. Although I was a lot more cautious in my other battles with them, I gave them a little more respect than I did before.

Chapter 18. The School Bus Fight

We had over an hour school bus ride from school to home. It was 1956 and I was still eight years old. I considered that just more time I could play with other people on the bus. After Polle Stevenson, either quit school, or graduated, I didn't have my Superman protector watching over me. However, Buster (Vernon) rode the bus every now and then trying to make everyone believe he was still interested in school. Buster was ten years older than me. He was thin, wiry, and strong for his size. He got along pretty well with everyone even though he was mostly hit-and-miss going to school. He had pretty much quit school by then, and I think he was on the bus, mostly, to get out of working with Daddy. He wasn't passing in school and we all knew it was just a matter of time before he either, quit, or Daddy pulled him out of school to work with him.

1958, Vernon-20(Buster), Victor-10, Velton-16(Boy), Vera-11, Mama-42 holding Vickie-2 mo

I was getting along with everyone on the bus pretty well. I knew who to leave alone and who I could kid around with. The big guys like Ronnie Childress picked at me just to hear me talk big like I was going to break their arm or leg or something worse. They laughed a lot and begged me not to hurt them. We all had fun with me coming up with more torturous hurt I'd put on them. I could tell when they were in a good mood and usually started picking at me just to hear what I'd come up with next.

Lloyd Dean Reinhardt was about my age but really tall. He and Regina, his older sister, got off the bus before us. I think Lloyd Dean was too nice for his own good. People took advantage of him. I didn't like that. We looked like David and Goliath walking around on the school yard. I think I was the shortest person on the school yard except, for first graders. We were on the school yard together and played together a lot. He was the tallest kid in the Elementary grades and the most afraid of everyone I ever saw. Many times when we were swinging on the school yard, just about anyone could come up and tell him to give them his swing. He'd start to get off the swing and I'd tell him not to. I defended him many times. I stopped my swing and usually wind up in a pushing or wrestling match with whoever, but almost always I'd win and tell Lloyd Dean to get back on the swing. I was small, but wiry and not afraid of anyone.

With brothers and sisters that I had to fight everyday at home, no one could hurt me as much as Velma, and we fought all the time. I wasn't a bully, but I knew what was fair and I didn't like anyone taking advantage of me or my friends. Lloyd Dean made me mad many times because he was afraid to fight. Everyone else knew that which made him an easy target.

A boy named Johnny liked to pick on Lloyd Dean. Lloyd Dean was at least one foot taller, and Johnny was sort of short and a little fat. He was no bully, but for some reason, he liked to pick on Lloyd Dean because he knew Lloyd Dean was scared. I defended Lloyd Dean, usually, and tried to talk him into defending himself. Johnny didn't want to mess with me, and many times he'd say, "I'm not talking to you."

I encouraged Lloyd Dean but he was to scared. Eventually, Lloyd Dean gave in and to keep from starting a fight, I quit swinging and we just did something else.

One day, I guess Johnny must have wanted a fight. He came and took Lloyd Dean's swing after we had only been on it for a few minutes. I wanted to defend our right to keep the swings longer, but by the time I got stopped, Lloyd Dean already gave up his swing. We went to the merry-go-round.

We were only on it a couple minutes when Johnny showed up and grabbed Lloyd Dean. He pulled Lloyd Dean off the merry-go-round and said he wanted to ride there. Lloyd Dean didn't do anything. I got very mad. I jumped off and ran up to Johnny and ask him, "are you looking for a fight?"

"Not with you."

"Well, leave us alone or you'll get one from me."

Since Johnny was at the merry-go-round, we started walking back to the swings. I told Lloyd Dean how much bigger he was than Johnny and he could probably kill Johnny if he'd fight him. I remember telling him that the pain was only temporary and he'd feel better because he defended himself. Lloyd Dean only said, "yes, but it'll hurt."

I told him he wouldn't last one day at our house. I said even my sisters would fight Johnny. He was mostly talk and had you scared. I told him to talk back to him, at least. He said that would probably start a fight. I was getting frustrated with him. All of a sudden, Johnny ran up behind Lloyd Dean and tackled him.

Like a guinea wasp (wast), I was on Johnny and slung him off Lloyd Dean and told him to pick on me if he wanted to.

"No, I want to fight Lloyd Dean."

Lloyd Dean said, "I don't want to fight."

Then Johnny pushed him down.

I yelled out, "Lloyd Dean, fight back or I am." I stood Lloyd Dean up and pushed him into Johnny, yelling, "fight him."

I guess my little talk got through a little because Lloyd Dean took a swing at Johnny, barely hitting him on the chin, then pushed him down. Before Lloyd Dean could chicken out and run, I jumped in front of him and told Johnny, "I told Lloyd Dean to fight and now he's ready. If you know what's good for you, you better leave Lloyd Dean alone."

Johnny, got up slow and I don't know if he was scared of me, or Lloyd Dean. Regardless, he left us alone. That one incident gave Lloyd Dean so much confidence, before the school year ended, with my encouragement, he wasn't afraid of anyone on the school yard and people quit picking on him. We had many good times talking and picking at others on the bus. Before the year end, Lloyd Dean was talking bigger than I was on the bus.

When Lloyd Dean got off the bus, I was left to occupy myself, or usually, sat with Fred Stevenson. There were only a few of us left after Lloyd Dean got off.

Christine Patterson lived on past us and I sort of liked her. They were as poor, or maybe worse off, than us, it seemed. We sat together sometimes and did our homework. We stayed in the same grade until either we, or them, moved away. It was when I was in about the tenth grade that we were in class together again.

Gary Wayne Snelling was another "best" friend I had. We were almost identical in size, even our crew cut hair. We rode the bus together. He got off before me. We had a lot of fun together. We liked playing softball under the pecan trees at school. During the fall, we always had a game going on. We were fast and could hit the ball good. We picked up the pecans under the trees and ate them a lot.

One day we were playing softball and someone hit the ball into the bushes close to the school. Someone went into the bushes to get the ball and snagged his pants on the bush. It unsnapped his pants and pulled them down a little. That made everyone laugh and started a fad at school. A couple boys ran after someone and when caught, pulled their pants down. Then, they all ran to get someone else. This went on until all the boys in a couple grades had their pants pulled down. I was close to the last one they caught. I had about fifteen boys running for me. It took a couple days at recess before they caught me. I thought the 'game' was silly, but they finally caught me too. It finally caught the teacher's attention and they stopped it. I was glad. We started playing ball again.

One day when Gary Wayne and I were playing ball, Mike Wynn was pitching. He was a pretty good player and a little bigger than me and Gary Wayne. I hit the ball hard and it went straight to him. It hit him on the forehead and knocked him out. I thought I killed him, but by the time the teacher got there, he woke up. It scared us all, but he was okay. We didn't like him pitching anymore. He didn't either. That never happened again to anyone. After that, he played mostly in outfield and caught the ball with his chest. I was scared it might hurt him, but he didn't mind, and caught most flies that came his way. I tried to teach him to catch with his hands, but he never would.

One Monday, Gary Wayne didn't get on the bus. None of them did. It was Thursday of that week before I heard that Gary Wayne went hunting last weekend with his brother. His brother was walking behind him with a shotgun and stumbled. The gun went off and hit Gary Wayne in the back killing him. I couldn't believe it. I lost one of my best friends. School wasn't the same for me for a long time. I missed him a lot.

On our daily ride home, I was pretty much the one that watched out for all us little people and usually the first to intervene if something unfair was going on. Since I was the "official door opener" I had a little "implied" authority from the bus driver and didn't hesitate trying to break up any fights on the bus. R. B. Boughton was a little man, skinny like me, and wiry too. He was the bus driver and he talked mean and loud. He always wore a cowboy hat. He had the authority of the school principle on his side and everyone did what he said, when he spoke up. Many times, if it sounded like someone may be starting a fight, R. B. looked at me and that was my signal to go break it up. It worked nine out of ten times.

Occasionally, R. B. yelled if it started getting out of hand. I remember several times when he stopped the bus and put one, or both, boys off the bus if they were fighting and didn't stop when he yelled at them. Usually, the boys argued back asking how they were supposed to get home? R. B. didn't hesitate, he yelled back, "Walk," as he shut the door. Then, off we went.

It was one of those days; hot, muggy, and dusty with the windows open. Two of the big kids were in an argument when they got on the bus to go home. A boy and a girl. They were getting louder and louder, and I went to the back of the bus and told them that R. B. would put them off the bus if they didn't shut up. The girl looked at me and told me to shut up and mind my own business, then pushed me toward the front of the bus. R. B. looked through his overhead mirror and saw her push me.

He yelled at her saying, "One more time, Little Lady, and I'll put you off the bus. You two better settle down back there."

They settled down for a few minutes and started back again, but not as loud. We let a few more people off the bus, and was a couple miles from her house. Only one more stop then she got off. Finally, even though they were still arguing, her stop was next. Maybe one mile left.

Then, I saw a book fly over a seat from a back seat. It hit the girl in the back of the head. That did it! At first, she just grabbed the book and threw it back. By that time, I'd jumped up from the front seat and ran back there. I ran past the girl to the back seat of the bus. I yelled for them to stop or R. B. was going to put them both off. The boy threw another book at the girl. I was pushing on the big boy trying to hold him in the seat. The girl got in the center isle and walked to the back of the bus. She was only on the third seat from the back. She started hitting the boy with a big book. She hit him hard on top of his head. The boy slumped down and tried to get between the seat and the back of the seat in front of him while covering his head. The girl was still hitting him.

I tried to grab her arms, but she was much bigger than me and I couldn't stop her. She started beating me with the book, too. Hitting me hard! On the second hit, I grabbed the book and wouldn't let go. She let go and started slapping me all over my head and shoulders. She was really mad now!

R. B. was yelling and trying to drive. We were pulling up to her bus stop anyway. The big guy got between the seats and the girl had me pushed down on the seat and was beating me death. This was serious! She was hurting me!

She just kept slapping and hitting me. I tried to block her hands and fist, but she was too big for me to stop them. I felt the stinging on my face from her hand and her knuckles on my head were bringing lumps with every hit. I felt the bus slowing down and knew R. B. would be here to help me any second when the bus stopped. I tried to block her hits and slaps, but couldn't.

When I felt blood running out my nose, and mouth, from where she busted my lip and nose, I went into the survival mode. I swung my feet up and tried to kick her off me. She was right over me and I still wasn't stopping some of her hits getting through.

All of a sudden, I saw her jerk around. Her arms were still in flight and only hit air in front of me because she jerked around so fast. In an instant, Buster hit her square in the mouth with his fist. I saw one of her front teeth fall out. Blood spewed from her busted lips. She fell into the back seat next to me.

In complete amazement, she reached down and picked up her tooth, looking a little dizzy. Buster grabbed her shirt about chest high and slung her toward the front of the bus. By now, the bus was stopped in front of her house and R. B. was up and grabbed her from Buster slinging her forward. R. B. dragged her by the arm off the bus. He yelled back to get her books off the bus. R. B., still holding her by the arm, was going toward her house. She was dripping blood and holding her tooth.

Buster picked up her books and threw them out the bus window. Then, he looked at me and asked, "are you alright, are you hurt anywhere?"

"She busted my nose and my bottom lip."

He pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to me. "Come up here and sit with me."

I wiped off my nose and lip and went with him. We sat down as everyone waited for what R. B. was going to do next.

He went in the house with the girl and we heard him telling the story to her parents. The big guy got up from the back seat and looked out the window. Finally, R. B. came back to the bus. He looked at me and asked, "you alright?"

"Yeah, just got a busted nose and bottom lip."

"You'll live, and thanks for trying to break the fight up."

Buster asked R. B., "you going to put me off the bus?"

"Yes, when we get to your house." Then, smiled a little.

He looked at the guy in the back of the bus and said, "Young man, you come and sit right here on the front seat. When I get away from this house, you're off the bus!"

Just like he said, we drove maybe one mile further, and R. B. stopped the bus and put the boy off. Not one word was exchanged. We drove off. R. B. looked in the mirror at us and said, "I'm reporting both of them to the principle in the morning."

The next morning, we stopped at both houses, but they didn't ride the bus. It was two weeks before they got on the bus again. I guess they were suspended for that time. Somehow, the girl had her tooth back in place.

Everything settled down to normal, and, just as I expected, Buster probably didn't ride the bus but three or four more times before he quit school. That was certainly one day I was glad he was on the bus.

Unfortunately, for Mama, Buster was another dropout by one of her kids.

Chapter 19. Running Pole Beans

No matter where we lived, we always had a big garden. They were called "truck patches." A garden was a small truck patch. It still had lots of vegetables but wasn't as large as a truck patch. To me, the truck patches were about ten acres, when in reality, they were maybe one to, at most, two acres. Still, that's a lot of area for vegetables. We planted almost everything you could put in a garden. Since there were so many of us, we had to have a big garden/truck patch.

It was 1956 and I was eight years old. We always had a large purple-hull pea patch, some corn, plenty of butter beans, cucumber, squash, peppers, collared greens, etc, you name it, we probably had it in our truck patch. One of my favorite items was a vine peach. I remember when Mama planted them. I'd never heard of such a thing. But, I really liked peaches, so anything that looked like, or was named, a peach must be good. Mama played them up pretty big and I took special care of them.

They grew on a vine sort of like cantaloupes, which we called mush melons. We toted water to our garden and that was always a chore for us little kids. There was never nothing to do concerning the garden. If you weren't pulling up or hoeing grass, hilling up plants, or harvesting the crops, you could always bring water. I watched the vine peaches grow and when they got egg size, I started hounding Mama to pick them. Of course, she wouldn't, and kept telling me they had to get the size of a normal peach. I kept them watered and weed free.

Eventually, Mama said they were ready. You couldn't eat them off the vine, although they tasted somewhat like a peach, only bitter. Mama said she had to cook them to get the bitterness out. When she finally did, I was the first to get some. Boy, were they good! All the work I did finally paid off. We had a good crop of them, and Mama canned some like she did everything else in the garden. When they were all gone, I wanted to start over with another crop. Of course, there wasn't enough time before winter and Mama said I had to wait until next spring.

When you're as young as I was, next spring was two years away. Mama fixed us a lot of them and canned them, too. By winter, I'd forgotten about them. Mama hadn't. On an especially cold morning, on the weekend, Mama surprised us all when she busted out those canned vine peaches. She had all us kids wrapped around her finger when we smelled that familiar scent. I'm sure I got a couple whippings over the vine peaches, usually arguing that someone had more than I did.

Eventually, spring arrived and when Mama started to plant things in the truck patch, I hounded her to plant the vine peaches. Of course, we had to wait until the ground was much warmer to plant them, and I was afraid we'd fill all the space in the garden before it was time to plant the vine peaches. I guarded a little section of dirt, even against weeds. No one better plant anything in my special place for the vine peaches. When it got planting time, there was a big 'to do' about planting them and I had a special job until they were harvested.

Then, there was the okra. It's almost against the law to live in Louisiana and not like okra. But, I hated that stuff. Never ate it, even if it was fried. Daddy never ate it either. Daddy and I were the only ones at home that didn't love it. The rest of the family could eat it any way it was fixed. As much as everyone loved it, you'd think there would be no problem getting it cut. Wrong! Mama went through all the kids asking/telling them to go cut the okra. The usual response was they "cut it yesterday," or "I cut it last time." I never kept track of who did all the cutting, I just know I was mad when Mama told me to cut it. She knew if she asked me, I'd cut it, even though she knew I didn't eat it. I hated cutting it more than eating it. It always made me itch real bad. I guess it did the others too, but seems they never got rashes like I did.

Vera cut the okra a lot when Mama asked her to, unless she cut it "last" or "yesterday." I don't know if she did or not, just, after I heard a few complaints, Mama always asked me to cut it. I always did and never complained back. I remember cutting it several times in a row before Mama remembered that I cut it last time and didn't accept the complaining from the others. I tried fried okra several times because others carried on about how good it was, only to be reminded that, once again, I didn't like it.

Boiled okra! No way! Most of the kids that ate okra fried, also ate it boiled. I almost threw up just smelling it cook. I never understood how anyone could eat that slimy stuff. I said then, and still say, "the only way I'll eat boiled okra is if you had a pistol to my head, and cocked it, even then, I wouldn't put it in my mouth until I saw the bullet coming down the barrel." I can't stand the stuff.
We always had running beans of various types, peas too. I helped plant them and when they got maybe one foot high, they produced little runners shooting up in search of something to 'run up.' I knew that soon we'd bring the switch cane poles to the garden for them to run up. First, we put several post in the ground and stretched barb wire from post to post over the beans. Then at each bean plant, we pushed a cane stick in the ground by the plant and leaned the top of the cane stick on the barb wire. We used string to tie the top of the stick to the barb wire. Eventually, we had them all stuck and it was interesting to watch them grow up the cane.

Occasionally, we picked favorite beans and bet on which one got to the barb wire first. We all usually picked out a few plants and every day, we checked for any new growth. You could never tell who was going to win because about the time your plant was shooting straight up, and be ahead of everyone else, it started to curl around the cane. I got several whippings for fighting because someone pinched off one of my leading runners. Usually, I blamed Velma since we didn't get along very good anyway. Boy (Velton) was bad to break off the runners too. I think Vera seldom, if ever, broke the ends off. She usually just curled them around the cane stick and you didn't have any evidence against her.

One day at school, I got a good report or did something special and was rewarded for it. When I got off the bus, I took off running for the house yelling, "Mama, Mama." I couldn't wait to show her and ran all the way to the house only to discover she was in the truck patch. Usually, we had to take our school clothes off before we started doing our chores. That day however, I was excited and wanted to show Mama my good grade. She was on the other side of the truck patch and I started jumping the rows of plants that were maybe one foot high or so. We had talked about sticking the pole beans yesterday and I figured that was our job today.

I yelled at Mama trying to tell her about my good grade before I got to her. I jumped the rows of plants like a deer. Mama said she yelled at me to stop, but I never heard her. Mama and Boy had put up the post and barb wire for the pole beans that day. I was jumping everything and making sure I didn't knock the tops off the plants as I jumped and didn't see the barb wire.

All of a sudden, something grabbed me by the chin as I came down from a jump. With me being in mid air, the barb wire stretched very little and I felt my feet going out from under me as the wire caught me just under my chin. As my feet got more in front of me, I was approaching the horizontal position in air when I started falling downward. One of the barbs on the barb wire slipped up my chin and caught on my lower lip. I felt the barb going into my lip as I brought my arms forward to knock the wire off me. Too late!

The barb caught my lip and stuck into it. As I fell downward, the barb ripped my lip about a half inch. By the time I hit the ground, blood was poring out of my lip. Mama saw what was about to happen and yelled at me to stop. Just this morning Boy and her put the wire up and Mama knew I didn't know the wire was up. Only a few seconds after I hit the ground, Mama was over me and picked me up. Only then, did I realize what I'd done.

I tried to say that she put the wire up but the words didn't come out right. Part of my lip was hanging down and blood ran all over my school clothes. Mama took her apron off and pushed my torn lip back in place and we started to the house. I was trying to tell her about my grade, but she kept telling me to shut up and not move my mouth. We got to the house and, ordinarily, since this was an external wound, she would put coal oil (kerosene) on it. But since it was at my mouth, she figured she better try something else. I was glad because I was wondering how she was going to wrap my lip and drench it with the coal oil without some getting in my mouth.

After eventually curbing the blood flow, she washed it off good with alcohol telling me to spit out any that got in my mouth. Then she put some kind of salve (pronounced--save) on it. She mashed it under a wrapping of ripped up sheet. Then, tied it off around my head. Since this was the weekend, my lip had started to heal some by Monday for school. When I got to school, I was the talk of the school with everyone wondering what happened to me with my head bandaged the way it was.

After I explained what happened to the teacher, she went to the office and got some Gauss and antibiotic and put a big band aid on it. That was a lot better than the way it was wrapped up. Every day for the next week, the teacher changed everything out the first thing each morning. In a couple weeks, my lip was reattaching itself and healing up good. After maybe three weeks, I didn't have to wear a band aid, but kept save on it. Finally, it healed completely.

I still have a knot on the left side of my lower lip from that incident. Seems the scar is a lot smaller now that it was then. But, that's how things go. Mama learned a good lesson to. If barb wire was up and you weren't going to immediately stick the poles and tie them on it, she tied strips of cloth on the wire to let everyone know the wire was up.

I don't remember if I ever showed Mama my good grade. I do remember thinking Mama was going to whip me for getting blood on my school clothes. But, she didn't, and I was glad.

SECTION III: THE COKOMO HOUSE

Chapter 20. The Cokomo Houseplace

This house place brings back many memories. This is the third house I remember living in. We lived here when I was between eight and ten years old, in the fourth and fifth grades. That was between 1956 and 1958. We moved here just after Don (Venton) was born in April 1956.

Mama got a double hit while we lived at this house. Snookem (Vester Lee) didn't go back to school when it started back in 1956. He was drop out number four. Then, just before school started back in 1957, Vennie dropped out of school so she could get married. Drop out number five. That surprised all of us since Vennie was only thirteen years old. I'm not sure what everyone else thought about it but I didn't like it, and was starting to think that might happen to me. Time will tell.

I always thought this house place got it's name from a little red car that Snookem had. On the back fenders on each side, written in white, was "Little Joe from Co-ko-mo." I don't know where he got the car or why that was on it. I'm pretty sure he just bought the car from someone and that was on it and he just left it there. I've got a picture with him standing on the right side of the car next to that writing. However, the place could have got it's name from the fact that we lived on Comeaux (Pronounced Co-Mo) Road. Vear (Vera) always called the place the Como house.

1955, Vester Lee-16 (Snookem)

The house place was located north of Rhymes' store which was on Highway 15 going to Monroe, La. from Alto. There's a four way intersection at Rhymes with the north and south roads (La. 133) stopping for Highway 15. When we lived there, the side roads were gravel. Rhymes' store was too far for us to walk to, but since Snookem was at home, with his little car, they seemed to be gone all the time to the store. He was nine years older than me. He never, or at least rarely, took any of us little kids.

Going north from Rhymes, you eventually ran into Start, Louisiana. We went to the Start school. We didn't like it as much as Mangham. We lived a mile or so going north toward Start from Rhymes on La. 133, then a mile or so west down another gravel road. There was argument about us living on present day, Dean Road or Comeaux Road.

Aunt Cleo (Clee) and Uncle John Copeland lived about one third mile from us before you get to our turn off, just off the gravel road. Aunt Clee was Daddy's older sister. She was the only one older than Daddy. All us little kids liked going to her house. She always seemed to have something sweet to eat, which we rarely got at home. She loved us kids too. But, she wasn't past disciplining any of us that got out of line. But, she rarely actually did since we liked her so much.

Uncle John gave me a couple nick names. They were "Peter Cotton Tail" and "Cotton Top." He used them back and forth at will. At that age, my hair was sun-bleached completely white. I never wore a hat and my hair showed it. Virgil always got mad at Uncle John for calling me that. If Virgil was around, they usually got into an argument about it. Never bothered me any. All us boys, except Virgil and Venton (Don), the oldest and youngest boys, had nick names and mine seemed to fit with my hair so white. Uncle John always said I ran so fast, I looked like a cotton tail rabbit which is where he got the name, I'm sure.

Further down the gravel road from us, about three quarters of a mile, and just to the right from a "T," was Ruby and Lionel Oliveaux (pronounced- Olivo). Lionel was the brother of Big Annie (James Wesley) that my sister Vennie Lee, eventually, married. Ruby was Aunt Clee's daughter. Ruby had several kids and one son about my age, named Bud. I might have been one year older than Bud, and we loved to play together when we got the chance. Bud's little sister, Dixie Faye, was a little "tom boy" and we could hardly do anything without Dixie Faye wanting to do it with us. We usually didn't mind, since she was willing to get killed in our western wars. She was always just a little bit chubby for her age, but not to much. She knew how to scream if we hurt her just any little bit. Usually, Ruby told us three to go out and play and for us to be careful not to hurt her.

Ruby had another older daughter named Diane who lived between us and Ruby on our side of the road. I remember when they built their house. It was so new, and had that new smell, and boy, she didn't like us dirty little kids coming inside it. I remember taking a wet rag and wiping the dirt marks off the white wall on the left just as you enter the living room. Most of the time, it wasn't even me that put them there. I watched Dixie Faye, many times, enter the living room and run her left hand along the wall as we went into the house. Diane never said anything to her, but jumped all over me and Bud if we touched the wall. Seems to me like Diane waited until I came before she wanted it cleaned. It quickly got to where I didn't like going there. Often, I went in her house with Bud and he got the peanut butter and light bread and usually made a mess fixing us a sandwich. Diane saw the mess and kicked us out of the kitchen, sometimes, even without our sandwiches.

Both 1960; Aunt Clee, Uncle John—Aunt Clee, Ruby holding Dixie Faye, Diane

I'll never forget visiting Ruby's house. She loved us kids to death. I can still feel her grabbing us and hugging us so hard we could hardly breath. Sometimes she grabbed all three of us in her arms and squeezed us in a bear hug. I always liked her and did anything she asked me to. I got mad at Bud and Dixie Faye for the way they talked back to her. Many times, I thought we were all going to get our mouths full of soap for the way Bud talked. He picked up Lionel's cussing a little and said a bad word every now and then. Ruby just told him that wasn't nice and he shouldn't say things like that. Boy, if that had been Mama or Aunt Clee, we would've got soap for sure.

It was at Ruby's house that I first ate "Cheerios." I didn't know what they were and Bud and Dixie Faye wanted some for a late breakfast. They didn't get up as early as we did and I'd already eaten my tomato paste gravy and biscuits before I visited them. When I got there, they'd just got up. Probably, Ruby saw me walking down the road and got them up. Anyway, Ruby fixed them a bowl and asked me if I wanted some. I said I'd already eaten. She said they were eating Cheerios and asked if I sure I didn't want any? I looked over in their bowls and said I'd never eaten them before. She fixed me a bowl and they were great. She put a little sugar on them and I know I ate one more bowl, if not two. I'm sure Ruby knew we never got cereal at our house. Many times after that, when I went to their house, she fixed me a bowl of Cheerios.

Long after we moved away, Bud was maybe seventeen, or so, and got a motorcycle. He always "hot-rodded" it and went very fast where ever he went. Of course, eventually he had a wreck on it and they couldn't save his left leg just below his knee. We all thought Bud learned his lesson after spending so much time in the hospital. Not so. He got back on one as soon as he could. He was a lot more careful than before and we all thought he matured enough to leave them alone or, at least, slow down some. When he was about twenty years old, he had another wreck and lost his life. It hurt us all. I can still remember the cowboys and Indian games we played together.

This was the house place I spent many afternoons being dragged around the cow pen while Mama was milking. I don't remember if we still had Brownie and Goatee, but do remember the calves were much bigger there. The calves were so big that we couldn't tie them off on the post around the pen. The calves pulled the post down, usually. The big gate post usually held them and I eventually learned to tie the rope off close to the ground and they couldn't pull the post down. The calves were just too much for a little guy like me, but I never let go of the rope. If the calf got a step or two on me, it dragged me all the way back to the cow Mama was milking. Mama knew the calf was coming by the sounds of madness I made getting closer to the cow. She usually stopped milking and grabbed the rope again, pulling the calf away. I always tried to get her to drag the calf toward the gate post. Often, we had to fix the fence back around the cow lot where the calf pulled the post down. I dreaded going to milk the cows. Sometimes, I had help from a brother or sister and we managed the calf pretty good.

We lived here when I failed the fifth grade. That was my year for sickness. I think I got every sickness a boy could get that year. I went to school a couple weeks then came down with something. Mama took me out of school for a couple weeks, then, when I went back for a couple weeks, I caught something else. This cycle repeated that whole year. I stayed behind in all the school work. I really liked my teacher. She helped me all she could as I tried to catch up. But, they covered so much material by the time I was back in school, she couldn't go back that far, but she tried and I liked her. About the time I caught up with what I missed for being out of school, I got some other sickness and was out another couple weeks, or once, a month.

It all started that year with the poison oak and ivy I got shortly before school started. By the time I was in school, I had a severe case of the poison oak on the right side of my head and almost all over my body. It was real bad on the side of my head and Mama treated it with everything she could. I'm sure I didn't help much by scratching it all the time. It soon spread all over my body, and Mama took me out of school to keep it from getting on the other kids. I guess this severe case of poison oak dropped my body resistance and I started catching everything that anyone brought to school.

By February, my teacher said I missed so much school, the school board wouldn't let me pass, even if I could make the grades. Some rule that kids have to go to school so many days each year. There was talk of just taking me out of school until the next year, but Mama and Daddy decided I'd learn something from the fifth grade by staying in school, even if I failed. I stayed in school and while I was there, I picked up on the lessons good, but usually, it wasn't long before I was out again with some sickness.

The next year I sailed, easily, through that grade. My teacher was always bragging on me which probably had a lot to do with me liking her, and that grade.

It was at this house were I was old enough to use a five-foot cotton sack when we picked cotton. Being about ten years old, Daddy expected me to pick about 100 pounds per day, however, he established my goal at seventy-five pounds that I had to pick to avoid getting a whipping. Just like many of the fields we went to, if the cotton was thick and opened, I usually didn't have any problem getting my weight. It did require me to stay busy all day long, however. Of course, we never got any pay, that is, money, so I don't know how much Daddy got paid for us picking the cotton. Our reward was that, occasionally, he let us go to the cotton gin to watch them gin the cotton. We had to pick between 2,700 and 3,500 pounds to have a bale of cotton on the trailer.

Vera and I loved to go to the cotton gin. Probably me, more than Vera. All the moving machinery was exciting and interesting to me. I was a little afraid of the vacuum pipe that sucked the cotton off the trailer and into the gin. The "suction pipe" was about eighteen inches in diameter. A guy jumped in the trailer and when the suction pipe was turned on, he move the pipe all around in the trailer sucking up large clumps of cotton. The vacuum was pretty strong. Buster (Vernon) operated the suction pipe many times. He worked at the gin a lot doing that job. Later when Buster moved out of the house, I saw Boy (Velton) do that job also. It was interesting to me how that pipe could suck up big chunks of cotton, sticks, dirt, grass, leaves, and other debris and send it to a huge hopper in the gin. Occasionally, I saw the workers lose a hat or a cap. It didn't matter to that suction pipe and it was too late to recover the hat or cap.

The cotton went to this huge hopper that had a huge heater blowing hot air through it. The huge hopper had this bar that rotated around and around which stirred the cotton up, moving it around to make sure it was totally dry. It was interesting that as the cotton dried, being tossed around, the sticks, dirt, leaves, and other debris was separated and fell out the bottom of the hopper. It was amazing to see the color change in the cotton. It could go in the hopper looking like dirt, but when it came out it was almost snow white. There was some way the hopper measured the moisture content of the cotton. When the cotton was completely dry it was blown by a big fan onto a conveyor belt that took it to the gin stands.

The gin we usually went to had about six ginning stands. They were an absolute marvel to me. As cotton came down the conveyor belt it was evenly distributed to the gin stands. The cotton was fluffy and real white. At the gin stand, it fell down a chute and went over this round bar that had maybe fifty little spinning wheels spaced about an inch apart. Each little wheel had many small teeth around it. As the cotton went over this bar, the spinning teeth separated the cotton from the seed.

The cotton seed fell to the bottom of the gin stand where an auger, about three inches in diameter, pushed the seeds to another conveyor belt running under all of the gin stands. The seed conveyor belt either dumped the seeds away from the gin, or into another trailer container. For many years cottonseed was just dumped in huge piles behind the gin. As technology developed, truckers hauled the seeds to a another plant where they were ground into cottonseed meal. It was then was used in cattle feed and fertilizer, among other uses.

Amazingly, the tiny strands of cotton that came off the seed were blown off the spinning teeth of the little wheels by air pressure. The fluffy white cotton was vacuumed upward and deposited on another conveyor that delivered it to a holding shoot at the cotton press. Usually, only one man walked continually from one gin stand to the next holding a one foot long, round piece of wood. The thumb-sized stick was used to push any accumulated cotton away from the corners of the stand, and occasionally between the wheels. Mostly, he used his hand, but used the stick in some of the dangerous places. I usually spoke to the man and sometimes talked to him to discover he had many cuts on his fingers from the spinning teeth. I never understood why he didn't just use the stick. He normally stated that his hand was better than using the stick except in some close places. I stood close to the gin stand watching the spinning wheels do their magic. The man knew I would never stick my hand in the stand, but always reminded me not to do so. If Daddy caught me standing close to the stand he usually warned me to get away from it.

Behind the stands were these long flat belts. Some were leather and others were half inch thick rubber. There was a big engine in the back that seemed to drive all the conveyor belts and the things that were spinning and, I guess, provided hydraulic pressure for the press as well. The man at the gin stand wouldn't let me go behind the stands to see those long belts, but I could look between the stands and see them. One of the belts was about a foot wide maybe a half inch thick and ran on a one foot diameter drum to another drum about equal size. The belt was probably fifteen to twenty feet long. It amazed me how someone thought all of this out in order to design it to work like it did. I was there one day when one of those long belts broke. For about one minute it caused chaos in the gin. The guy had to get everything shut down and stopped in order to either replace the belt, or fix it and get everything running again. There was a constant fire danger too. Occasionally, I heard about a gin catching on fire. The lint of fine, soft, white, cotton was everywhere. Just one spark would ignite the the lint and it was almost impossible to stop the fire.

Next, I followed the fluffy white cotton to the holding shoot for the cotton press. The cotton press was a hydraulically actuated big steel cylinder about one foot in diameter with a rectangular steel head about three feet by five feet. It was covered by a piece of burlap that would eventually be the outside wrap of the cotton bale. The huge press mashed the cotton down extremely tight. As the press went up a trap door opened and a spinning roller pushed a large amount of the waiting cotton into the press box, or chamber.

The chamber had mesh steel sides. As the press came down the door shut, the rollers stopped, and the huge press came down pressing the cotton against the bottom rectangular steel plate, also covered with another piece of burlap. Then, the process repeated the cycle. With each press, the huge cylinder went a couple inches shorter on each stroke.

Eventually, the huge press formed a three foot by five foot bale of cotton lint weighing from 450 pounds to maybe 600 pounds. So, the 3000 pounds of cotton we brought to the gin in a trailer was reduced to a tightly packed bale of lint approximately 500 pounds.

At the appropriate time, the press operator tripped a switch for the press to hold the bail tight. Then, he opened both sides of the press chamber and pushed one half inch wide steel bands through some openings on the steel heads. There were usually six steel bands that went around the bale of cotton. On one side the operator put a clip on the bands and bent the clips shut to hold the bands tight. Working from the middle of the bale to the ends, the operator fixed the bands. For the two end bands, the operator took the burlap bag off the steel plates and folded it under the end bands to hold it in place. When all six bands were in place, he tripped the lever allowing the steel press to relax. As the steel press retracted, the bale expanded tightly against the steel bands.

Then, the operator used a hay hook to grab the bale and push and roll it to a scale where it was weighed. After the weight, the operator used a knife to cut about one foot of the burlap off between the metal bands. Then, he proceeded to cut a handful of lint off the bail for a test sample. The gin used that sample to grade the cotton. The weight was marked on the burlap and the sample attached to the bale, or sent to the front office. The bale and the sample was numbered. The press operator then rolled the bale to the side. Next, he grabbed a couple burlap pieces and reattached them to some hooks on the press heads. Then, he closed the press chamber and tripped the lever allowing the cotton in the waiting shoot to flow into the press chamber. As the press came down, it started making a new bale as the cycle repeated.

Usually, when the guy vacuumed all the cotton out of the trailer, Daddy when in and told them who the cotton belong to and we left with the trailer going back to the cotton field. Sometimes, it was too late to go back to the cotton field for that day. We knew what Daddy would do. He went to the Mangham pool hall to play dominoes. He loved to play dominoes. Often, he gave Vera and me a nickel and told us to wait for him on the sidewalk. Vera and I would go across the street to Monkey Tillman's variety store, or we might go down to the Jitney Jungle grocery store to buy some candy or cookies.

The pool hall didn't allow kids in it. So, Vera and I usually sat with our backs against the wall outside the pool hall on the sidewalk. Sometimes, we might go to sleep and Daddy would wake us up when it was time to leave. If Daddy was having a good night, we could tell by his animations at the domino table. If it had been about an hour, Vera and I would argue about who would go in and ask Daddy for another nickle or some more money. Usually, I had to go, just being a boy. If Daddy was winning at the domino game, it was never a problem for him to give us another nickel. That usually lasted us until it was time to leave. Of course, if he was not doing so well we knew not to ask him for any money. After a while, we just went to sleep on the sidewalk.

Sometimes when we got home, Mama jumped on Daddy about taking us with him to the pool hall. Actually, we never minded that much. Especially, when he was winning and gave us money to buy candy and cookies.

Chapter 21. The Pasture Fire

The Cokomo house place was is where a fire got started in the pasture that almost got our house. I was about nine and it was 1957. I don't remember just how it started, but think we'd been burning leaves in the yard and some sparks blew over into the pasture. Almost instantly, we had a big fire on our hands. The wind was blowing and the fire was spreading faster than we could put it out. We started out beating the fire with hoes and rakes. We were loosing that fight by the minute and Mama told a couple of us kids to grab some pants off the clothesline and soak them in water for us to use. I was one of the kids doing the fighting and it made a big difference with the wet pants. The younger kids, tried to keep us supplied with wet pants. I remember Boy (Velton), Velma, Vera, me, and Mama fighting the fire. Vinnie, Man (Verlon), and Vada pumped water in a number three washtub, dunked pants in the water for us, and watched little Don (Venton). (Wash tub sizes ran from number two, small, maybe three gallons to number six, pretty large, maybe forty gallons.)

The wind blew the fire toward a tool shed as me and Boy beat it furiously as it got closer and closer to the tool shed. I yelled for another pair of wet pants and beat almost all the water out of the pair I had. Eventually, getting another pair of wet pants, I was right up next to the tool shed and remember Vera jumping the fence to help me and Boy beat the fire before it got to the shed. Meanwhile, Velma and Mama were beating the fire headed toward the house. Boy was big and strong and he was really beating the fire out good. We cut the fire line in half and worked it back toward the shed. Since the fire was closest to the shed, Mama told us to work on it. We almost lost the shed.

Boy cut the fire off in the pasture and worked his way toward us and the tool shed. Me and Vear (Vera) were beating it as fast as we could and slowly gaining on the fire. I left Vear fighting the remaining corner of the fence and tool shed while I got right up next to the shed with my back against it. I yelled that the fire had to get me before I let it get the shed. It almost did.

By the time Boy beat the line of fire out coming toward us, the fire started burning the boards at the bottom of the shed. I jumped back and forth trying to put the fire out on the shed while taking a few swings at the grass at the same time. Finally, I had to just let it have the boards on the shed and fought it going to meet Boy. Only a minute later, I reached Boy and we both ran to the shed and beat the fire off the boards. Then, finished up the corner Vear was working on near that end of the shed. We got it put out and yelled at our victory and danced around. We showed the fire and were solid black to show for it. We were singed all over and burnt in a few places. The only pink on us was where the sweat ran down.

Our victory celebration only lasted a few seconds before we looked around and saw Mama and Velma still fighting the fire up close to the house. We ran by the cow tub, soaked our pants again, then ran to where they were fighting the fire. There was only a few feet of grass left before it got to the house. Now, everyone at the house at that time was beating the fire, except little Don. Mama said she didn't care where it burned in the field, let's just stop it from getting the house. When us three got there, we made a big difference fast. We could tell Mama was very tired and when we got it put out next to the house, we told her to go sit down and we'd get the rest put out.

The fire line Boy cut, was burning toward the gravel road and the line we cut next to the house was burning toward the pasture. Mama said to let the line burn going toward the road and it would probably stop when it got there. The wind was blowing across the road toward us and the fire wasn't likely to get over it. But, the line going to the pasture, we had to put out. We all took the few seconds to run to the cow tub and re-soak our pants then got in a line and started beating the fire from the end of where we cut it off at the house.

We kept leap-froging around each other as we beat the fire out. We were really gaining ground on the fire line since all of us were working on the same end. We beat the fire out by the time it got within maybe fifteen feet of the pasture fence. We all ran back and re-soaked our pants and headed for the other line of fire slowly working its way toward the road. Mama said to watch it and not let it jump the road, but just let it burn the rest of the pasture up to the corner. There was a turn row for the cotton patch, then the road. A few of us got in the road to make sure it didn't start any fires over the road and a couple of us got in the cotton patch to make sure it stopped at the fence next to the cotton patch. We all watched it finish burning out the corner of the pasture. When it died down, we finished it off with our pants to make sure everything was out.

Triumphantly, we all went back to the house. Me and Boy checked the tool shed again with wet pants and made sure it was out while the others went to the house. By now, everyone one of us was black. We made jokes that we could pass for black folks now. Even Mama was laughing. We were very tired and very happy we beat the fire and saved the house. We all told of our burns and each of us had our hair burned some. Mama told us to go pump some water so we could take a bath and she went into the house to wash up a little and said she was going to fix us something to eat.

We washed most of the black off at the pump by splashing the water on us, then pumped water in the number six washtub for our baths. Somewhat clean from washing at the pump, we were all waiting for the big dishpan of water to get hot to pour into the big tub. Then, Mama came from the kitchen with bologna sandwiches for each of us. There was two pieces of light bread for each sandwich, instead of just one, plus she put mayonnaise on them too. This was really a treat and big reward. We loved it.

We just nibbled the sandwiches to make them last. We all sat on the front porch and each of us told about how we fought the fire and where we were burned and made fun of each other for our burnt hair. Daddy had to pass by the burnt field to get home and most certainly saw what happened. But, that didn't stop us from telling him how we beat the fire and everyone telling him, at once, too. We also told him that Mama fixed us a bologna sandwich because we did so good. We were all excited and Daddy had to listen to us, one at a time, tell him about how we saved the tool shed and the house.

Eventually, Daddy asked how the fire got started? Only then did we realize that punishment was in order. Who was supposed to be watching the leaves? Really, no one. And no one said anything. We were all raking leaves and bringing them to the fire. Finally, we got quiet figuring we all were going to get a whipping. Then, Mama came out to the porch and said no one was to blame. The wind blew some cinders over into the field and started the fire. The leaf fire was plenty far enough away from the fence. That saved us all. No one ever got whipped over the fire incident. Mama treated all our burn blisters and it was a few months before our hair got back to sort of normal.

Chapter 22. Commodities

I never knew where the food came from. I just know that about once per month Daddy and Mama went to town and when they got back they had a lot of food in boxes and bags. Of course, being only nine in 1957, I didn't care. There were many cans with no labels and maybe something written or stamped on the top to tell what was in them. Sometimes, there was nothing on the cans anywhere and we had to wait until they were opened to find out what was in them. The food was called commodities. I didn't know what that meant, but liked the results. There were pinto beans, white navy beans, I think they were processed soy beans, butter, cheese, peach halves in cans, and every now and then, peanut butter. Daddy and Mama usually had to buy some things that didn't come in commodities. Flour, sugar, syrup, corn meal, and, always our favorite, bologna and light bread.

Every Saturday afternoon, Gunsmoke came on just about dark. About twice each month on Saturday, Mama and Daddy went to town to get groceries. We were all very good kids that day. We did everything quickly and without complaining when we knew they were going to town. It was routine that one of the big kids was in charge while they were gone and, if we obeyed them, we all got a treat when they got back. Of course, whoever was in charge, was the "Emperor King or Queen" and all us little kids were the King's court. What ever they said, we had to do for fear of them telling Mama, and us not getting the treat when she returned.

The big kids seemed to love it and took advantage of us. Of course, we had no choice but to obey. One, because they were in charge and being bigger, could kill us and not suffer anything for doing it because we didn't obey. Two, if we made them mad and they told Mama, we wouldn't get whatever the treat was. So, we were their slaves while Mama and Daddy were gone. Often, we complained just enough to show our dissatisfaction but never enough to make them mad at us.

The treat, we all knew well what it was going to be. One slice of light bread and one slice of bologna. Sometimes, Mama even put mayonnaise on the slice of bread for us. Every now and then, if they already picked up the commodities, we got a slice of cheese also. I didn't like the yellow cheese and usually nibbled just a little piece to make sure it hadn't changed taste. It never did, and I tried to barter with the others for something else. Mama and Daddy always arrived home shortly before Gunsmoke came on. After helping Mama put away the groceries, we all sort of milled around a little until we saw her getting the light bread sack.

With mouths salivating like dogs, we knew what was about to happen. Mama asked the person in charge if we behaved while she was gone? It was always a tense moment for us little kids. One slip of the tongue by the 'King or Queen' caused us to miss out on the treat. Usually, they said, "yep, they behaved okay while you were gone."

All us little kids finally took a breath. Then, Mama said, "line up."

We quickly moved, at the same time, against the kitchen wall. There was no shoving, or pushing, or squabbling, then. We all knew we were going to get our reward for being so good all day and weren't about to mess it up now.

Single file, we marched by Mama as she gave each of us our share. Daddy usually went to the front room and sat down and one of the bigger kids turned on the TV as Gunsmoke started. Sometimes we took a couple nibbles on our sandwiches before the gunfight. But, on queue, everyone of us little kids put down our sandwich and stood up to outdraw Matt Dillon. As usual, we argued during the commercial who did and didn't out draw him. When the commercial was over, there wasn't a sound from any of us, except maybe, the nibbling of the sandwiches. That was the life! We relished the thought of the next time Mama and Daddy went to town, as we watched Gunsmoke.

The commodities usually led to trading and bartering among us kids. Vear and the other kids liked the cheese and I didn't. Mama usually never gave any kid anything without giving all the same thing. I guess experience taught her what chaos would result. So, when the cheese was brought out, everyone got some. The cheese was in a brown box about four inches square and about eight to ten inches long wrapped in cellophane paper. We usually got three or four boxes of cheese. It never lasted long around the house, but I only used my share for bargaining.

Since I didn't like it, I tried to make deals with the others for their peanut butter or something else. The peanut butter was the prized commodity. Everyone liked it. We never got enough of that. Maybe two or three jars. The jars were maybe five to six inches around and maybe six inches tall. Peanut butter was like gold to us. Pound for pound, it cost the same because we never seemed to get enough. It never lasted very long around the house. Usually within one, or at most two weeks, it was gone. The bigger kids sneaked into the house and stole it. I tried to bargain my cheese for some of the peanut butter we'd eventually get.

Usually on school mornings, about once per week, we got peanut butter and syrup for breakfast instead of our usual gravy of some type. That's when I tried to collect my pay off for the cheese. Sometimes, I actually got a smidgen of peanut butter from one of the kids that owed me, but seemed like what we bargained for, and what I usually got, was never the same. But, you never argued when the peanut butter was given out. Mama usually put about one teaspoon full out on our plates and we handled the syrup. She had plenty of biscuits made and we were living good again. Of course, after breakfast, and while we were walking to the bus stop, I complained about the difference in our bargains. Usually, it was too late then, and everything started over if there was any cheese left.

Mama varied our breakfast with gravy, most of the time, and butter and syrup. Peanut butter was rare, but we got several containers of white butter. The butter we got in the commodities was quite acceptable until the ants discovered it. There was these tiny little black ants. They got in the butter somehow even with the lid on. Someone left it sitting out on a counter top by the sink and the ants looked like black pepper in the butter. Mama used a knife to scrape them off then gave it back for us to eat. We always hated the "ant butter," and the taste it gave our biscuits, when we ate butter and syrup.

The commodities seemed to give us plenty of white butter which we didn't need because we made our own butter. "Cow butter" we called it. We all had our turn at the churn, moving the churn stick up and down endlessly. If you had nothing else to do, you worked the churn. Our cow butter tasted better than the commodities butter and always broke apart better when mixing butter and syrup. When the "ant butter" was too bad, Mama gave us some cow butter. We usually sold the cow butter to someone and kept a little for ourselves. I'm sure the ants liked the commodities butter better than we did.

Chapter 23. The Bullfight

Just like the other places we lived, we had a couple milk cows. As stated before, I always hated that chore and especially now, since the calves were much bigger. They drug me around the lot at will. Being nine in 1957, I was still little for my age. Behind the cow pen was a big pasture and a big red Hereford bull stayed in the pasture. There were a few cows with him and on the other side of our pasture was another pasture with a few cows in it, also. The fences were pretty good and we never seemed to have any problems with the cows. Then one day, whoever owned the other pasture and cows, brought another big bull and put it in with those cows. We never really cared about the cows and even less for the bulls. Many times, the bull was close to the gate when we went out to the cow pen to milk and, usually, I just threw something at it to make it run away.

One day, we went out to milk our cows and discovered the bulls found each other and didn't appear to like each other. Although separated by a fence, they pawed the ground and blew their noses loudly at each other. The bull closest to our house was across the pasture and made threatening paws and blows toward the other bull. Likewise, the other bull did the same. This constant noise attracted the attention of us kids and a few of us were hanging on and sitting on the gate watching what was going on. We kept saying they were going to fight, sooner or later. The pawing and blowing probably went on for an hour and we pretty much lost interest in watching them. The only thing that changed was, every now and then, one ran up to the fence toward the other, but always stopped at the fence. When the milking was finished, I joined the kids at the gate and we watched the bulls. Sporadically, one of us ran back to the house to update everyone on the latest from the bulls.

We almost gave up watching them and figured they weren't going to do anything since the fence was between them. All of a sudden, the bull in the other pasture tried to jump our pasture fence. But being so big, it just tore the fence down. Now, the bulls were at each other fighting, and pushing, and turning around, and around. This was exciting now and one of the kids ran back to the house and yelled that they were fighting.

Since they were on the other side of the pasture, we were perched like blackbirds on the gate watching them. The bigger kids came wandering out to the gate as we all watched them. One bull had no horns and the other only had one horn and it was sawed off pretty short. So, mostly all they did was push each other back and forth and go around in circles. Occasionally, one slipped it's head past the second one and, without resistance, ran about half way of the second bull. This gave the first bull the chance to swing it's head around and hit the second bull in the flank. That usually resulted in the second bull running past the first one a few yards and by the time it stopped, the second bull had turned around and they were head to head again.

We watched this go on for maybe fifteen minutes and really never noticed they were getting closer to us. Finally, they were on our side of the pasture and maybe thirty or forty yards from us and close to our fence line. With growing excitement, and a little anxiousness, because they were so close and so big, us little kids started easing back toward the house a little. The big kids just leaned against the gate and laughed at us little kids.

Then, one of the bulls hit our fence line and never slowed down one bit. It knocked the post down like a toothpick. Momentarily, they got tangled up in the fence and although stumbling around, they didn't stop fighting. This was serious now. The bulls didn't seem to notice where they were or what damage they were doing. They were solely intent on fighting each other.

With a few turn-a-rounds, they were getting very close to us. Most of the little kids ran to the house screaming and the big kids stayed close to the gate to show they weren't afraid. I was about half way to the house, torn between being scared to death and wanting to show I wasn't scared. I yelled at the bulls stating that if they came any closer us big kids were going to stop the fight. My bigger brothers were still at the gate and started yelling at the bulls to stay away from them or they were going to pay for it. I didn't know how, but it seemed the right thing to say at the time.

Sure enough, they did a couple more turns and were dangerously close to the gate. My brothers picked up sticks and boards and got ready to use them. One bull turned around and hit the post that the gate was hanging on and almost pushed it to the ground. My brothers were already beating them. Both brothers were hitting one bull on the back end and it appeared the bull actually moved away from them. That was all I needed.

I wanted to be in on the success of driving the bulls away. I ran to get a piece of two by four and joined my brothers hitting the bulls. As I got closer, I saw the rage in the bulls eyes. They were big tan-brownish eyes with big whites surrounding the pupils and had big pinkish inner eye areas around the whites. The bulls were pushing, and snorting, and turning around, and I ran in for a good hit on the back end of one of them. As I came down to hit it, the bull turned into us hitting it with the sticks and boards.

I don't think the bulls paid one single bit of attention to us hitting them. They were so intent on fighting each other, they were completely oblivious to what was going on around them. I met the bull with my board, but at the same time, his rump swung around and hit me. That sent me flying backwards like a gnat. Boy (Velton) and Snookem (Vester Lee) broke their boards on the bull's back end with no apparent effect. I rolled a few times, got back up, and figured this was serious! I might be brave, but I wasn't stupid.

Brave or not, I didn't want one ton of bull stepping on me and who knows what might happen if it decided to hit me with it's head. Boy just missed getting knocked down by running backwards a little and Snookem was closer toward their heads. The other bull turned around hitting the gate and broke it to the ground, then stumbled briefly on it. I saw one of it's feet come down on the gate and mash a factory bent piece totally flat. I imagined what would've happened if that had been my leg, or head.

Boy was almost pinned against the little grain crib and Snookem was jumping over the gate to get out of the way. I just imagined the bulls turning their back end toward the grain crib and crushing Boy and Snookem if they had. Fortunately, only one bull turned toward the grain crib and Boy jumped over the gate and out of the way. The bull hit the grain crib and it rocked back and forth. We all thought it was going to fall.

By now, both brothers were scrambling around the bulls and circling them heading back toward the house. The other kids ran in the house and told Daddy what was going on, but just to be sure, I ran in and told him again. Daddy looked out the window just in time to see the bull hit the grain crib. He got up sort of slow-like and started for the bedroom.

What a time for him to want to take a nap, I thought. The bulls couldn't be stopped! They already tore up part of the fence, knocked down the gate, rocked the grain crib, and he was going into the bedroom! My thoughts reeled about what to do with the bulls. The bull that hit the grain crib turned back around away from it for now as they fought right over the gate, stumbling a little. I took off running back outside to watch what was going on as Boy ran in the barn and got a long whip.

I thought, yeah that will do it. We all started rooting for Boy with the whip. He was going to show them bulls something now. The more we yelled encouragement, the braver Boy got. I ran about half way back to the bulls. Snookem was looking for another good board. Boy returned to the bulls and was fixing to pop one with the whip.

Then Daddy yelled, "Get out of the way!"

We all looked around at Daddy. He had the shotgun!

I yelled out, "He's going to kill them!"

I ran back toward the house and got behind Daddy while Boy and Snookem ran sideways out of the way. All us kids were telling each other Daddy was going to kill the bulls before they hurt someone.

By now, the bulls were off the gate and back in the pasture a little probably forty yards from us. Everyone was behind, or in line with, Daddy when he brought the gun up to shoot the bulls. All us little kids put our fingers in our ears.

Boom! went the gun. We expected the bulls to drop instantly. We heard the shot hitting one bull in the rump and the other bull in the side. The bull hit in the rump broke off the fight and took off running away from the battle site. The other bull just slowly turned around looking at the bull running away. Daddy stepped maybe ten to fifteen feet closer and waited until the other bull turned around with his rump to us, then Boom! he shot again. This time, that bull took off running. We heard the shot hitting it also. We figured they'd run off in the pasture a little ways then die. We were all waiting for them to drop dead.

Didn't happen! The bull from the other pasture ran to where it broke the fence down then jumped the fence back into it's pasture. It ran several more yards before stopping to look back our direction. Our bull, ran maybe to the middle of our pasture before stopping and looking back our direction. I told the little kids to keep watching the bulls, because they were going to drop dead any second. Daddy heard that and said he didn't want to kill them, just make them stop fighting. He shot them with number six squirrel shot and from this distance, it just stung them pretty good. Well, it worked.

Daddy picked up the empty hulls and told us kids to get out there and fix the gate and fence back up. We all wandered that direction shaking our heads and saying how smart Daddy was for thinking of that.

We certainly had something to talk about for a good while. Of course, I always bragged that my efforts were just about to pay off before Daddy broke everything up. Don't think any of my family believed me, however.

Chapter 24. The House is Falling

I was always getting in trouble about something, or with someone. I don't remember just what was the problem was, but I made some kind of grievous mistake. Being nine in 1957, that wasn't unusual for me. Mama said she'd get me. Usually, Mama just whipped me and that was the end of it. Mama threatened us a couple times, usually, before she actually whipped us. Occasionally, she didn't, and just grabbed us up and whipped us on the spot.

Mama was working in the house doing something and Velma and Vear were arguing about something. As usual, I heard it and came in the house to stick my nose into it. Mostly, because Velma and I didn't get along very good, and I liked to see Velma get in trouble. Standing around close to Mama usually got me in trouble, also.

This time she warned me a couple times to get out of the house and get back to work. The argument between Velma and Vear heated up and I wanted to be there when Velma got whipped. Of course, Mama finally got enough. She grabbed Velma and whipped her good, then got Vear too. I was trying to sneak out of the house when Mama saw me. Yep, she grabbed me and started whipping me too.

Only a few strokes into the whipping, the switch broke. It did a good job holding together through Velma and Vear's whipping but I guess it bent too many times by the time she got to me. Anyway, when the switch broke, Mama let go of my wrist which was the normal signal that she was through. I shot out of the house like a bullet glad I only received a few strokes. At the time, I didn't know the switch broke.

Mama went in the kitchen where she kept the other switches and got another one, then came outside looking for me. I was at the corner of the house looking back at the door when she stepped out. I knew what she wanted to do, so instead of running, I just crawled under the house. Mama asked Vada where I was. She pointed that I was under the house.

Mama said, "all right, just wait till you Daddy gets in."

That wasn't good at all! If she had told me to come out from under the house, I would have. The whipping for not obeying was worse, and usually added onto, the penalty you had coming already. Since she didn't tell me to come out from under the house, I didn't disobey. But, telling Daddy to whip me was even worse. I really had a dilemma now. I stayed under the house thinking that seeing Velma get a whipping wasn't worth a whipping from Daddy. I wish I'd done things differently.

I was under the house maybe one hour before Daddy got home. I heard them talking in the house. Mama told Daddy I was under the house and wouldn't come out. It bothered me a little because that wasn't completely true. She never told me to come out. She told him I had a whipping coming and for Daddy to get me out from under the house. I wasn't sure from the conversation which one was going to whip me. If it was going to be Mama, I'd come out now. If it was Daddy, I wanted to delay as long as possible. All I heard Daddy say was, "I'll get him out from under the house."

Daddy came outside and walked to the tool shed. I saw him come out with a sledge hammer. I thought how strange that Daddy wanted to split wood now. Or, was he going to beat me to death with the sledge hammer? Daddy asked Man (Verlon) where I was? He just pointed my direction under the house. Daddy walked over to the side of the house with the sledge hammer.

Our house sat on piers and beams. There was a concrete pier placed every so often under the floor beams to support the house. Without saying anything, he came over to the concrete pier close to me and hit it with the sledge hammer.

Bam! Not real hard, but plenty hard enough to scare me. I saw the concrete dust fly from the hammer's impact.

I yelled out, "Daddy what are you doing?"

"I am going to knock the house down on you because you wouldn't come out from under it."

I started crying, but Daddy said, "No, just stay under there, it will all be over in just a minute."

Now, I was really in a dilemma! I wanted to come out but, now, Daddy told me to stay under there. He kept swinging the sledge hammer. Bam! went the hammer. With every hit, I moved a little closer to the edge of the house. I was begging him not to knock the house down on me stating I wanted to come out. Bam! I moved a little closer to the edge.

"That's all right, only a few more hits now."

Bam! the dust flew. I saw Vinnie (Marie), Vada, and Man standing back watching what was happening. Vada started crying and Vinnie said, "Daddy, don't kill him."

Man said, "I'll go under there and get him if you won't kill him."

Bam! I was at the edge of the house now and wanted to come out before the house fell on me.

Daddy said, "wait, I think maybe one more hit will do it."

Bam! Man moved next to the house and was fixing to jerk me out from under the house. Bam!

Daddy said, "No, I guess one more hit will be enough."

That was it for me! Daddy whipping me or not, I was getting out from under the house. It was better to get a whipping from Daddy than getting killed under the house. I jumped out from under the house and told Daddy to whip me, just don't kill me.

Daddy told me to go see Mama and get the whipping I should have got before. I ran like a deer in the house straight to Mama. I was already crying so it didn't matter what Mama did to me. She grabbed me and asked, "are you ever going to get under the house again?"

"No ma'am."

She turned me around and swatted me good with her hand on my behind then said, "get out of here."

I ran outside, thankful for my life.

I guess they figured the mental anguish I suffered was worse that the physical hurt I'd get from the whipping. It was! I never crawled under the house again to escape a whipping.

I remember asking Daddy several years later if he was going to actually knock the house down on me. He remembered that incident and laughed.

"No, the house wouldn't fall with only one block out from under it anyway."

I guess, I was relieved to finally know he wasn't going to actually kill me, then got a little mad that I didn't figure that out myself. I asked him, "why didn't you just tell me to come out from under the house to begin with? I'd never disobey you."

"It was a good lesson for everyone of the kids, not just you. None of the kids ever ran under the house again did they?"

"No sir, I guess it worked pretty good!"

Chapter 25. Them Little Suckers

It was the end of June 1957, when Hurricane Audrey hit Louisiana. I was still nine years old. I know it was a bad hurricane with lots of wind and it killed many people. Seemed like it rained hard for three days. Everything was just about flooded. The fields looked like little lakes with an occasional island sticking up. The cows were on the islands trying to stay out of the standing water. It finally quit raining, mostly, but the clouds still looked bad. The ditches along the road leading to our house were flooded and the road was, basically, under water.

There was a creek not far from us that had long since flooded and the water seemed like it had no where to run off. We couldn't see it flowing anywhere or in any direction. It wasn't until the second day of no rain before we noticed any change in the water level around us. Mama threatened all of us with many whippings for the last three days and, I think, was getting tired of keeping us in the house. I know we nagged her relentlessly to let us go outside and play in all the standing water. She said we'd all get pneumonia or something. That didn't phase us one bit since we didn't know what that was and, besides, our sickness was her problem, not ours.

The second day we were especially bothersome because the sun actually came out for a while and the water called every one of us. Finally, Mama came out on the porch and looked at the standing water which showed marks of actually receding a little. We didn't know where it went, but some of the water had actually disappeared. There were ruts in the road that we hadn't seen for three days and many islands in the pasture. Finally, after we ate dinner (lunch), Mama said we could go out and play.

Of course, Mama knew there was no way we were going to keep from getting wet so she told us to go put on some "old" clothes. Old meant, at least, older than the ones we presently wore. She gave us a warning to be careful about playing in the water, because we could actually drown in the ditches. We laughed and thought Mama made a joke. The ditches were only one to one and a half feet deep. It was impossible for us to drown. We all changed into some older clothes faster than superman.

Mama gave us the green light to go outside and knew we'd be soaked and filthy before we ran out of energy. We busted out of the house full blast. We ran in the water watching how high we could make it go. We kicked water on each other, splashed it on each other, and were having a seriously good time. We ran and skidded chest first until we hit the ground, then did it again. Of course, eventually, we got around to mud fights. It was everyone for themselves, until one of the little kids got hit in the face. I think it was Vada and she screamed like she was dying.

Several of us ran to her and splashed water on her to clean it off before Mama got on the porch. We did get it cleaned off, but Mama came on the porch and said the next scream from anyone and we'd all get whipped. That stopped the mud fights. We thought she was going to make us get out of the water. Thankfully, she let us stay out and play.

We found a few snakes that gave us a lot of fun until we accidentally killed it or, maybe, harassed it to death. It was hopelessly out numbered by all us gathered around it in a circle. When it came close to someone, we hit it with a mud ball. The snake went under and popped up close to someone else. We were excited about where it went and when it popped up, it got pelted again. It couldn't get away. There were too many eyes watching and we kept it away from any land island. Many times when it went under, after a mud pelting, whoever was closest to it ran to kick it in the air. By the time it hit the water, it was pelted again. We were relentless.

The snakes didn't have a chance with so many of us after it. We didn't care what kind it was, and usually didn't know if it was poisonous or not. We didn't let it get close enough to bite us and the only time it had a chance was when we kicked it out of the water. Eventually, we wore it down or hit it so many times, it gave up or we knocked it silly with mud. It usually started rolling over and over and got pelted until it quit. Then, one of us, usually Boy or me, picked it up by the tail and popped it like a whip. Most times, either the tail broke off or the head popped off. We made sure it was dead and went back to playing until we found something else to harass.

There was always something. We found armadillos on the islands in the pastures close to the woods. They were a lot of fun until we lost them. They either went down a hole on a high spot or we lost them in the woods. No matter, we always found something else.

Once, out in the pasture, we saw a dark brown mass maybe two feet in diameter. It stuck up about six inches in the middle and flattened out on the edges. That caused everyone of us to investigate. We thought it might be a nutria, muskrat, or maybe a beaver. With several of us running full blast in the water and splashing so much, we were amazed that whatever it was didn't try to get away. As we got closer, we noticed it was floating. Before we got to it, we figured it was a floating pile of cow manure. We made comments of how soggy it must be by now and we all wanted to get there first because we knew this battle was fixing to get nasty.

I think Boy was the first to get there, but I was a very close second. We out ran the girls and they were fixing to get pelted. We sort of looked back to see how close they were as we watched each other. When we reached the floating mass, we just ran our hand down and grabbed a big handful of the manure. As I picked up my handful to throw it on one of the girls, I watched to see what Boy was going to do with his. I noticed the mass felt a little funny. As I drew back to throw, I realized that something, definitely, felt weird.

Glancing at Boy, I saw him looking at his handful. Then, sure enough, I felt the mass crawling on my hand and up my arm. Almost in mid throw, I pulled my hand back to see what this mass was. About then, I felt it! Boy was trying to throw his mass down like a hot potato and, like in slow motion, some of it left his hand and some of it didn't. It covered his hand and arm. By then, my hand and arm were stinging and I finally saw what it was. Like Boy, I seemed to be in slow motion throwing my handful of mass down also. And, like Boy, most of my mass stayed on me.

Only a second later, I finally knew what it was. Ants! Big red ones! They were tearing us up. That big floating mass was a huge ant bed. I guess the water ran them out of the ground and they were still floating until they ran into a land mass. Boy and I were splashing and scratching to remove them. They were having a feast on our hands and arms. It probably took fifteen to twenty seconds to get them off us, and by then, we had thirty to forty stings each. Our arms and hands were stinging bad. We tried to wash off the stinging, but not until we coated our hands and arms with mud was there any relief.

Then, we all took a good look at that phenomena. I'd never seen anything like that before. I don't think any of us had. We all got a good look at how they were holding on to each other and the big mass in the middle was maybe thousands on top of each other. The mass started pulling itself back together where we took chunks out of them. We saw many singles floating around us still trying to climb on us. Needless to say, the ants didn't have a chance either. I don't think we killed every one of them, but know we destroyed the majority.

We got sticks and the beating we gave the mass scattered them everywhere. Plus, we had fun trying to keep them off us while we beat them. Boy and I figured, with so many stings, our arms and hand would swell up. They did swell up some, but not very bad. I guess, we got them off before they had time to squirt that much acid in us. Later, when we finally went in the house, Mama saw all the stings and coated our arms with alcohol first, then put Castor Oil on them. In a few days, we forgot all about them.

Well, the ants were a lot of fun, then we moped around to see what else we could get into. We headed back toward the house and decided to play in the ditch where the water was a little deeper. Our ditch was connected to the main road ditch which, in turn, was connected to the creek not far from the house. We noticed the water receding because the road ruts started to appear in many places. The deepest place now was the ditch between our house and the main gravel road. We decided it was deep enough to swim in.

Of course, being only one foot deep, or at most, two, it was just right for us to swim in. Probably, only Boy could actually swim, while the rest of us just swim-crawled using the bottom to help us "swim." That didn't matter now anyway, no one was challenging us about swimming. For now, we were all swimming. We had a splashing good time with each accusing the other that they weren't swimming, and saying we were.

Every now and then, Boy jerked one of us up and we still had mud on our hands and fingers.

"Well, I just happened to touch the bottom just before you pulled me up, but I was swimming before that." That seemed like the best excuse we used.

About half way to the main gravel road, while sitting in the ditch we started picking up gravel with our toes. We searched the ditch with our feet for the biggest rock to pick up with our toes. This little game kept us sort of still or mostly in one spot for a little while. We kept our hands under water and scooted along searching the ditch with our toes. Whoever had the biggest rock kept it to show for comparison when someone thought they found a larger one.

I think Boy was cheating because it looked like he was searching with his hands as much as with his feet. For a long time, I had the biggest rock and had to show it every now and then when someone challenged it. I think Boy finally found one bigger but we accused him of finding it with his hands. We were having fun doing that while this game gave us a needed rest.

Once when I raised my arm to show my big rock, I noticed a black leaf on my arm. I swept my arm in the water and knocked it off. Then, someone raised their foot to show a rock and I noticed they had a black leaf on their foot. I told them they had a black leaf on their foot. They splashed it down to knock it off. There was doubt that my rock was still biggest, so when I raised my arm to show my rock, the leaf was still on my arm, in the same spot. That was interesting enough to look at.

Momentarily, I swiped at it with one of my fingers and saw that one end of the leaf was free. I splashed hard in the water again to wash it off, but when I raised my arm, the leaf was still there. Then, I took a closer look at the leaf.

That wasn't a leaf at all, it was a leech! I jumped up dropping my rock and told everyone to look at this. I moved onto the high spot in the road and, to my surprise, I had several leeches on me. I yelled for everyone to check themselves. We all jumped up and, sure enough, there were several on all of us. I pulled one of the slick, and hard-to-hold-on-to, leeches off. It left a little bloody spot on my arm about as big as a pencil eraser. By now, all us were standing up trying to pull them off. The girls were starting to get scared that the leeches were going to suck all the blood out of them. It was also a little bothersome that you couldn't hardly hold on to them. I told them you had to try to scrape them off from the sucker attachment because if you squeezed them, you forced the stomach contents into your bloodstream and that was bad.

That upset the girls and they tore off running and screaming for the house. In the excitement, I guess we all were a little afraid, so the rest of us took off running to the house also. Mama heard the girls screaming like they were dying and came running out of the house. The girls were showing Mama the leeches when I ran into the house and got a butter knife.

Back on the porch, there was some confusion about what to do about them. I showed everyone how to scrape them off with a butter knife only leaving a little red circle on the skin. It worked real good unless you went too fast. That usually made the knife slip over the leech and seemed like it got a better hold. Someone ran in the house and got the alcohol and Castor Oil. The alcohol didn't seem to bother them much for some reason. We started putting the alcohol on the circles when one was removed. The knife seemed to be going too slow, but it was working if you went slow enough to remove the top part of the suction mouth first.

However, someone grabbed the Castor Oil and coated one and in a few seconds, it let go. I guess it couldn't breathe or something. We all got a handful of Castor Oil and started coating them. In fifteen minutes the crises was over except the little red circles. We pulled off maybe twenty or thirty leeches and watched them crawl around trying to get away. We all knew that wasn't going to happen. We figured since they were slug-like things, they may react to salt the way slugs did. We got some salt and tortured them good. I think it might have been stinging them some, but didn't affect them as much as slugs.

I thought this was a great science project and we set about dissecting some to check out their insides and their suction mouths. We finally got a magnifying glass and looked even closer. We played with them for a couple hours figuring out the best torture for them. It was a toss up between being burned alive and seeing how short we cut them up and them still crawl.

That night, we all speculated about where they came from. We agreed it was from the creek or a pond near by. I never really knew. I did do some reading on them at the library and we all learned something. Like; most leeches have a sucker part on each end of their body, but only the posterior (back) end has a larger sucker. The sucker usually has three little teeth-like slicers. They use suction to attach to you and the bite is totally painless, thus, we didn't feel them attaching or starting to suck the blood. They usually squirt an anticoagulant (blood thinner) into the bite location to make the blood flow easier. So, if you squeezed them, you were likely to squirt more of the blood thinner into you. However, that wasn't serious.

They are often found in freshwater ponds. They can suck three times their body weight in blood and store it for up to three months. Another thing that was interesting, just like earthworms, they are hermaphroditic (have male and female sex organs). This meant that for reproduction purposes, each leech can act either as a male, or a female, depending on the requirements.

Finally, since it was getting late, Mama made us go pump some clean water and get cleaned up for supper. We begged her to let us play the next couple days while the water was still up and she let us play on the second day. The water wasn't as high and we had to find things to do this time, instead of choosing what we wanted to do, like before.

We still had fun, but the ditch was off limits to wade in. We did get some gallon jugs and scoop up the water until we found a few leeches to torture again. Plus, with my new-found knowledge from the library, we set about doing more dissecting and looking at the sucker teeth/slicers.

I opened up several, in the interest of science, trying to locate their little hearts and stomachs, but gees, you know how little those things are? I found a wad of stuff in them, and went about identifying the parts to the little kids, of course, they didn't know any difference and, really, I didn't either. But hey, it was my science class, I called the parts what I wanted to. The little kids, and a few of the big ones, were amazed that I learned so much about them from the library. In about one week, the water was gone and we only had a good time memory.

Chapter 26. Stealing Tractor Gas

I was much to young to steal gas and, personally, had no use for it. I was nine and it was 1957. But of course, I wasn't to young to be involved in stealing it. Boy (Velton) was actually the perpetrator. He was six years older than me. I was his accomplice. The way Boy explained it to me was that the big tank by the tool shed had gas and Daddy's truck used gas. So did Snookem's (Vester Lee) little red car. Our goal was to get some gas from the big tank and put it in the vehicles. It didn't sound like such a big deal to me, only we had to do it at night and not let anyone see us. That didn't make much sense to me until Boy said the gas wasn't ours. Plus, it wasn't supposed to be used in automobiles.

Of course, I asked why? If the gas is used for tractors, the buyer of the gas didn't have to pay tax on agricultural gas. Plus, one more minor thing. You had to put a dye in the gas to color it. The dye was used to make sure the gas was used in tractors and not vehicles. The dye discolored the carburetor inlet with the color of the dye. The color was purple in the gas we had, but could be any other color. Vehicle gas was clear and didn't stain the carburetor inlets when used. It was very easy to determine if tractor gas was used in a vehicle by checking the carburetor inlets for stains.

Now, all this made a lot of sense to me and I wasn't convinced how we were going to get away with this. I tried to explain to Boy, that all someone had to do was look in the auto carburetor and see if it was stained. If purple, there was only one place it came from. (I later found out that other farmers in the area used different colors for their gas.)

I didn't completely trust Boy since I knew he got in trouble for various things often and, usually, tried to lie his way out of it. Being nine, and always wanting the approval of my older brothers, my nine year old brain was clouded and I couldn't see what harm this could be.

"How we going to get the gas out of the big tank? I imagine they got a lock on it."

"They can't lock it because they never know when a tractor needs to get gas."

"Who keeps track of how much gas is in the tank?"

"Uncle Bill Copeland." (Aunt Clee's son) "He just calls the gas truck when the workers tell him they need more gas in the tank."

"Well, someone has to keep track of how much is used, don't they?"

"How can they do that? Tractors use different amounts of gas depending on how much they are used. They just know when the tank is getting low, or is empty, and tell Uncle Bill."

I must admit, I couldn't see a flaw in the plan as long as no one looked at the carburetors. "I don't know about this, what if someone looks in the carburetors?"

"How often does anyone look in a carburetor?"

That was a good point. I didn't recall anyone ever looking under the hood of the vehicles. So, it sounded like a noble idea and if we only stole a little at a time, no one would miss it.

So, with such a noble idea, we got up late at night and sneaked out of the house. We petted the dogs a lot to keep them from barking, then got the five gallon can from the tool shed and went to get the gas. While Boy was filling the can, I was the lookout. He filled the can and we got a rubber hose to siphon the gas from the can to Daddy's truck. That was an easy task, only starting the flow was tricky. Sucking on the hose at night to get the gas started, usually, resulted a swallow of gas in your mouth since you couldn't see the gas flowing in the hose. Just what I figured, both of us got a mouthful of gas. But, we succeeded.

We only got five gallons the first time to see how things went. Of course, we didn't tell Daddy and, I guess, he never noticed the gas gauge was up a little. Several nights later, we got another five gallons for Daddy's truck and five gallons for Snookem's car. That went off without a hitch also. We had this stealing down to an art. Of course, almost daily, there was one or more tractors at the house getting gas at different times. We watched them and it appeared that no one kept track of how much gas they put in their tanks. For maybe a month, we went out and got gas maybe once per week. Usually, five gallons for each vehicle. This was too easy.

One day, Bill Copeland, came to the house and brought some dye for the gas tank. Shortly after him, a big truck came and put a lot of gas in the big tank. Bill Copeland put the dye in the tank before the gas man left. I watched him pour the purple dye powder into the gas and went over to ask him how he knew how much to put in the gas?

His first question to me was, "have you been stealing this gas?"

That took me very much by surprise. I asked him, "what would I do with gas?"

He said, "Someone's been stealing this gas and I am going to find out who."

I still wanted him to answer my question, so I asked him again.

"You put one packet of dye into 100 gallons of gas."

"How can you tell someone is stealing the gas?"

"The tractors have gauges and the drivers estimate how much gas they put in when they come to fill up. There should have been enough gas for another fill up, but there wasn't."

I just said, "Oh!"

He jumped down from the tank and said, "I'll see you later when your Daddy gets in."

Boy was with Daddy working that day and when they got in, I ran to Boy and told him what was up.

"Don't worry, he can't find out that we took the gas instead of the tractors."

"Yes he can! What about the dye? If Uncle Bill comes here and looks in the carburetors, we're dead."

There was no way we could look in the carburetors without being seen and arousing suspicion while it was still daylight.

"We'll get some coal oil after dark and clean the purple stains out of the carburetor inlets."

That sounded good and I felt better about our chances of not getting caught.

I was feeling sickly over the possibility of Bill coming before dark and looking in the carburetors. Mama must have noticed that I wasn't eating much for supper and figured something was wrong. She asked, "are you getting sick?"

"No Ma'am."

She didn't pay me any more attention. I kept looking at the window wondering when it was going to get dark, and if Uncle Bill was going to come over. I figured if it was dark, he wouldn't come over.

Finally, it just started getting dark and I kept looking at Boy trying to get some kind of signal that it was time to get to work. About that time, there was a knock on the door. It was Bill Copeland. He was invited in and sat down. He chatted a little and finally Daddy asked him what he wanted.

"Well Mr. Vess, I've got reason to believe that someone is stealing the tractor gas."

"No one can come up here and get that gas without the dogs barking and waking us up, and they hadn't done that lately."

Bill explained how they determined the gas was missing. Then, "you mind if I look at your carburetor?"

"I can assure you I haven't taken the gas, but yes, let's go look in the truck, that's the only way you can be sure."

They got up and headed for the truck. I looked at Boy and don't know how Bill and Daddy didn't hear my heart beating so loud, or see that my eyes were as big as cups.

"Well, I'm not accusing you of getting the gas, it's just that I have to start somewhere, and it might as well be here."

"Of course, I understand, it's not a problem, and I agree, you have to start somewhere."

"It's only a matter of time before the purple dye is found in the carburetor inlets of someone's vehicle, if it's being stolen. I'll check all the tractor driver's vehicles in the morning also."

Boy and I went outside on the porch and stopped in the darkness. I put my hand over my heart to keep it from jumping out of my chest, and the sound from being so loud. Bill had a flashlight and they opened the hood and took the carburetor cover off.

I managed to squeak out, "We're dead!"

Daddy spoke first when Bill shined the light down the carburetor throat. "What the hell? How the hell did that get in there?"

"Mr. Vess, I've got an idea."

"By God, I haven't got a drop of that gas out of that tank!"

Bill said, "I believe you Mr. Vess, you probably didn't get any, but someone is getting it for you. Mind if we check Snookem's car?"

Daddy said, "yes, let's check it too, I want to see if it's in his car, too."

They put everything back on the truck and started over to Snookem's car.

I whispered to Boy, "we just got caught, twice. Now, they'll kill us twice."

"Shut up! Bill can't prove we took the gas."

"You're crazy! No one will believe Daddy stole the gas. Snookem will tell the same story. He didn't know we put some in his tank either."

Sure enough, Bill and Daddy found the purple dye in Snookem's car also.

Daddy called Snookem out of the house and asked him if he was getting the gas for their vehicles? Daddy told him in his rough voice that he, "better not lie either, or you know what you'll get."

Snookem was very convincing, I thought. He was just as stumped as Daddy about how the dye got in his car. Bill said he thought he knew how. He told Daddy and Snookem to go back in the house and send Boy outside.

Even in the dim light from the flashlight, it looked like a bell went off in Daddy's and Snookem's head.

Daddy said, "Damn that boy, I bet he did!"

Bill said, "Just send him out, but don't say anything to him."

I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I know all the blood drained from my skin. I had to be pale and white. Boy and I went back in the house while they fixed Snookem's car. We looked at each other and waited for the hammer to fall. I was scared to death. We were going to get caught and we both knew Daddy would do the whipping this time. You never wanted Daddy to whip you. He usually used a belt, or some horse reins, or a big leather strap, he kept in the tool shed.

Daddy and Snookem came back in as if nothing happened. Daddy told Boy that Bill wanted to see him outside and was waiting at Snookem's car. They went over and sat down. Boy got up and headed outside. I went through the house and out the back door. I sneaked around to the side of the house near the front porch to hear what went on.

Bill stood up straight from leaning on the car as Boy came to him. Bill and Boy were about the same height and weight, but Bill was much older that Boy and wasn't afraid of his size. I figured Boy was stouter than Bill, but didn't think he was as smart.

"Boy, I found purple dye in both these carburetors." Then, in a rough voice, "did you steal some gas and put it in their vehicles?"

"Why do you think I got the gas since I don't even have a vehicle? Why don't you think Snookem took the gas for his car, and put some in Daddy truck too?"

"I don't think Snookem or your Daddy did because they were so surprised about the dye in their vehicle."

Then, Bill grabbed Boy and slung him around to the front fender of the car. Boy pushed Bill back. Bill grabbed Boy by the shoulder on one side and hit him pretty hard in the stomach. Boy bent over holding his stomach. My heart was between my ears now, and I grabbed them to keep it in my head, and the drum-like sound from getting out.

Bill was saying he knew Boy got the gas and he better admit it or he was going to beat him up worse, then turn him over to Daddy. Boy semi-stood up and tried to back up a little from Bill. Then Bill grabbed Boy again and slung him against the car fender slamming his head down on the hood. I was surprised Boy didn't fight back. I knew he could hurt Bill if he wanted to.

"Okay, we stole the gas and put it in the vehicles."

"How much?"

"I don't know, maybe twenty or thirty gallons."

Boy proceeded to tell him the whole thing and how we went about getting it. When asked why he said, "so Daddy and Snookem didn't have to buy as much gas and it was just something to do. I never figured I'd get caught."

By now, I backed up, and around, to the side of the house. I had to quit leaning against the house, I knew my heart was beating out a signal through the boards. They must have heard it inside. I was getting sick anyway. I bent over thinking I was going to throw up. I thought about the whipping that was coming. I could imagine it already and started feeling sick.

"You better never do that again or the very next time, I'll get the sheriff out here and arrest both of you. You'll be put in jail and they'll throw away the key. Plus, I'm going to tell your Daddy to make ya'll pay for the gas. You just wait out here."

He went inside to tell Daddy.

My head was spinning. Boy never mentioned I might go to jail! Where do they put kids, anyway? What about school? I knew I couldn't trust Boy. Now look what I had done.

Bill went to the door and told Daddy to come out. I poked my head around the corner of the house and listened as Bill told Daddy what happened and Boy admitted to it all. He said I helped him steal the gas and Daddy should make me and Boy pay back the cost of the gas. Daddy said, "I'll handle it from here and after I'm was through, I don't think it will happen again."

Bill said, "okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

As Bill started to leave, I ran around the house and went back in the back door. I was walking through the kitchen when Daddy called for me. Daddy told me to come with him. I know he saw the guilt all over my face with my eyes being three times their normal size. Either that, or I bet he heard how fast and loud my heart was beating. Plus, I had to be white as a sheet. Either way, I followed him thorough the house with everyone looking at us. It looked like everyone was saying their last good-byes with the expression on their faces. Everyone watched me march the "death-walk" behind Daddy. Even though most didn't know why, then, they knew by Daddy's tone of voice, and his posture going out of the house, I was fixing to get a whipping. Before I got to the door, I heard Velma asking someone what was going on with me and Daddy. By then, I was out of the house and could already feel the whipping.

Daddy walked past the car and told Boy to follow him. Well, it was settled now, either the horse reins, or the leather strap. The reins stung more, and in several places at once, while the strap stung a big area at a time, but was more localized. Both hurt, and we knew this one was going to be bad. It was mostly dark, but enough light left to see where stuff was in the tool shed.

Sure enough, Daddy got the horse reins and turned to Boy and asked him, "Did you steal the gas and put it in our vehicles?"

Boy knew, already, that Daddy knew, and it was useless to lie about it.

"Yes sir, I did, but it was so you didn't have to buy gas so often."

"Do you know there's dye in the gas?"

"Yes sir, but no one ever looks under the hood of the vehicles."

"Do you know stealing gas is wrong?"

"Yes sir."

"Come here."

He whipped Boy real good. All up and down his backside. Through the clothes, I couldn't see the whelps, but knew they were there. Boy was crying and so was I. Finally, Daddy turned to me. He asked me, "Do you know it's stealing for you to help Boy get the gas?"

"Yes sir."

"Did Boy ask you to help him?"

"Yes sir."

"Was you just a lookout for him?"

"Yes sir."

"Come here."

He whipped me good too. All up and down my backside like Boy, but maybe not quite as long. I think I'd rather been first, so I didn't have to watch Boy get his. When Daddy finished with Boy, he ran outside and didn't watch me get my whipping. When Daddy got through, he told both of us, "if this ever happens again, it'll be worse next time, before you go to jail. Do ya'll understand?"

We both said, "yes sir," through our crying.

Then, he left us in the dark.

We could see in the house and everyone was sitting down. No one said a word. They all heard the leather reins popping and us screaming, and everyone was quiet and still in the house.

Daddy went back inside and sat down. He told Man, to get him a Coke. (Vada was a toddler and Don, (Venton) was a baby then) This was the typical job of the youngest which always resulted in Daddy saving them a couple swallows of Coke. Mama said something and called the big girls into the kitchen. I saw them spring up like deer jumping a fence and head for the kitchen. Someone turned on the TV and me and Boy stayed outside until everyone went to bed.

That night, we couldn't lay on our backsides and the next morning, we saw the whelps. No one said anything about what happened at breakfast. Everyone saw that Boy and I didn't let our backs touch anything and we eased down slowly on the bench at the table.

We stayed that way for maybe a week. The story finally got around to everyone but no one said anything to us. The night of our whipping, when we were outside, I told Boy, I'd never help him steal gas again. I never did.

Chapter 27. The Pendant Stone

Probably no different than most families back then, we had a lot of hand-me-down clothes. The big kids always got something new, every now and then, but us little kids rarely got anything new. Of course, we did get something different, usually, when the big kids got something new. Being nine in 1957, I got clothes from older kids and passed something down to others. Usually, if clothes weren't beyond repair, they were handed down to the next person that was closest to that size. Sometimes, if the article was in pretty good shape—meaning no more than a couple patches—and if you were close to being able to wear it, you took it and "grew into it." Thus, all us little kids had a variety of clothes from, a little tight, to clothes that swallowed us.

We always kept the best clothes to wear to Church and the next best to wear to school. You normally, only had one set of Church clothes and a few sets of school clothes. It was always interesting to see how many combinations of shirts and pants you could manage. When I was little, it never mattered to me what I wore. As I got a little older, I started paying more attention to my attire. So, on any given day around the house, you had to put on your "old" clothes. These usually had holes, but with patches everywhere. They may be too tight or way to big, and weren't suited to wear to school. The pants rarely had pockets that didn't have holes. So, I was used to not having anything in my pockets. Sometimes, you may have a back pocket, but rarely one that didn't have holes in it. Didn't matter anyway, I had nothing to put in a pocket.

Until, one day I was playing with Boy (Velton) and Verlon (Man) close to the tool shed. Boy was huge. He looked like a giant next to us. He was a walking muscle. Most times, Boy got on his knees and three or four of us little kids attacked him from every direction. Girls usually joined in also. I've seen everyone younger than Velma down to little Don attacking him. He grabbed us and threw us off him in the air. We hit the ground, grunted, and maybe half cry, then get mad and run at him again. Every now and then, we all circled him and attacked at once. He usually took whoever started the attack and used them as a weapon against the others. Many times I was slung in the air against a couple others.

We all liked to get behind him and jump on his back and grab his arms. Usually, the first one on his back got body slammed in front of him, on your back, but that allowed a couple others to grab his arms. Then, with a couple attacking from the front, we seemed to almost get him down. But, usually he played like we almost had him because when we all were on him, and there was no way he could beat us now, he started throwing us off him like a coat. Someone flew one way, another flew another direction. Someone flew out front on their back and someone else may be flipped backwards. Usually, we all hit the ground with a grunt and rolled a little. If it hurt a little too much, we got mad and went into a rage. Boy liked that.

We even attacked from the front then and started hitting him and grabbing an arm or leg. Or, if we were lucky, we grabbed his head and squeezed as hard as we could. When we almost had him down, the cycle repeated itself. He threw us off and we walked around in a circle catching our breath. Ordinarily, we did this until someone got hurt and started crying. Everyone tried to pacify the crier because if they went to Mama, she made us stop "wrestling." She usually never whipped us for getting hurt when we were wrestling. She typically asked us, "what did you expect, wrestling like that?"

So, every now and then, if we had nothing else to do, someone attacked Boy's leg and he acted like they tripped him and knocked him down, then everyone piled on him again.

On this particular day, it was only me and Man that wrestled him and of course, he took it easy on us to make the fun last longer. I was getting up from one of Boy's flips after landing on my back. Almost knocking the breath out of me, I turned over and did a slow push up while I tried to breathe. Then I saw it!

It was the prettiest little blue rock I'd ever seen! I only saw a tiny piece of it sticking out of the dirt. I dug it up with my fingers and told the others to look at what I found. I ran over to them while cleaning the dirt off. The more dirt I got off, the prettier it got. This wasn't some ordinary rock, this was polished! It had a flat side and sort of round oval shape. It had a sparkling blue color. It looked like someone put tin foil inside it all crumpled up. Light bounced off it in every direction. We ran to the water pump and pumped some water on it cleaning it up real good. Wow! this thing was so pretty!

I ran inside to show everyone and they agreed it was very pretty. We guessed about what it was and all finally agreed it was a pendant stone. It probably came off a necklace and was probably either, a single stone necklace or, was the biggest stone on the string. It was about as round as a thin dime, and maybe a quarter inch high at the highest point. Being round, or oval, and polished, with a flat side, we figured it must have fallen out of a necklace or, maybe, a ring.

Everyone wanted it. I wasn't about to give it up. A few people started trying to bargain something for it. But, there was no way I was going to depart with this stone. But now, I had another dilemma. What was I going to do with it? My pants had holes in every pocket. My shirt didn't have a pocket. I was afraid to put it down anywhere because someone would steal it. There was no place to hide anything from my sisters. They could actually find the "needle in the haystack."

I tried to hide candy from them before only to have one of them get mad at me for something and tell me they knew where my candy was. I argued that they didn't because I had it hidden in a special place they could never find. Then they told me right where I put it. Incredible! I took off running to see if they got it. Usually, they didn't. However, if I had maybe three pieces of bubble gum, one was gone, and of course, no one knew what happened to it. Plus, the person that told me where my stash was hidden told everyone else, so there was no way to know who might have taken the other piece of gum. So, I wasn't about to try and hide my pretty stone.

Well, everyone just looked at me and wanted to know what I was going to do with it. I slowly looked at everyone as they all looked at the stone. I saw it in their eyes. They were daring me to try and put it somewhere. Then, I thought of the perfect place that no one could get to. With a big smile on my face, I popped it in my mouth.

A couple of the big kids warned me that I could choke on it, or get it stuck in my throat, or even swallow it. I stuck it between my lower cheek and gums. It felt slick and smooth in my mouth. I pushed it back and forth a few times with my tongue. I liked the feel of it in my mouth. I argued back that it was impossible for me to swallow it. One, because it was too big to go down my throat, and two, I wasn't going to take it from between my cheek and gums unless I was taking it out of my mouth. It wasn't like candy that I was likely to suck on. This was like a rock and I wouldn't be sucking on it. I think they were all mad that they didn't have a chance to get it while it was in my mouth. They warned me that I shouldn't keep it in my mouth, that it might kill me.

"Yeah, you just want me to take it out of my mouth don't you?" They never cared about my health so much before.

Only because of the stone were they suddenly concerned. They never warned me about the jaw breaker balls that actually got stuck in my throat several times before. Now, all of a sudden, they were so scared for my health. I saw through that line like a glass window. All the more reason to keep it in my mouth I figured. Someone said,"that's all right, you have to sleep sometime, and you can't sleep with it in your mouth."

Now, that was a good point! I just smiled back and said, I'd put it under my pillow or tie it in a little bag and tie it on my neck. I had it all figured out.

Over the next few days, I had a routine with the stone. I took it out of my mouth only to eat or drink something. I held it in my hand then. At night, putting the stone in a little bag around my neck—worked pretty good. Sometimes, I laid just right on it and eventually, the pain woke me up. That was okay, since I moved it and went right back to sleep. Within a week, I proved everyone wrong. I kept it in my mouth and didn't swallow it or get choked on it. Pretty much, everyone left me alone about the stone.

Every now and then, someone wanted to look at it again. Either I held it or they had to promise to give it back to me before I let them hold it. Seems funny now, that no one ever broke a promise. So, I never had a problem showing it to someone. Once, I was holding it for someone to look at, and they grabbed it and took off running. I went screaming after them. Everyone in the whole world knew it was my stone and what it looked like, so there was no way, short of losing it, they could get away with having it. I ran to Mama and she told whoever had it to give it back to me. That little incident only caused them to either promise or they had to look at it from more than an arm's length away. By the second week, no one even wanted to look at it anymore and it became another fixture in my mouth. My jaw poked out a little when it was in my mouth.

I got used to the stone in my mouth and never had a problem with it. I learned to talk pretty good with my mouth closed so as not to allow it to get over my teeth and possibly swallow it. One day a couple weeks after I found the stone, me and Man were throwing dirt clods at a wast (wasp) nest in the tool shed. Not much excitement going on there since it only had a couple wast on it. We creamed them and were at the back of the shed with a stick trying to knock the nest down. Then, we saw something move near the floor. It was a rat.

I yelled at Man to go close the shed doors so it couldn't get out. I never figured it would run out the cracks between the boards and the ground which were maybe three inches or so around the shed. Anyway, we had a new adventure now. We called one of our dogs, named Blackie, into the shed to "hunt him out." Man and I were "sicking" the dog on the rat and moving everything out of the way so the dog could catch it. The dog smelled it and jumped over everything and excitedly concentrated on getting it. We were making a lot of racket moving everything around, plus the dog was barking. I think we saw the rat once more and lost it. I'm sure it ran outside under the boards but Blackie was still barking which inspired us to keep moving things trying to find it.

All of a sudden, someone moved the hasp on the door from the outside. We saw the shadow of someone outside. We were confused about why they locked the shed door, since they knew we were inside with the dog. Then, I heard Boy and Buster (Vernon) outside.

They yelled that they were going to help us catch the rat. I couldn't figure out how they were going to help us from outside. I yelled, "the rat is inside, not outside."

"We'll make sure the rat doesn't get outside so ya'll can catch it."

I laughed a little and asked, "how ya'll going to keep it from going under the boards?"

I heard Buster say, "Don't worry, we'll stop it!"

"It's probably gone already."

"No it's not."

Then, I saw some grass being poked under the boards to fill the gap between the boards and the ground.

I laughed and said, "the rat can go straight through that grass, you're wasting your time."

"No it won't."

They were still putting the grass around the bottom of the tool shed. The dog was barking more now, I think, because of them shoving the grass under the boards. Man was still moving stuff around and I told everyone, "I think the rat is gone. We haven't seen it in a little while."

Buster and Boy yelled, "No, it's still inside. Now, we're going to make sure it stays inside until the dog catches it."

"How you going to make it stay inside?"

"Just watch what happens next."

Then, I saw what they were up to. I couldn't believe my eyes. They weren't really doing what I think they were, were they? Yep, sure enough, there was Smoke! They set the grass on fire!

The shed started filling up with smoke fairly quickly as us and Blackie started to the door. We pushed on it, then I remembered they locked the door with something. I yelled, "the shed is full of smoke and we can hardly breathe. Ya'll locked the door."

Boy yelled back, "yes, the door is locked."

"Well, unlock it so we can get out."

Buster yelled, "it's too late, the grass caught the shed boards on fire and we're too busy trying to put it out to go unlock the door right now."

Well, that didn't surprise me, with how dry everything was.

"Well, hurry up, the smoke is getting bad, we're having trouble breathing,-really!"

We heard them hitting the boards like they were trying to put out the fire but the grass was burning all around the shed by then. Buster and Boy were yelling that they couldn't get the fire out and we better try to get out ourselves while they were fighting the fire. Slowly but surely, panic started setting in.

We started pushing on the door hard trying to break something loose so we could get out. Buster and Boy kept yelling that the fire was getting worse and we may get burned alive if we don't hurry up and get out. We started running and hitting the door and yelling for someone to help us.

"Hey, one of you take a few seconds and unlock the door. We can't break the lock."

"We don't have time because the fire is spreading toward the house."

I could just see the fire getting out of control. I still heard one of them hitting the side of the shed like they were trying to put the fire out.

Boy yelled for us to hurry up and get out that the shed was burning completely up. More smoke filled the shed now and we were coughing and starting to cry and yelling for someone at the house to hear us and come help. We started running full length of the shed and crashing into the doors. Blackie sensed that either we had panicked or were having a great time. Either way, he added to the excitement by constantly barking and running with us as we crashed into the door. I think Blackie thought we might have seen the rat and ran with us to the door then back to the back of the shed only to repeat the process again. He was barking a lot like he was having fun. He didn't know we were fighting for our lives.

Outside, they yelled that we better hurry up because the shed couldn't last much longer. We saw what looked like some grass from the fire fall into the shed from the eve at the back of the shed. Buster said the fire started a whirlwind and was slinging some grass on fire through the top of the shed. Sure enough, some grass on fire fell into the shed at the back. We had a little gas in a can, but it was close to the front door, and I wasn't worried about it right now. We could hardly see in the shed now and I teamed with Man to crash into the door at the same time trying to break the lock.

We heard them outside hitting on the ground and up the shed walls trying to put the fire out. We were crying and yelling for help and couldn't understand why someone at the house couldn't hear us.

Buster yelled back, "you don't need to yell for someone at the house, everyone is out of the house fighting the fire. You have save ourselves or be burned alive."

Boy added, "it's not going to be very much longer now since the shed is on fire all way around."

That did to for me and Man. Crying and screaming, we repeatedly crashed into the front doors as hard as we could. We were fighting for our lives, and the panic was now complete. Then, it happened!

I couldn't believe it. We hit the door as hard as we could. The door bowed out some then sprung back in place usually throwing us to the ground. We got up and did it again. The smoke was so thick I couldn't breathe. Matter of fact, I couldn't even cough. No! this couldn't happen! Not now! I stood still a few second trying to breathe. Nothing! I saw the smoke and it was thick but, I should still be able to cough. Then, I realized that it wasn't the smoke, it was the stone!

I quickly ran my tongue to the familiar place in my jaw searching for the stone. It was gone. I grabbed my throat, and tried to cough it up. It was stuck in my throat. I couldn't breathe in or out. I couldn't say a word. I was past panic now and couldn't even yell. I heard my heart pounding. I grabbed Man and pointed to my throat. He didn't understand. I took my fingers and opened my mouth wide and showed him the inside of my mouth between my lower teeth and gums. Everyone knew where I kept the stone. Man was trying to figure out why I was doing that. Then, he took off to slam into the door again.

I ran after him and grabbed his head between my hands and looked right in his eyes. I removed my hands and, again, opened my mouth and pointed at the location of the stone. It was gone and then I pointed at my throat. Finally, Man understood.

"The stone is stuck in your throat?"

I nodded up and down. I pointed to him, and then his mouth, and then outside. He seemed confused and was fixing to hit the door again. I grabbed him again and pointed the same way again. He understood that he was to tell them outside.

He started yelling to Buster and Boy, "Victor's got the stone stuck in his throat and can't breathe. Come unlock the door!"

I started getting a little dizzy. I was still pushing as hard as I could from my stomach to force some air out. That wasn't working, so I tried to swallow. That didn't work either. I heard Man repeating that I had the stone stuck in my throat and for someone to help me.

Buster and Boy were yelling, "Yeah, I bet, you're just saying that to make us stop and unlock the door."

Man was pretty convincing, even though they didn't believe him.

I fell to my knees as everything started spinning around and I started feeling real funny. Light headed. I couldn't smell the smoke anymore. Everything was so strange. We had stopped crashing into the door and Man was crying and yelling that Buster or Boy had to do something before I died. Man told them I fell to my knees and I looked funny. I was changing color for some reason. He was begging them to help me.

I heard Buster and Boy yelling that I was just playing and doing that so they'd open the door. Man was yelling for Mama as loud as he could, saying that I had the stone stuck in my throat.

Everything was getting black for me. At first I thought it was the smoke, but I could see daylight under the shed doors. It was like someone was covering me with a blanket or something. I felt my body convulsing because it wasn't getting enough air. I fell to the ground and saw a round circle of light that, slowly, got smaller. It was being replaced with darkness. I could barely hear Man yelling now. It seemed so peaceful for me. No sound. No smell. No taste. It was strange how the circle of light slowly got smaller. I didn't know what was happening. It was peaceful. I wondered if this is what happens when you die? I heard Man say that I fell to the ground and was jerking around. He said he thought I was dying. He yelled for Mama and beat on the door. Then, the circle of light got smaller until it went out.

The last thing I heard was Buster saying, "Man, you better not be lying to us."

I couldn't see. I don't know if my eyes were open or not. I quit convulsing. I was still. It was peaceful.

I don't know how much longer it took them to open the door. I felt myself being dragged a little, then I was lifted up and it felt like someone was carrying me and running. It was strange that my mind was still conscious, but I couldn't see anything. Man told me later that Buster opened the door and looked in. Man dragged me out of the shed and seeing that I was turning blue, Boy grabbed me up and they ran to the house yelling for Mama.

Mama and everyone in the house ran out on the porch. Man told them I swallowed the stone when we were crashing into the doors and now it was stuck in my throat.

The next thing I was conscious of, was a real hard hit between my shoulder blades. I remember it hurt but, a few seconds later, another hit even harder. It felt like someone broke my backbone.

I learned later that Mama hit me first, then seeing she didn't dislodge the stone, told Boy to hit me real hard in the middle of my back. He did!

Then, it was like life poured back into me. I started gulping air and couldn't get enough. I couldn't talk for sucking in air and breathing hard. I tried to swallow and felt something, slowly, very slowly, moving down my throat. I thought my eyes were closed for a few seconds, only to realize they were open but I couldn't see anything. After several seconds, the circle of light appeared again getting bigger this time, and much faster than when it got smaller. In a few more seconds the circle was gone and my eyes started focusing.

I discovered I was laying flat on my back on the porch and Mama was directly over me. I saw everyone else around me in a circle. I was heaving my chest up and down still trying to get more air in. I was coming around now and everyone just watched me for maybe another minute. I remember someone asking Mama, "Why is he so blue all over?"

"He needs air. That's what happens when you can't breath."

Slowly, my chest stopped heaving and I started to slow my breathing a little. Eventually, I sat up and the first thing I said was, "I swallowed the stone. I can feel it in my throat and it's moving slowly down to my stomach." Then, "How did I get out of the tool shed and how long have I been laying on the porch?"

Man said, "Buster unlocked the shed and Boy brought you to the porch."

Mama said, "You been on the porch a few minutes. You going to be all right?"

"I think so. Is my stomach going to eat up the stone?"

"I don't think so."

"What's going to happen to me?"

"I'm not sure right now, we'll have to wait and see."

"Am I going to die?"

"I don't think so, but we'll have to wait and see if the stone moves through your guts all right. What were you doing in the tool shed, anyway?"

"Trying to catch a rat when everything caught on fire."

"On fire? What caught on fire?"

"Everything! You know, the shed! The grass! The pasture! And why ain't ya'll fighting the fire?"

"What fire?"

I moved Man out of the way and looked at the tool shed. Then, looked at Buster and Boy. I got so mad, I told her everything Boy and Buster did and how I managed to swallow the stone. Looking at the tool shed, there was only the little grass fire at the bottom where Buster and Boy placed the grass. Buster grabbed a hand full and lit it and threw it in the shed at the eves. They put handfuls of grass around the shed and lit them. There was no other fire. The tool shed wasn't burnt up and all this had been a game to them. Then, Man told her they locked us in the shed and I swallowed the stone, but they didn't believe him.

Buster said, "Ah, Mama, we were just having a little fun."

Then Mama took over. She yelled at Buster and Boy, "Ya'll know he could have died right there and ya'll would have been responsible. Do ya'll understand how close to dying he was?" That scared me a little. "If the stone went down his windpipe, it probably would've stuck there and killed him."

She was plenty mad and yelling at them.

"Ya'll just go get a good switch because I'm going to wear out the one I got on you first."

She did! With everyone watching, she whipped them good. I thought she was going to whip me for having the stone in my mouth to begin with, but she only said she ought to and I was glad. Said she was going to tell Daddy and they may get another whipping from him. Luckily for them, they didn't.

Everyone, including me, waited to see what the stone was going to do. Mama gave me a couple tablespoons of Castor Oil saying that this might help the stone go through my guts. I figured that was really my punishment for keeping the stone in my mouth.

I was afraid to eat because that might make the stone go into my "guts" (intestines) sooner. Everyone speculated about whether it was going to make it through my guts or get stuck. There was talk that if it got stuck, I'd have to be operated on to get it removed. That sounded exciting, and scary too. I never been in a hospital before. Eventually, I had to eat something. I could tell Mama was worried more than me. She kept watching me and every so often she asked me if I felt alright?

The first night the stone moved into my upper intestines and I didn't seem to have any problems. There was a couple of times my sides hurt a little just below my stomach. First one side, and maybe one hour later, the other side. We all figured the stone was making the curves of my guts at the sides okay and was probably hanging up a little causing the pain.

Mama kept me out of school the next day so I could stay around the house and she could watch me. The first evening, Daddy went somewhere and talked to a doctor about what might happen. The doctor said since the stone was polished, it may get threw my intestines and pass out of my body. However, since it was pretty big, it may get stuck in my small intestines and have to be surgically removed. The doctor said we could tell if it got stuck by me screaming with pain. There was nothing we could do now but wait. It may take three to five days for it to pass through me, but if I had any problems, it would be in my small intestines. I heard Daddy tell Mama all that and I didn't like the pain part.

All the next day, we tracked where the stone was by which side I was hurting on. Several times during the day, I doubled over in pain. Some were sharp for a few seconds then got easy again. The second night, was harder. I hurt a lot several times throughout the night. I sweated a lot when the pain hit me and groaned a lot. Mama kept a close eye on me and almost every time, she showed up with a wet rag and wiped the sweat off and watched me until the pain subsided. I made it through that night and got more scared about the third day. The doctor said it should be in my small intestines by the second night to the third day.

He was right. The third day, I spent most of the day in pain. Tossing, and turning, and sweating, and in a lot of pain. Mama kept a rag handy and wiped me down. In the afternoon of the third day, the stone got stuck, or couldn't get around a curve. I was truly screaming, and yelling, and sweating, badly. Mama put me on their bed and I soaked the sheets with sweat. I was really hurting by the time Daddy got home. Mama said they better take me to the hospital because I'd been hurting for two hours now and getting worse and sweating more. I was doubled over and could hardly walk with the pain. Daddy and Mama took me to the doctor.

They stopped somewhere and called him first and told him we were coming. He wanted us to meet him at the hospital. By the time we got there, I was in a ball with my legs drawn up to my chest in pain. Daddy carried me in the hospital still in a ball. The doctor wanted to take an X-ray first to locate the stone. The doctor started pushing on my sides and trying to feel the stone. His pushing and kneading my side hurt, at first, but then, like a light switch being turned off, the pain started going away. I told everyone I was getting better and the pain was going away.

The doctor still took an X-ray and by the time it was developed, I felt fine. Actually, sort of hungry. The doctor showed us the X-ray and, clear as a bell, there was the stone. It was just past a tight turn in my small intestines. The doctor said that caused all the trouble. He guessed it got turned sideways and blocked the intestine. He figured his kneading and pushing turned it just enough to clear the turn. The doctor said there was only one sharp turn left before it got to my ascending colon and I shouldn't have a problem after that.

The doctor asked me, "did you eat much today?"

Mama said, "no, he's spent the day on the bed in pain and sweating most of the day."

"I'm feeling fine now, and I'm pretty hungry."

The doctor laughed and told Daddy and Mama to go somewhere and get me something to eat to speed the stone getting past the next turn. But, bring me back to him before we went home.

We went somewhere and Daddy bought me a hamburger with fries and a Coke. He got himself and Mama something also. This was great! I felt good and we were all in good spirits talking and eating. I knew this was very rare for Mama and Daddy and they seemed to be enjoying themselves too. In fact, I don't remember Daddy and Mama ever doing that before, or again. We didn't hurry and I was about to pop by the time we got through. We were gone maybe one hour and by the time we got back to the hospital, the doctor wanted another X-ray. He ask if I had any pain while I was gone. I told him just a sharp little one on my right side but it only lasted a few seconds. He smiled and said he thought I was "out of the woods now." That puzzled me and I asked him what that meant? All of them laughed a little and he said it was probably past the last turn by now. The X-ray proved him right and he said everything was probably okay. He said I should pass it out of my body, probably, tomorrow.

When we got home, everyone was still waiting up to see if I got an operation. I bounced out of the truck and ran inside, all smiles. Everyone knew I didn't get an operation, and everything must be all right. There was a look of relief on everyone. Mama stepped in and told everyone to go to bed, that I was going to be all right. Furthermore, I was going to school tomorrow.

Just like the doctor said, not one pain all night. I slept like a baby. I think Mama did also. For breakfast, Mama fixed a lot of tomato paste gravy—my favorite—and had plenty of biscuits and wanted me to eat up. I did, and so did everyone.

Yep, after a good breakfast and a little running around at school, by the first recess, I was looking for the bathroom. I'm sure that's when I passed the stone. Before I flushed the toilet, I looked for the stone. Nope! No stone! I said good bye to the stone and flushed the toilet. I never had any more pain. Everything was back to normal now.

When I got home, Mama asked, "did you use the bathroom?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, I guess you'll keep things out of your mouth from now on want you?"

"Yes, Ma'am, I reckon I will. I don't want to go through that again."

I stayed mad at Buster and Boy for probably a month. I blamed them for me losing my stone and almost killing me. I was sore between my shoulder blades for maybe a week.

I did finally admit they pulled a good joke on me and made it very real. We laughed about it many times in the future.

I can still see that pretty blue stone in my mind.

Chapter 28. Peg Leg Jack

Peg Leg Jack was scary! I think down inside, he was a good man. But, he always scared all us little kids and maybe a few of the big ones. Being only nine in 1957, he was scary to me most of the time. He lived about a half mile from us. On our side of the road about a quarter mile up from us was Diane, Ruby Oliveaux's daughter. Then, on further about another quarter mile on the other side of the road was Peg Leg Jack. I always thought he was a brother to Lionel Oliveaux, Ruby's husband, and also the brother to James W. Oliveaux, Big Annie, who married Vennie. But, I wasn't sure, some people said he wasn't related at all.

It was obvious when you saw him why he was called Peg Leg Jack. Of course, he had a peg leg. A wooden leg. A stump leg made out of wood. It was on his left leg. I don't know what happened to him, probably was told before but I don't remember. It was just a stump-like leg. It was maybe five inches or so around at the top where it was fastened to his belt with straps. The bottom was about three inches or less and cut flat where it touched the ground. He had another wooden leg that was his "dress-up" leg. It was lacquered and polished and had a little strap-like harness that went around his waist on the inside of his pants. It was very rare for him to wear his dress-up leg. We always saw him with his "everyday" leg.

He normally wore an old felt, or straw, hat with the brim turned down a lot. He dipped snuff and always had dirty brown spit running down from his lips and, usually, on his jaw or chin. It was obvious where he wiped the spit off with his hand or arm because it always left a smear across his chin and jaw. He talked loud and I think was hard of hearing because we always had to talk loud around him. He was usually rough talking and talked real mean and harsh to us kids. I knew it was mostly a scare tactic because I saw him turn away and smile many times when he scared us little kids.

He was probably of medium build, maybe five feet eight or ten inches. He weighed about 180 pounds. His hands were scared up and he had big fore arms like a pirate. We always made up stories about him being a pirate. He heard of the stories, somehow, and when he wanted to scare one of us he told us he'd stomp us with his peg leg. He said he had a hook in the house he used to grab kids with and hold them until he stomped them to death with his wooden leg. He reminded me of Captain Hook that I read so much about in library books. He could have been a pirate for all we knew.

Peg Leg Jack lived by himself and had several dogs that followed him where ever he went outside. He had a bunch of chickens and a couple hogs in a pen behind his house. Many times I went to his house and sneaked around the corner to watch him. He might be splitting stove wood or feeding the chickens or hogs and eventually saw me and yelled, "come here, boy, let me pull your head off!"

Sometimes, I took off running back home or either to Ruby's or Diane's house. Every now and then, if he didn't sound so mean, I approached him slowly and when I got within reach of him, he jumped to catch me. If he touched you with just one finger, he had you. He was so strong. Of course, he couldn't move very fast with the peg leg, but he often surprised me with his speed. Usually, the first thing he did was rub my head with his finger knuckles while holding me. It usually hurt some and I don't think he knew how hard he was rubbing. Afterward, he pulled a small peppermint stick out of his shirt or coveralls and gave it to me. If he didn't have one he told me he owed me one or went in the house to get one.

Peg Leg Jack had a fifty five gallon drum at each corner of the house to catch rain water. Many times I ran to his house after a rain to watch him put lime powder in the drums to purify it for drinking and house use. It was always interesting to see the water turn milky white and slowly get clear as the lime settled to the bottom. When the lime settled to about half way down the drum, Peg Leg got a dipper and tasted the water. He always gave me a taste and it was very good. Almost sweet. Rain water was much softer than pumped water. All my sisters liked to use it to wash their hair. We had a few drums out too, but we rarely put lime in any of them because we had a hand pump for our water. The girls got the rain water and put it in jugs or buckets until they used it to wash their hair. In a few days, we saw mosquito larvae, which we called "wiggle worms," swimming in the water if we didn't put lime in it. If the girls had something special coming up and needed to wash their hair, they went to Peg Leg Jack and asked for some of his water.

I used to watch him for a few hours split stove wood or maybe help him feed the chickens or hogs. We sat on big wooden blocks that he hadn't split yet and he told me all kinds of stories. They were about his childhood and the things he liked to do. It was hard to believe him many times and I was never sure when he was telling me the truth.

I guess he got some kind of assistance to live on from the state, because he didn't work otherwise. Many times when we were sitting on the blocks, he whittled with a knife. He never seemed to make anything in particular, but did have a few wooden carvings of animals in his house. They weren't polished or professional looking, but were pretty good, I thought. We rarely went in his house for any reason. We played with his knife, throwing it sometimes. Occasionally, we played "split." We faced each other about six feet apart and spread our feet out about shoulder width. He threw his knife and stuck it in the ground about six inches from my foot. If it stuck in the ground, I had to spread my feet even with it. Then, it was my turn to throw. We spread our feet until we couldn't reach the knife. He always won, but sometimes, I had him spread apart pretty good. I always worried he would stick the knife in my bare foot. He never did, but got close several times.

He impressed me often by telling me to look at a knot, or hole, or something and threw the knife to hit it, or was very close. I always thought his rough talking and gruff voice was just trying to scare us a little. It usually did when he threw in about stomping us with his wooden leg. But, when you got past that, he seemed like a lonely man and liked company.

Once when I was helping him feed the chickens, I started jumping the fence. It was only three to four feet high and I usually got a good running start and cleared it a few inches. Where the fence was taller, I couldn't jump it. Where he always stepped over the fence, I jumped it. Every now and then, he had the fence pulled up a little and tried to talk me into jumping it. He told me he didn't pull the fence up any and for me to jump it. I walked up to it and measured it against my waist and knew if it was pulled up or not. He told me to try it or told me it was so low, he could jump it and usually, I gave it a try. Every now and then I actually jumped it and surprised myself. Mostly, I got hung in the fence and fell to the ground catching myself with my hands. Peg Leg Jack just died laughing. I always thought it was worth me falling to the ground to hear him laughing.

One time, he was trying to trick me and I knew it. I walked over to the fence and saw it was maybe six inches higher than normal. I backed up and tried to jump it only to get my foot caught in the fence. I fell down hard and hurt my arm. I thought it might be broken. Plus, I ripped my pants pocket when it hung on the fence. Peg Leg Jack heard the rip of my pants pocket and when I didn't get up immediately, and yelled out loudly holding my arm, he jumped to where I was and jerked me up so fast, I couldn't believe it. I was all right, except my arm hurt some. I think I might have sprained my wrist or something and got up holding my arm.

Peg Leg Jack was laughing a little as usual, but I could tell he was a little worried that I might have hurt myself, too. He jerked me over the fence like a rag doll and carried me to the wooden block and sat me down. He looked my arm over real good and we agreed it wasn't broken. I told him I was more worried that I ripped my pants pocket than hurt my arm. I told him Mama might whip me for that.

"Nah, tell her it was my fault, and she want whip you."

We sat there a little while and my arm was getting a little sore, so I told him I better go and I'd be back tomorrow.

I went home holding my arm a little and even before I got to the house, someone noticed my pants pocket ripped and told Mama. Mama came out and saw me holding my right arm and asked what was wrong. I told her what I did and she looked at my arm a few seconds then said, "you could have broke your arm doing stupid things like that, plus you ripped your pocket too."

She grabbed my left arm and dragged me in the house and whipped me with a switch for doing something "stupid like that."

I remembered what Peg Leg Jack said and stated, "it was Peg Leg Jack's fault."

That didn't phase her in the least.

"Peg Leg Jack didn't make you try to jump the fence."

"It always makes him laugh. That's the only reason I tried to jump the fence, anyway."

She stopped whipping me and looked a little funny at me. Then, "get out of here."

I was still mad a little for getting a whipping I thought I should have skipped since I told her it was Peg Leg Jack's fault. I was sitting on the back porch holding my arm and telling Vear what I did when Mama called me again. It had been about fifteen minutes and I knew she didn't want to whip me again. This was unusual and I didn't know what to expect. I ran to her still holding my arm.

She was sitting at the kitchen table and had some rags on the table.

"Come here and let me look at your arm."

It had swollen a little around my wrist. She took my arm gently and started rubbing her "special liniment" on it. She had some liniment in a bottle that she always put on her ankles and knees when they hurt. It smelled a lot like alcohol but was green in color. They make something called "Absorbine Jr." today that eventually replaced her special liniment.

While she was putting on the liniment she asked, "why you want to make Peg Leg Jack laugh?"

"He never laughs very much and he always does when I try to jump his fence."

"Did you know whether you could jump it or not?"

"I knew I couldn't jump it where he pulled it up but I knew it would make him laugh if I tried."

In a gentle tone, "you could have broke your arm and then, neither of you would be laughing."

"I did it many times before and it's sort of like a game to Peg Leg Jack, and he always laughs."

She finished wrapping my wrist with the rags and tied them off.

"Why don't you find some other way to make him laugh that want hurt you?"

"Yes Ma'am, I'll try."

"Go on outside."

I left.

The next day, I was at Peg Leg Jack's again and tried to sneak up on him. He was sitting on one of the blocks whittling. With his hearing bad, I was pretty sure he wouldn't hear me, but he might see me. I timed it just right and slowly sneaked up on him. I know I scared him because he dropped the knife when I hit him on the back and jumped to his side. He said I didn't scare him and he knew I was there all the time. We laughed and I told him that I did scare him or he wouldn't have dropped his knife. He said he dropped the knife so he could grab me, but wasn't in time. Either way, we joked with each other about it.

When he saw my arm wrapped up, "Mama told me to find some other way to make you laugh."

"Yes, that might be a little too dangerous for you to keep trying to jump the fence. Did you get a whipping for ripping your pants pocket?"

"Yeah, I figured I would," looking down a little.

He jumped up looking a little mad.

"That was my fault and you shouldn't have been whipped for that!"

"Well, it's was too late now, just forget about it."

He seemed mad and was spitting his brown spit when he talked, but finally took a big spit toward the wood pile.

"Well, that want do and I'm going down there and telling your Mama she shouldn't have whipped you for that."

"Peg Leg Jack, just forget about it, I don't want you to make more trouble for me. I might get another whipping if you make Mama mad."

"No, you won't, I'm going down there to talk to your Mama myself."

He grabbed me by the arm and here we went toward the house.

I didn't understand what the big deal was and worried that if he made Mama mad, I'd get another whipping for it. I was in a real dilemma now and didn't know how to get out of it.

Peg Leg Jack didn't like to walk much with his wooden leg, because it rubbed a blister on his stump. I couldn't imagine him walking that far without a blister forming on his stump. I tried to talk him out of it, but he seemed mad that I got a whipping.

All the way down the gravel road, I heard his wooden leg grating on the gravel. It was a very unusual sound to hear the gravel crunch under one foot, then the peg leg hit with the other. My mind raced about what I was going to do. I couldn't talk him into just forgetting about it and I told him, "if you make Mama mad, I might get another whipping."

"I ain't gonna make her mad and you won't get another whipping this time."

I was still afraid because I knew Mama better than he did.

The other kids saw us coming and knew it was very unusual to see Peg Leg Jack walking to our house. As we got close, we could see everyone on the porch watching us come toward the house. Peg Leg parted the kids with one of his gruff yells to,"get out of the way." They ran like a bomb exploded, then Peg Leg looked at me with a smile. I knew that smile, and knew he'd never hurt one of us, but think I was the only one who knew that. Just before he got on the porch, he took a big spit. When he stepped on the porch, there was the unusual sound of his step then the peg hitting the wood. He walked straight into the house and met Mama as she was coming to the door.

"Mrs. Cox, I'd like to talk to you a minute if you don't mind."

He looked at me and told me to go outside. Mama led him into the kitchen and they sat down at the table. Since he talked so loud normally, it didn't matter that I went outside. I went back to the porch and sat down with several of the kids and they asked me what was going on. I said I didn't know.

Peg Leg told Mama,"it was my fault that Victor ripped his pants pocket trying to jump a fence that was too high."

"I know. He told me."

"Well, it ain't right that he got a whipping for something I put him up to. I'm real sorry that he hurt his arm too."

"Yes, I wished I hadn't whipped him too, but I got mad that he could've broke his arm and that would've been more of a problem."

"Yes,Ma'am, and that would've been my fault too. I'll watch him from now own so that he won't get hurt unless by accident and I'd appreciate it if you didn't whip him for something that is my fault anymore."

"I won't. Would you like some water?"

"Yes Ma'am, that would be right nice of you, thank you."

He took the glass of water, then started talking about how much he liked me coming to his house and talking with him and helping him feed the chickens and hogs. He told Mama he'd never hurt any of the kids and she could let them come to his house too. Mama said she didn't stop us from coming down there but, most of the kids were scared of him.

They both laughed a little, and Peg Leg said, a little quieter,"I know that, it's just a scare tactic."

By that time, we were all smiling on the porch and I had an "I told you so" for everyone.

They drifted off into some small talk and after another glass of water, we heard Peg Leg say he had to go. He told Mama not to be mad at me for him coming up here, because I was afraid he might make her mad and take it out on me again. They both laughed a little and Mama said something, but I couldn't hear what it was.

Then, Peg Leg's "step and stomp" was moving toward the door. He came out on the porch, and took another big spit then hit me on the shoulder and winked at me and said, "I'll see you later."

I hit him in the leg and said, "okay."

He made his way down the road while we watched him. I told everyone he was really a nice old man inside. When I mentioned that every now and then he gave me a peppermint stick, they were surprised.

Over the next few months, several of us went to his house at different times, usually with me. We all got to like him a lot and every now and then, he had a peppermint stick for each of us. We used to all sit around him on the wooden blocks and watch him carve wood while telling us about his past. True or not, it was interesting. Several of the other kids came with me to his house after rains to watch the milky rain water clear up and taste it.

One day we came in from school and learned that Peg Leg Jack died. Heart attack they said. Found him by the wood pile. His dogs howled this mournful howl for several days. Mama said they missed him and didn't know where he was. At his funeral, I remember his chin was cleaned off and it didn't look like him, except for his "dress up" leg.

Ruby got his outside animals and we went to her house sometimes and played with the dogs. I guess she got his carved animals too. I still miss that old man.

Chapter 29. Stealing Watermelons

Another hot day in 1957. As usual us kids were trying to figure out what we could do to avoid getting a whipping. Being nine, it seemed like anything I did ultimately resulted in me getting a whipping. I don't know who suggested it first, but know it caught on like a fashion fad today.

We always got our lard, or grease, for cooking in eight pound buckets. They were blue with white writing on the bucket. I guess Mama used a lot of grease, or lard, because we had plenty of those buckets around the house. We used them for just about everything. Seems we didn't have much use for the lids though. Only a few times did we put something in one of the buckets and still need a top for it. That was good for us kids, because we wanted all the lids we could get.

The lids had a little lip on them for fastening onto the bucket. We took the lids and figured out the exact center and drove a nail through it and onto a stick or small board. We used a roofing nail, if we could find one, because it had a big head. When the nail was driven into the stick, or piece of board, it made a very good play toy. We called it a "lid roller," or "push stick." With so much dirt and dust around the house, when we pushed the stick with the lip of the lid digging into the dirt, it spun a plume of dirt and dust. We loved pushing the sticks with the lids.

We got fancy and whittled the stick ends where we held them with our hands so they were smooth and fit our hands just right. We put about a hundred miles on a lid before the center got so wallowed out the lid just flopped around and sometimes came off. Plus, if you hit something with the lid it bent a little and you had to take the time to straighten it as best as you could for it to work good again. Every now and then, when you pushed the stick and hit something with the stick, your hand slid forward. You caught the end of the stick in your stomach and usually got a few splinters in your hand. Therefore, it was a good idea to either round, or square, the end of the stick and smooth the edges. We even got smarter, eventually, and rounded the end of the stick where the lid was nailed on. This prevented a lot of stomach stabs because, most of the time, the rounded end of the stick bounced over the object.

Every one of us little kids had a push stick. We ran around the house and kicked up so much dust it looked like a crop dusting plane. We spent hours running around to see who made the most dust. Of course, we got so dirty, we looked black. We had layers of dirt on us and the creases in our skin left a big crevasse where the dirt was pushed out.

Sweat running down made muddy trails. Mama didn't let us come in the house until we washed off. We got a number three wash tub and pumped it about half full of water and all but took a bath in it. But, we had a lot of fun. We wore the grass off the ground around the house and in a large part of the yard.

Sometimes you hit something so hard with the lid, it bent beyond straightening out. Then, we had to ask Mama for another lid. Eventually, we had the lids almost used up and had to be very careful with our push sticks. Mama always wanted to keep a few lids just in case we needed them for a bucket. When Mama bought more lard, we knew someone got a new lid from her supply. Usually, there wasn't any problems because if Mama didn't have a lid, someone else close to us did. We pushed the push sticks wherever we went around the house. I got several whippings for pushing it in the house.

We loved getting old tires also. When their mileage was used up on a vehicle, it still had another 100,000 miles with us kids. We loved to put dirt in the tires and push them around. The faster you ran, the more dust you generated. We certainly looked like a crop duster then. Or, maybe looked like a car going down the road. We loved to fill them up with dirt and run them into each other, head-on, as fast as we could. Many times we were completely surrounded by the dust cloud and invisible for a minute or so. The tires bounced back and created a big dust cloud where they hit, then maybe do a circle still spreading dust. When three or four of us had a tire, we ran around the house generating a big dust cloud and you had to run out of the cloud to keep from getting run over. We compared how dirty we were to each other and the dirtiest person led the pack. After maybe a quarter inch of dirt on us, we went to clean up and started over.

It was days like this that we really enjoyed getting a watermelon to eat. Daddy got a couple from somewhere and Mama cut them in half and put them in the refrigerator to cool off. We saw and smelled the red flesh and could hardly wait to eat them. Usually, we had to wait until Daddy got in. That was normally in the late afternoon and seemed to be the hottest part of the day. When Daddy drove up, we let the tires fly and ran to the tub to clean up. We all hovered around outside, or a few of us in the kitchen, waiting for the watermelon to be sliced.

Finally, when it seemed that Mama couldn't stand us milling around anymore, she told one of the big kids to go get the watermelon. We started licking our lips. We stood around waiting with drooling mouths until Mama started cutting the watermelon. Then, we lined up on the wall, with only a little pushing-don't want to mess up now, until it was our turn for a piece of the melon. After getting the melon, we went outside to spit the seeds out for the chickens. Mama, or the big kids, saved some for planting if Mama wanted some. We ate the rind down to the white unless Mama told us to leave some red to make watermelon rind preserves. We hated to leave any red showing, but loved the preserves. It was always a difficult decision.

I still say you should never force a kid to make that kind of a decision. That was the good life. We ate the melon slowly and enjoyed every bite. We usually got into a seed spitting contest to see who could spit one the longest distance. Then, we teased the chickens by spitting where they weren't standing and watch them run for it. We really enjoyed the cool watermelons on those hot days. Eventually, when through, we got the tires or push sticks again.

Every day on the bus coming home from school we passed by Mr. Butler's big watermelon patch about a half mile before our bus stop. Until school was out, I kept a good watch on the progress of those melons. I estimated the size and told everyone at home they were getting ready to eat. Daddy usually went to the Butler house and bought a few melons when they were ripe. We were usually out of school for the summer by then. Boy (Velton) and I walked up to his house sometimes to check on the progress and make friends with his dogs.

Yes, it was Boy again. He figured out a way we could get melons for free. Of course that meant stealing them. I couldn't understand why he didn't just wait until Daddy went there to buy them. But, when Boy got an idea, he usually talked me into helping him. I got a good whipping from Daddy for stealing tractor gas with Boy once before. I wanted nothing to do with his plan for getting the watermelons.

Of course, he explained that our error with the tractor gas was we left evidence for someone to find. But, it would be different with the watermelons. We wouldn't leave any evidence. We were to go to the patch at night, pick out a couple good melons, take them into the woods and eat them. He even figured we could leave them in the patch if we busted them up to make it look like a deer did it. Well, all this made a lot of sense to me and I couldn't see any holes in his plan. Of course, we couldn't bring any home because we had to explain where we got them.

So, again, he had me convinced that this plan could work. I thought hard on every angle and couldn't figure how this could backfire on us. We set a night and went for a trial run. We didn't want to get any melons for fear of not having covered every thing that might happen. So, without any melons, if something went wrong, we were just out walking around. That made sense, then, but seemed real stupid later. I never thought about an excuse to be "out just walking around" at midnight or later.

We got up early in the morning about three A.M. We sneaked out of the house, and petted our dogs to make them not bark, and had a little trouble making them stay at home. Finally, we got far enough away from the house they went back home. We were on our way then. We were going to walk down the gravel road but figured the dogs at Aunt Clee's (Cleo Copeland) house would hear us and give us away. So, we cut through the pasture well away from their house and went through the woods. Even still, the dogs heard something in the woods and started barking a little. We heard Uncle John yell at them to shut up. They did, and we sneaked on toward the watermelon patch in the woods.

As we got in front of Butler's house, down at the end of the road and still in the woods, his dogs heard us and started barking also. I don't know if Mr. Butler had trouble with people getting his melons, or not, but he got up with a flashlight and shined it our direction looking to see something. The dogs were barking our direction so we hid behind some palmettos (big plants with wide, sharp pointed, leaves).

It was about 150 yards to his house off the gravel road. Finally, Mr. Butler shined the light over the watermelon patch, spoke to the dogs, and went back in the house. I guess he figured it was a deer in the woods or something and since there was nothing in the patch, he went back inside. We went to the patch staying in the woods. We sneaked out of the woods at the far end of the patch away from the house and went into the patch thumping around on a few melons testing their ripeness.

They all sounded to green to me, but Boy decided to pull one and we slipped back into the woods. We started running, for no apparent reason, other than to get away from the patch. We ran about 100 yards up the gravel road away from the house. In the moonlight, we busted the melon open. Just as I expected, it was still green and only a very little in the center was worth eating. We figured we needed to give them another week or two. We sneaked back home and went back to bed feeling good about our plan. It went very smoothly.

Finally, a couple weeks passed and every few days Boy and I went to Mr. Butler's house to check on the progress of the melons. We told him when he said they were good, Daddy would be up there to buy several from him. With us knowing first hand that the melons were good now, we set another night for our adventure. We repeated our original route and got the same dogs barking again. It was almost a repeat of our night a couple weeks earlier. Mr. Butler told us some deer had slipped into the patch and busted a few melons and he had to keep watch on them at all hours of the night to run them out.

Before we got even with his road leading to his house, we saw a light on in the house. When the dogs started barking again, in our direction, Mr. Butler came out with his flashlight and looked everything over. We figured he thought we were probably some deer so we had to be watchful this time. Finally, after checking his patch good, he went back in the house, but the light stayed on. We moved on through the woods, went across the road, and back into the woods next to his patch. We went into the patch and stayed low as we thumped a few melons of medium size and picked one for us to eat. We didn't want to be greedy and since we couldn't take any home, we didn't want to get one too big to eat.

Finally, Boy said he found a good one. He was a little more in the patch than I was and when he spoke a little loud, the dogs started barking again. He grabbed the melon and we ran for the woods. Almost immediately, Mr. Butler was out of the house and shining the light over the patch. I jumped in the woods and got behind a tree but Boy didn't make it all the way into the trees. I whispered loudly for him to get down. He laid down flat behind a couple big melons. They hid him pretty good, if Mr. Butler didn't come into the patch.

Luckily, Mr. Butler just shined the light all over the patch and, seeing nothing, went back in the house. His light wasn't really bright, but was bright enough to spot deer eyes if one had been in the patch and looked his way. Boy jumped up and we ran off in the woods when Mr. Butler went back in the house. We ran up the road a piece and busted the melon and enjoyed it a lot. It was very good, and sweet. We were just digging it out with our hands and eating it.

All the time, we were whispering at how good our plan worked. We ate all we could hold and threw the rest out in the woods in a palmetto patch to hide our evidence. Then, we worked our way back home in the woods.

We didn't have to steal any for the next week because Daddy bought three of the big ones for us and we ate two of them with one left on the porch. We visited Mr. Butler once to check on the melons again. He said the deer raided him almost every night and he was having to stay up to scare them out. He said he saw a car stop one night and some kids jumped out and ran into the patch to get some melons, but he ran them off yelling at them. He said he thought someone else had been sneaking into the patch and taking a few melons because he saw some tracks. He said he'd catch them one night and make them sorry for stealing.

We told him that since the melons were ripe, everyone wanted them, and it wasn't surprising that the locals were trying to steal them. We complemented him for the taste of those Daddy bought and said we still had one on the front porch and we certainly didn't need to steal any.

Another couple weeks went by and the other melon on the porch was gone now and it was over a week since we ate any. So, we put our plan back in action. Early the next morning we slipped into his patch and got another one. We noticed some signs he had up near the road, but couldn't read them in the dark. We got another melon and were enjoying it and wondering what the sign said and when he put them up. We figured we'd come see him later this morning and get the story. We finished up, and got rid of the evidence, and slipped back home without incident.

Later that morning, maybe close to noon, we went to see Mr. Butler. We didn't want to be too early since we knew he was up shining the light our direction earlier that morning. We still woke him up from sleeping when we knocked on his door. He came to the door and asked what we wanted. We said we were just visiting and were sorry we woke him up. We said we noticed you had some signs in the patch and hadn't noticed them before. He said all he had to worry about now were the deer busting the melons since he poisoned some of them. Boy and I, at the same time said, "What?"

"Yeah, I poisoned a few melons to keep people from stealing them. I'm tired of cars stopping on the road and jumping out to get a melon or two, then jumping back in and be gone before I can do anything. But, I fixed that with the poison. I put up the signs to warn people that the poison may kill them if they got one that was poisoned."

Boy and I were looking back and forth at each other, and at Mr. Butler. I saw Boy's eyes were real wide and I knew mine were too.

As nonchalantly as I possibly could, "how did you poison them, and can't people tell if they are poisoned?"

"No, I injected the poison with a needle and no one knows until they eat the melon. The poison will make them real sick and tear up their stomachs if it don't kill them."

About that time, I heard my stomach growl and was sure I felt a pain in it.

"Well, that's a good plan and it'll probably work. But, what if you forget which ones you poisoned?"

"I know exactly which ones I injected."

After a few more minutes of small talk, we told him bye and we had to go for now and would see him later. We left in a hurry and questioned each other about how we felt. We sat around the house all evening waiting for the pains to start and wondered if we got lucky, or not.

Evidently, we got lucky this time. Either he was lying about the poison or we just got lucky. Over next few days, we were thinking he couldn't really have poisoned the melons. If someone stole one and died from it, he was in trouble. Of course, if someone just got real sick, there was nothing they could do about it. They probably couldn't prove it was his melon and even if it was, it meant they stole it and would still be in trouble. We certainly had a dilemma. How were we going to get any more melons without knowing which ones he poisoned?

We thought about it for another week or so, and convinced ourselves he didn't really poison the melons. Even if we got one that did have poison, if it was a big one, it wouldn't have enough poison to kill us. If we didn't eat all of it, we wouldn't get enough poison to hurt us except maybe make us sick a little. We figured if he poisoned any at all, it was those away from the house near the road and all we had to do was get one close to the house to be safe. Of course, there were the dogs to worry about. Plus, if he came out with the flashlight, he'd surely see us before we got back to the woods. He may put the dogs on us too.

Having considered all the drawbacks and what we were going to do about them, we devised another plan. Sneak back in the patch. Pick out one fairly close to the house. If Mr. Butler came out with the flashlight, we'd run for the woods with our backs to him, he still couldn't know who we were. If the dogs ran for us, we'd have a stick in our belt to beat them off us and, besides, once we got out of flashlight vision, we'd make friends with the dogs since they knew us anyway. Great, sounds like this might work.
We set another night and slipped through the woods again. Same as usual, the dogs barking a little at Aunt Clee's house, and the Butler dogs hearing us in the woods in front of his house, but Mr. Butler didn't come out. We slipped on around the patch and came out of the woods even with the side of his house. We had our sticks in our belt loop and were sneaking as quietly as possible toward the house. There was plenty of moonlight and we saw the dogs laying on the porch. We were as quiet as possible. So far, so good.

We got to maybe forty yards from the house and maybe fifty yards from the woods and started quietly thumping on the melons for one that sounded good. I told Boy to just get one because by now, they all were ripe and we needed to get out from here. Boy reached down and got a medium sized melon and quietly pulled the vine off. He hefted the melon up and we were fixing to take off.

Then, he tripped on a vine and fell down hard with a grunt. The dogs were up in a flash and barking loudly. I'm sure they saw us with the almost full moon. Boy grabbed the melon again and I whispered loudly, to come on and let's get out of here. We only got a few steps when Butler's door flung open. While Boy was taking a few steps toward me, I watched Mr. Butler standing in the light from the door just for an instant. I saw him look down at the dogs to see what direction they were barking. Then, in horror, I saw him look our direction. He had a gun!

I yelled louder this time, "He's got a gun!"

We ran as fast as we could. Boy still had the melon. Boom! the shot sounded. We heard pellets whizzing by us over our heads and hitting the vines around us. Boy stumbled again and when he fell, he busted the watermelon and it splattered all over the place. I quietly yelled at him to leave it and run for his life. Boom! came another shot our direction. Boy got up and was almost even with me by then. We heard pellets whiz by again and hit the vines and melons around us. I thought I felt a few hit me in the back and Boy yelped a little so I knew he got hit also. I glanced back at the house and saw Mr. Butler in the moonlight running out into the patch our direction still holding the gun up.

We were almost in the woods now. Maybe five to ten yards and still running hard. I glanced back to see if the dogs were after us, but they were just several feet in front of Mr. Butler. We pulled our sticks out of our belt loops and got rid of them so we could run a little faster. Mr. Butler reached the busted melon and stopped. We were just a yard or so from the woods, Boom! another shot. The pellets sounded like rain drops being shot through the leaves in the trees. I could hear the zip, zap, splat of the pellets as they tore through the tree and plant leaves all around us. They were everywhere, all around us and we felt a few more pellets on our backs.

We hit the woods full speed busting through the palmettos. Their sharp-pointed leaves stuck us like little needles. We broke vines and limbs hanging down from the trees as we ran. Other vines tore at our clothes. We ran maybe 150 yards through the woods before stopping to look back. We could just barely see the edge of the patch, but did see Mr. Butler and his dogs walking back to the house. We bent over breathing hard and watched him go back into his house as the dogs still looked our way and barked half-heatedly.

We looked at each other and asked if we were all right. We compared the number of times we thought we were hit with the pellets. We ran our hands up each other's shirt to feel if the pellets stuck in our skin. We got lucky again. None penetrated our skin that we could tell. We both agreed that was a close call.

"Too close for me," I said. "That's it for me. I'm going home. I've had enough of this. We're lucky we got out of this alive and I'm not going to risk this again. You can do whatever you want, but I'm going back to the house and stealing watermelons is over for me."

He agreed that this was a close call and we headed back to the house. The next morning in the daylight, we checked our backs again. We had no pellets in us, but both of us had several little red dots on our backs and butts and a few on our legs.

We waited a few days before we went to see Mr. Butler again. He told us about shooting a couple boys trying to steal his melons.

"I think I got them pretty good."

"Do you think you know who they were?"

"No, not really. Then, sort of laughing, "they dropped the melon and busted it, though."

We sort of laughed and said, "well, served them right for trying to steal it, anyway."

"Do you think the poison worked out?"

"Well, I guess it did, no one stopped on the road and tried to steal any, lately. Except for the boys the other night, I only had a few deer to run out since the signs went up."

"Well, I recon' the signs worked pretty good then."

"Sort of funny that the boys the other night were about your sizes."

We looked at each other and sort of laughed and Boy said, "what would we want to steal melons for when Daddy's going to be here either today or tomorrow to buy some more?"

Mr. Butler just shook his head a little and said, "sure is funny though, the foot prints were about your sizes also."

Boy said, "well, I'm sure we were probably in the bed when those boys were here."

"Ah, no matter, I'll get them good next time. I was using number six squirrel shot then, and I am using number four shot now. If I hit them again, it'll bring blood. Plus, I have another surprise for anyone who tries to steal melons again."

"Wow, the number four shot should do it all right, and, what's the surprise?"

"Well, I can't rightly tell you, but it'll certainly be a surprise."

We left for the house and decided then, our melon stealing days were over. They were! Of course, we thought a long time about what the surprise could have been. Finally, we both decided that finding out wasn't worth it based on our last attempt. Well, maybe next year. But, we never did.

Chapter 30. Killing Velma

It was Saturday morning and we all felt good. All us little kids knew Daddy and Mama were going to town to buy groceries. That meant when they got back, it would be just before Gunsmoke came on TV and we'd have bologna sandwiches. I was ten now and it was 1958. We were all smiles and lighthearted all day. We did our chores, even without grumbling. All us kids seem to get along better with each other on grocery day. Mama and Daddy went to town about every other weekend. I'm sure shortly after we got up, us kids were asking Mama if she was going to town today. When she said she was, it spread like a fire throughout the house and instantly, everyone's mood changed for the better.

1959, Victor, age 11

Every time we thought about the sandwiches, our mouths watered and several times throughout the day, we mentioned it to each other—like we needed reminding. No matter what we did that day, it seemed to just drag on until Daddy got in.

Without fail, before they left in the truck, someone asked if they were going to bring sandwich stuff back. And every time, Mama said, "Yes, but if you misbehave, you won't get any."

Always, the oldest kid at home was left in charge and became a King or Queen to the rest of us. I think it was Vennie this time. We served her like slaves because it only took a bad report on you, true or false, and you didn't get your sandwich. But, she didn't take too many advantages of us because if several of us kids told the same story, we got her in trouble, however, only very little compared to what we got.

There was always a mutual balance in how we were treated and how much "the Queen or King" got away with. Usually, we didn't mind because the Queen reminded us that we were getting a bologna sandwich when Mama returned. So, we did whatever they wanted and tried to stay out of sight. When Mama returned and no one was bleeding or there were no one running up to her telling about some kind of fight, she asked the King or Queen if everyone behaved. We held our breaths for that few seconds the Queen took to tell Mama everything was fine and no one got killed or had a major injury of some kind.

We helped carry the groceries in and milled around inside until Mama got the light bread and bologna out. Then, we lined up on the kitchen wall and waited our turn for a slice of bread with a slice of bologna on it. Sometimes, even with mayonnaise. Without fail, it was only a few minutes before Gunsmoke came on. We crowded around the TV nibbling our sandwiches and watching the show. That was the good life.

I don't even remember what started between me and Velma. She wasn't in charge of us, but she was my mortal enemy. Velma was three years older than me and probably was twice my weight and more than a foot taller. I don't know why, but we always seemed to fight about something. It was usually either me sticking my nose in her business, or vise versa. We were both head strong and stubborn and neither of us quit in a fight, until we were separated by one of the grown ups.

This day, I was determined not to start anything with her because of the sandwich later. Well, that was the plan, anyway. But Velma just had this way of rubbing me the wrong way. She knew just what buttons to push to get me mad. I don't think it was any one thing, but slowly throughout the day, she was slowly getting more on my nerves than usual. We even had a couple of squabbles that day before Mama left for groceries. Mama refereed while she was there keeping us apart and threatening us with losing the sandwich. I certainly didn't want to do that. So, I usually compromised just to keep the argument down. It seemed harder to do by the minute.

Finally, Mama and Daddy left and I felt a little uneasy about the way Velma and I were getting along. I tried to avoid her as much as possible but for some reason, we finally got into a yelling match. The Queen told us to shut up and settle down or she was going to tell Mama. We subsided a little, but seemed like within fifteen minutes, we were yelling at each other again. I repeat, I don't remember what started it all, but in one of our yelling matches, she pushed me. Of course, that wouldn't do for me, and I got up off the floor and pushed her back, or at least tried to. Usually, she just blocked my arms spinning me sideways and pushed me again. If she just let me push her once, I think I might have stopped.

But, about the third time I got off the floor, I was getting pretty mad. I started blocking her hands trying to block my pushing, and inevitably, the pushing turned into me trying to hit her. Most of the kids just got out of the house to get away from us in case the Queen connected them with us and maybe loose their sandwich too. When the hitting started, the Queen usually separated us or told us to quit "for the last time" before telling Mama. I remember that stopped me once. However, not forty five minutes later, I don't know how, but we were at it again. After being slammed against the wall a couple times, I got pretty mad.

We rapidly passed the pushing stage and now Velma was slapping me back for hitting her. That only made me madder. I yelled that she was going to make me lose my sandwich if she didn't stop. She didn't seem to care about the sandwich as much as I did, and refused to let me get the last hit in and just stop. Of course, I didn't let her get the last hit in either. I figured since she was bigger than me, she ought to let me get the last hit in and we could stop the fight. She slapped me a few more times and they were getting a lot harder. My face started turning red from the slaps and I started sweating trying to fight her back. The Queen came in and said that was it, she was telling Mama on us. She tried to separate us again, but since I lost my sandwich, I wasn't about to lose the fight.

I wouldn't stop now until I hurt Velma. She was just as intent in me not hurting her, or if I did, she was going to pay me back. The Queen slung us apart once and yelled at us to quit, but that only gave us time to blame each other for starting the fight in the first place. When the Queen left, we tied into each other again. The other kids were outside and didn't want to be around us since we lost our sandwiches.

Our fighting got progressively worse. Velma was slapping me and slinging me up against the wall or kicking me across the room. The kill switch tripped in my head. I wasn't stopping now until one of us was hurt bad. Either I was going to hurt her bad or vise versa. For sure, neither of us was going to quit because of a little blood.

My hits got about as hard as I could make them. When Velma tried to run away, I dove at her legs and tripped her. She usually fell and turned around kicking me all over. Occasionally, sending me flying backwards across the room until I hit the other wall. I ran right back trying to hit her again. Once more, the Queen came in to stop the fight, and I think we both were hitting the Queen trying to get at each other. Finally, the Queen just quit and said for us to go ahead and kill each other, because she tried to stop us three times and that was enough for her to remain in good faith with Mama, and get her sandwich.

The fight got serious then. I wanted to kill her if I could, or at least hurt her bad. We both were fighting all out now. Even when she tried to get away, I stopped her because I hadn't hurt her bad enough yet. We went from one room to the next fighting. I was bleeding all over my face. She had long since busted both my lips and kicked me in the face so many times my eyes were swelling up. My nose was bleeding a little. My shirt was torn and my face hurt from her slaps and hits. I had knots on my head where she hit me with her knuckles or whatever she picked up.

I hurt between my shoulder blades from being slammed against the wall so many times. I had a good headache from my head hitting the wall and floor so many times. Otherwise, I was still fighting pretty good. I hadn't managed to do hardly anything to her, so far. I did get a good hit on her leg a couple times when she was kicking me. Other than her sweating a little, she seemed like she might be enjoying the fight.

She threw something at me once after she kicked my across the room. It barely missed me and I picked it up and threw it back at her. I missed, and she took off running. With that much of a head start, I ran fast to catch her. She turned a corner and ran past the bedrooms and it looked like she was headed outside. I liked that idea. I knew I could run her down. I couldn't outrun her, but I could run longer and further than her. I knew if she went outside, it was only a matter of time before I caught her when she gave out running. Then, I could really hurt her.

I zipped around the corner of the bedroom and ran fast trying to catch her. She looked like she was going outside for sure. She passed another open door with the door edge facing me only a few steps ahead of me. I was going to get her now for sure. Then, Bam!

As she went past the door, she grabbed it with her hand and pulled it just a little bit as if to close it. The door swung about one foot from the wall and stopped. I was going to fast to stop that quick. It was to late for me to put my arms up to catch the door. I was bringing my hands up to catch the door, but it was just too close. I hit the edge of the door square with my nose. My arms and feet slung on both sides of the door as I caught it squarely with the center of my body. That broke my nose and blood gushed from it all over my shirt.

It knocked the breath out of me for an instant and I just slid down the door edge until my butt hit the floor. I shook my head a little and saw blood pouring and I grabbed my nose and squeezed it hard trying to stop the bleeding. In the meanwhile, I got up and slammed the door open, and as my eyes refocused, I saw the screen door closing. Velma ran outside. I was so mad, I couldn't even feel the pain at that time. All I could think about was now I could catch her. I took off running again still pinching my nose.

Velma ran off the porch and went right around the house. By the time I got to the porch, she wasn't in sight. The porch was a little closer to the ground going to the left and that's the direction nine out of ten times everyone went. Since she wasn't in sight, I jumped off the porch going left, fast.

About the time I jumped off the porch, I looked to my right and saw Man (Verlon) and Don (Venton) behind the oak tree about ten feet from the corner of the house. They had dirt clods in their hands and yelled at me to stop. I skidded to a stop about half way to the corner of the house thinking they were fixing to tell me that Velma went the other direction. No, that wasn't what they wanted me to stop for. Man just pointed up to the eve of the house and told me to get out from there. Then, it all made sense.

About three seconds passed and I just figured out what they were doing. Throwing dirt clods at a wast (wasp) nest at the eve of the house. I guess they just hit it because when I looked up, there were maybe fifteen wasts flying around and one headed straight for me. These were big red-orangeish wasts. I hated them. I enjoyed killing them when I could fine their nest. I didn't know they had such a good nest on the eve of the house. Sure enough, one came straight for me. Then another!

I let go of my nose and swatted them with my hands trying to run at the same time. The nearest cover was the corner of the house. I guess I ran right into one wast. I know I hit several of them with my hands. Then, still swinging at them, one got me right between my eyes. I slapped at it still running but felt the pain good. That one got past my swinging hands and stung me good. It was only another second, but I realized it was still between my eyes. I crossed my eyes to see it and it looked like a vulture sitting there. I smacked it hard between my eyes with my hand and saw it fall to the ground past my bloody shirt. Then, another one stung me on my back, about the middle of my left shoulder blade.

Immediately, I felt the swelling start from both of them. I ran quickly around the corner of the house to escape them. As I turned the corner, I glanced back to see if there were any more following me. I saw a couple more but they looked like they were slowing down and I hoped they'd give up the pursuit. Then, I ran into Jake!

Jake was a big Dominecker (Dominique) rooster. Those roosters get sort of big like a White Leghorn. Jake was one of the bigger ones. He lived under the house at that corner. Anytime, anyone ran around that corner, it seemed to excite Jake and he ran out from under the house and usually met you about chest high with his spurs. We all knew about Jake and usually if we ran around the corner of the house, we made a big arc around it. We had fun outrunning Jake as he ran after us a few yards. Then, he flapped his wings a few times and walked majestically back to the corner of the house and went back under it.

It was strange, if you were walking, he never came out. It was only if you ran. We wore him out sometimes just running around the corner in a big arc just to have him run after us. Sometimes, we got a board to shield us and ran close to the corner. Every time, Jake met us in the air, feet first. With the board, we usually flattened Jake and he hit the ground and ran back under the house.

Well, I didn't need Jake right now. I was already plenty mad, bleeding from the nose and lips, stung between my eyes and on my shoulder and now, had to fight with Jake.

As usual, Jake met me about chest high just as I turned around from glancing at the wast. In my fight with the wasts, I forgot about Jake. I had to get away from the wasts and that was the nearest place to get out of their sight. Of course, Jake could care less about the wasts. I invaded his corner of the house and he was defending it. His spurs caught me in the chest and I felt them dig in a little. He was flapping his wings and hitting me about the head. As he fell down from my chest, I felt his claws tearing at my chest and bloody shirt. I was fighting Jake with my fist like Jake was a person. I hit his wings which didn't seem to bother him, but since I still had forward momentum, I sort of caught him in my mid section until I got stopped. Jake was still flapping his wings and clawing me in the chest. I finally got stopped and Jake started falling to the ground, but not before I caught him good with my fist on his side. That slapped Jake sideways off me. He hit the ground and started flapping his wings like he whipped me and slowly turned to go back to his corner.

I was so mad now, I didn't care what happened to me. Once and for all, I was going to kill that rooster. He got me several times before when I forgot his corner and this was the last straw. I ran on around the corner of the house looking for something I could hit him with. I found a piece of 1 X 4 inch board maybe three feet long. It was splintered on one end and had a sort-of sharp edge on one side about five inches long. I picked up the board and ran back towards Jake. This time, coming from behind his corner, Jake could see me running toward him. He came out from under the house to meet me in the air. That's just what I wanted. I stopped just before I got to him as he jumped into the air to get me. He was about waist high again. With my running start, I turned side ways, then stopped, and swung the board like a baseball bat.

With the sharp edge of the board towards Jake, I swung very hard with a grunt. In mid air, I cut off Jake's head like I had a machete or sword. It happened so fast, I couldn't believe it myself. I can still see Jake's head flying sideways and his neck pointing up with no head on it. Then, like in slow motion, Jake fell to the ground. He started flopping and jumping all around. Blood was shooting out his neck and it was getting on the ground and the side of the house. I backed up, looking at Jake. I couldn't believe I actually knocked his head off. Just for a second, I thought about the whipping I was going to get for that alone. Man and Don ran out from behind the tree and Man said,"You killed Jake! Mama's going to get you now!"

Man started backing up and Don said, "You killed him! You knocked his head off!"

They took off running in the house to tell everyone and I yelled, "I don't care! Jake is never going to bother me again and I don't care about the whipping!"

With my eyes starting to swell shut, I walked around the corner of the house and looked up at the wast. I didn't care anymore. I wanted to kill! I still had the piece of board and I was looking for the wast. Fortunately, they were pretty much back on the nest by then and only a few were flying around close to it. They were way out of range for the board.

Since I ran around the left side of the house and didn't see Velma when I turned the corner, I figured she went to the right and around the house to the back door. I threw the board down and walked back in the house. Man and Don beat me inside and everyone knew already that I killed Jake. Velma is who I wanted to kill next. She was the first to tell me that Mama was going to kill me when she got in. Man and Don saw me getting stung and told them that also. Velma just laughed. I ran for her. I wanted to kill her now. Nothing less.

I knew I was getting a whipping, so one more death around the house wasn't going to change my penalty much, anyway. Velma started running between the rooms, but I didn't fall for that trick again. She tried to swing one door on me, but I caught it in time. I almost caught her once but only got her shirt in the back, it tore out of my hand and I dove for her legs to trip her. It worked. I had her on the floor now, but she was fighting back hard. She slapped me a few times while she was turning over, then before I pushed her feet to one side, she got one free and kicked me in the face again. Blood gushed from my nose as she shoved me off her and almost across the room. That gave her enough time to get up and run into a storage room where we kept a lot of canned food in jars on shelves. She ran in the room and locked the single sliding latch.

I ran into the door not thinking she might have locked it. I hit it pretty hard and bounced back off it to the floor. I got back up and yelled that I had her now. There was no way out of the room short of breaking the window out. I started backing up and running into the door. I knew it was only a matter of time before I broke the latch. She was still big enough to hold the door shut against me, but I determined to cross that road when I got there. Repeatedly, I backed up and threw myself against the door. My eyes were swelling more and I knew I had to hurry, before they swelled shut. I used my right shoulder on the door, since my left hurt from the sting.

Finally, I hit the door and the latch broke. The door came open about one foot before Velma got to it and slammed it shut again. Too late, I got both my hands and one foot inside the door frame. There was a good shoving match, as she kicked my foot trying to get it out of the doorway plus hit my hands to get them off the frame. She finally got a good hit on my foot and the door slammed shut on my hands. I didn't care about the pain now. I pushed it hard again with my shoulder but she was against it.

I started kicking the door and after a couple kicks, I broke one of the boards at the bottom. I knew I had her now. I started kicking the boards loose on the door and she quit hitting me on the hands. I guess she reached back to get something to cover the hole I was making in the door. All of a sudden, the door swung open about two feet and I jumped inside.

There were some quilts on the floor under the window and although Velma tried to run past me to get out, I slammed the door shut and at the same time, pushed her backwards. She fell backwards on the quilts. Immediately, I jumped on her and was swinging my fist wildly. I was hitting her on the legs and every where else. She was kicking me and the blood was getting on her feet and legs. I was blocking her kicks as best I could and when I turned sideways a little, one foot slipped past my waist. Quickly, I grabbed her other foot and pushed it sideways and fell forward toward her. Now, I was past her deadly feet.

With only her arms and hands to fight with now, I started getting the advantage. She was still hitting me with her hands and arms and trying to get her feet back up around my chest. I kept forward on her and she was getting scared from the look on her face. I was hitting her arms hard and she jerked them back in pain. Each time, I got a little closer to her face. I wanted to bash her face in a couple times, and maybe, then, I might stop.

Slowly but surely, I worked my way down her arms, hitting them hard. She jerked back in pain and in between hitting me, she tried to rub the knots I was putting on her arms.

Finally, I saw fleeting opportunities to hit her in the face. Her arms were getting tired of me hitting and I wasn't allowing her to get her feet back up. She was getting tired of slapping and hitting me. I suffered a good slap to have a good swing at her face, only barely missing it a few times. Then, as her arms were tiring, the opportunities started getting better. She was just barely keeping me off her face.

Finally, I got one leg up on one of her arms and held it down. With my other arm, I grabbed her other arm and held it down. With a clear shot to her face, I raised my right fist up real high for the long awaited revenge. Nothing could stop me now! I saw fear in her eyes. She knew she was fixing to get a good hit, unobstructed, in the face. Just for a split second, I relished the thought.

I was going to pay her back for the broken nose, for the wast stings, for Jake spurring me, for all the pain she inflicted on me, for the whipping I was sure to get, and, especially, for making me lose my bologna sandwich. Now, I had her. Now, I had a clear shot at her face. Now, I had my fist high in the air and with all my force, I started down with my fist. I saw the fear in her eyes and I was going to make good that fear. I started down hard with my fist. Wha.....?

What was happening? This can't be! I felt myself being jerked off her like a rag doll. This iron-like grip caught my wrist at the top of my swing. I flew through the air and my back slammed against the wall. One of the canned fruit jars fell off the shelf and busted. I looked up with horror on my face. Daddy had returned!

I forgot all about them. All about the time that passed. All about the bologna sandwich. He grabbed me by the arm and slung me off Velma right when I was fixing to get my well paid for revenge.

As he dragged me through the house, someone told him I killed Jake and got stung by some wast and Velma broke my nose, looked like. My head was spinning. I couldn't believe such perfect timing. Why couldn't he have been only one second later? As he went through the house, he grabbed a leather belt on the back of a chair. He took me on the porch and whipped me real good.

Unlike Mama, Daddy usually never said a word during the whipping. I heard him grunt a little as he swung the belt. I heard him breathing harder. I felt the belt raising welts on me wherever he hit. He hit my back and after the first few hits, it didn't seem like the pain was as bad. I felt the belt on the swollen area of my shoulder and it didn't seem to hurt as much as on the other parts of my back. That seemed odd to me. I wondered why it didn't hurt more than the other areas.

I could tell Daddy was pretty mad by how long and hard he whipped me. By the time he quit, the hits didn't seem to hurt to much at all. I guess my nerves were deadened in my butt, legs, and back. Finally, he let me go. I was crying and the tears felt funny running down my swollen face.

Then Daddy said, "I better never catch you fighting like that again cause it'll be worse next time."

Worse!? I couldn't imagine how that could be true but didn't want to find out.

I walked to the water pump and pumped some water in the wash pan. I put my face in the cool water several times. The water felt good on my face. After several minutes, the feeling was coming back into my nose and it hurt to touch it. I straightened it as best I could tell from my reflection in the water. It was very painful. The feeling was coming back in my backside full force now. The overall pain made me so weak I had to kneel down for a while.

I knelt there for several minutes just waiting for the pain to subside. I glanced back to the house. It was quiet. A few minutes later I heard Gunsmoke coming on. I looked through a window and saw everyone sitting down nibbling on their sandwiches. No one was standing up trying to outdraw Matt Dillon.

I got up and continued to wash the blood off me and took my shirt off and tried to wash some of the blood out of it. I was still playing the scene over in my mind how I was just fixing to hit Velma and then, the incredible timing for Daddy to arrive. That was impossible!

I washed most of the blood out of the shirt. The wet shirt felt good on my back. I had a big knot on my shoulder blade and my eyes were just about shut. I tried to sit on the pump table, but the feeling had come back into my skin and it hurt too much to sit down.

It was already starting to get dark a little and I sat down very slowly, because I got tired of standing up. After a few minutes, I had to stand up again. My backside hurt too much. I pumped fresh water in the pan and leaned over with my whole face in the water for as long as I could hold my breath, several times. It felt good on my nose and the swelling that almost blocked my vision. I sat down by a tree for a while, ignoring the pain. After some time, I noticed it was getting later now. Gunsmoke was over.

I forgot about Jake until Mama stepped out on the porch and yelled at me, "start plucking the feathers off Jake, since you killed him."

I jumped up and quickly started for Jake. I got him and went to the side of the house where the light was shining on the ground through the window. I got a number two wash tub to put the feathers in and started plucking them as fast as I could. I heard the tinkle of the plates as everyone ate. Seemed like everyone was quieter than normal for a grocery night. I kept plucking away. I knew I didn't have much time before my eyes swelled closed and I wanted to get Jake plucked before that happened if I could.

I didn't make it. I got him mostly finished but still had, at least, a quarter to go when I couldn't see anymore. I tried to hold one eye open with my fingers, but it hurt too much with my nose swollen. I tried to pluck the feathers by feel but knew I missed a lot. I quit plucking Jake and just put him in the foot tub. I felt my way around the house to the back door and opened it and pushed it in the house. It was dark already but it didn't matter to me.

When I pushed the tub into the house, Mama was in the kitchen and saw it. She said, "You're not through plucking the feathers off Jake."

"I can't see anymore to do the rest."

"Come here."

I stumbled up the steps and pushed the tub out of the way. I was almost in the house when I felt her grab my wrist. She pulled me in the house and I stood still. She started pushing around on my swollen eyes.

"Your nose is a little crooked."

"I tried to straighten it at the pump."

She grabbed it and pushed it a little to the left and I sank to my knees in pain and weakness with a loud groan. She let go and I could barely stand up.

"Take off that bloody shirt."

She left to get me another one. When she got back, she must have brought a rag. I heard her getting some ice and putting it in the rag. I felt her put it on my eyes.

"Lay down on the floor and hold the ice on your eyes."

It felt good. I had to ease down on my backside but didn't say anything even though there was still plenty of pain from the whipping. After a few minutes, my backside stopped throbbing and as the ice numbed my face some, the pain, overall, was bearable.

I heard the TV and knew Gunsmoke had gone off. I heard Mama finish cleaning Jake. I figured I missed getting something to eat under the circumstances and accepted that. I was hungry but wasn't going to say anything about it. I didn't want to be in the house anyway. I wanted to stay outside until everyone went to bed then come in and go to bed. That was going to be a problem now with my eyes shut. I expected to spend the night on the porch and maybe by morning the swelling would be down some. Well, just like my plan, nothing seemed to work out right. But, so far, everyone left me alone and I was glad to be inside.

I heard people walking around but no one said anything to me. I was glad and didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.

I heard the girls doing the dishes. Seemed funny that they weren't griping or complaining about doing them as usual.

Then, "You hungry?"

I couldn't believe it! Here was Velma, of all people, asking me if I was hungry? I wouldn't take anything from her if I was dying. With my eyes shut, I couldn't tell if she was serious or just rubbing my whipping and everything else in. I wasn't going to answer at all until she asked me again.

"No!" is all I said.

Of course, I was hungry! In fact, starving, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that. She stood there a few seconds then left the room. I laid there a long time and, eventually, heard people going to bed. The ice was mostly melted now but still felt good on my face. It almost quit hurting now, or the ice numbed everything up. I could go to sleep if I wasn't so hungry.

In the front room, it sounded like only Daddy and Mama were still up and the TV was off. I heard Mama tell Daddy she thought my nose was broken. Daddy asked her if she thought I needed to go to the doctor. She said no, it looked pretty straight now and hurt too much for me to move it. She said it looked like my eyes were swollen shut but probably would be alright in the morning. Daddy didn't say anything.

I heard the light strings being pulled in the bedrooms. They were turning off the lights and going to bed. I heard Mama come into the hallway where I was and pull the light string to turn the light off. I could tell through my eyelids the light went off. Mama went back into the kitchen and I heard the bed squeak when Daddy got in it. Mama came back to me to get the ice pack and told me to wipe my hands off with the wet rag she gave me. She took the ice pack and went to the kitchen and I heard her getting more ice for it. She came back to me and put it back on my face and asked me, "does it still hurt?"

"No ma'am, not much anymore unless I bump my nose."

She went back in the kitchen. I heard her doing something, but didn't recognize the sounds. She was the only one not in bed now since I knew I was on my bed for the night. While she was in the kitchen I heard the refrigerator open and shut. I still didn't recognize the sounds but when I decided to quit trying to make the sounds out, she was through with whatever she was doing. I did recognize the water dipper going into the bucket and sounded like she poured some water in a glass. Only then did remember I was thirsty, too.

I figured I could make my way to the water bucket when she went to bed. I visualized the room in my mind all the way to the bucket and didn't expect that to be a problem. Then, I heard her coming toward me.

"Sit up and lean back against the wall."

I did so while holding the ice rag in place. When I sat up, I felt the pain rush back to the skin on my back. As I leaned on the wall, it hurt again and I let out a little groan.

Mama said, sort of quiet like, "eat this and go to sleep."

I felt a plate being put on my lap. She grabbed my free hand and put it on the top of the glass by my leg. She got up, went to the kitchen and pulled the string to turn off the light. A few seconds later, I heard the bed squeak when she got in it.

Even before I took a bite, I smelled the bologna. Mama fixed me a sandwich anyway! I couldn't believe it! It had two pieces of light bread, with mayonnaise too! I was so hungry I took a big bite out of it first, then started slowly nibbling it away. It was a very good sandwich and I was very hungry. I sat in the darkness and nibbled away at the sandwich and drank my water. Eating caused me some pain, but the sandwich was worth it.

I thought maybe Velma was feeling bad for what happened to me when she asked me if I was hungry. After all, she hardly had a scratch. As I replayed her tone of voice in my mind, I finally decided maybe she felt sorry for me. Maybe I should have told her I was hungry. Either way, I was sure glad Mama fixed me a sandwich whether I deserved one or not. I finished my sandwich and water then laid down to a good sleep.

By morning, I could see again, but still had some swelling. My shirt was stuck to my back and had little streaks of blood on it from the welts. The sting on my shoulder had gone down and was only a little sore.

A couple of days later, we ate Jake. I didn't eat any of him. I kept a pretty low profile for the next week or two and didn't argue with anyone, about anything.

The swelling on my nose and eyes finally went down and my nose stayed sensitive to touch for a few weeks. Both my eyes turned black as well as the rest of my face. After almost two weeks, and after every color change from black to pink, my face and eyes got back to almost normal.

Velma seemed almost friendly a few times, but I didn't argue with her about anything, anyway.

The next grocery day, when Mama and Daddy left they both looked at me but didn't say anything. I went to the woods to look for squirrels and stayed completely away from the house until they returned.

Then, as usual, I lined up like everyone else and got my bologna slice with light bread. It was over a month before we were trying to outdraw Matt Dillon again. Velma, nor I, never apologized to each other. We had many other arguments but never any more fights like that one. I think she knew I still had revenge coming some day. She also knew if there ever was another fight it wasn't likely she could be that lucky again. There never was another fight like that. I guess we were both glad I didn't kill her.

Often, through the years, I've thought back to this day. When people tell me they're having a bad day, I usually laugh and think about this day. On occasion, I tell them they don't know what a bad day is, then, tell the results of this day to prove my point. Rarely, have I told the whole event.

Mama set my nose pretty good, but not completely straight. I never went to the doctor. It's still a little crooked to this day. Throughout my life, when I think I'm having a bad day, I think of this memory and realize, no, I'm not, compared to this one!

SECTION IV: The Holmes Bronson House

Chapter 31. The Holmes Bronson Houseplace

We moved from the Cokomo house to the Holmes Bronson house. The community was called Snake Ridge, Louisiana but there were no signs. Holmes was a brother to Alvin Bronson where we lived after the Story house. Holmes was a game warden and farmed some. This is the fourth house I lived in. It was during 1958 and 1959. Vickie, Mama's last child, was born in January 1958. She was still a little baby when we moved here. I was ten and eleven years old here and completed my second year in the fifth grade due to sickness. (See Cokomo House) I also started the sixth grade here.

By the time we moved here, Boy (Velton) had quit school, drop out number six. Now, everyone above Velma had quit school. I was too little to remember Virgil and Virginia (Louise) going to school. I remember when Buster (Vernon), Snookem (Vester Lee), Boy (Velton), and Vennie quit. Even at my young age, I felt sorry for Mama not having anyone finish school yet. I didn't understand why. The older kids said it was too hard in the upper grades. But, other kids finished! Why not one of us? I thought my older brothers and sisters were pretty smart and didn't understand why they all quit. So far, almost every year I went back to school, someone quit. I knew Mama was hurt about them quitting and it took a while before she got over it. But, there was still hope. Maybe Velma would finish.

This house was off the gravel road almost a third of a mile. It was, basically, in the middle of a cotton field behind Holmes' house, which was right on the gravel road. At one time, Holmes had some cows close to his house and put up a metal gate we went through to walk home. We caught the school bus at the gate next to Holmes' house. Later, Holmes got rid of the cows and we left the gate open all the time. Holmes had a chain link fence about four feet high around his house that had a gate about half way along the side going up our dirt road.

We had to stand in the open to catch the bus. Many times it was raining or cold when we got on and off the bus. We just stood there waiting to get on the bus. Often, we were soaked by rain getting to the bus stop, waiting on the bus, or getting home. The cold wasn't so bad, but if it was raining too, it made a miserable start or finish of the school day. Of course, we couldn't afford umbrellas and used our books or coat to protect our heads. Sometimes, we got a cardboard box and cut off a piece for everyone. We stuck the cardboard in the fence just before we got on the bus and got it again when we got off to go home. Eventually, the cardboard disintegrated and we used our coats and books again until we got another box.

We could see the bus coming up the road from Mrs. McCullum's house. There was a cotton field all around our house and, after Holmes got rid of the cows, we could see the bus as it cleared the edge of the field about a half mile from our bus stop. We posted a lookout to watch for the bus. When the look out saw the bus, everyone was ready to go, and took off running to the bus stop. We waited in the house when it was raining or real cold. But, you had to be at least half way to the bus stop for the bus to wait on you. If you just started from the house when the bus stopped, you got left. I saw the bus go off and leave us when we were only half way to the stop several times. Usually, we always left in time to get to the stop a few minutes before the bus got there. If the bus was late, that was good for the driver and, sometimes, not so good for us. Especially if it was real cold or raining. Also, if the bus was late getting to our stop, he didn't wait long for us to get to the stop. If you weren't waiting for the bus, you got left.

Several times, when the bus was late and one of us kids were also, the bus left us still running to the stop, but only forty or fifty yards away.

We hated that because now we had to go back home and Mama usually whipped us for missing the bus. There was no way we could get to school so we had a missed day. We had to work all day around the house for missing school. Very rarely, Daddy wasn't already gone to work somewhere and he took us to school if he was going that direction. Otherwise, we got a whipping and worked around the house. Sometimes if it was raining hard, when the lookout saw the bus at the edge of the field, we took off running and the bus waited on us, usually. Of course, we were soaked and, I guess, the driver felt sorry for us and waited. The bus couldn't come up the dirt road to our house without getting stuck. Even if it wasn't wet, the bus never came up the dirt road.

I remember many holes in the walls at this house. There were some boards that were bowed out, or in, and left cracks in the walls. We stuffed old clothes real tight between the boards and the cracks in the walls. Seemed like it never stopped the cold wind coming in the house. We froze in front of the fireplace. Turning around and around, burning on one side and freezing on the other. Us kids never figured out why. Many years later, I finally did. The fireplace actually pulled the heated air out of the house as the air fed the fire. There was always a draft toward the fire as the air rushed to the fireplace. You got cold on the side away from the fire because that was the direction the cold air was coming from. The reflected heat from the fireplace burnt up the side of you facing the fire. The more kids in front of the fire, the faster the air rushed to get to it.

It always made us little kids mad when the big kids pulled our pants leg as we faced the fire, and just about to burn up. Before we turned around, they grabbed our pants leg and pulled them so the cloth was against our legs. It burnt our legs and we hopped around and usually started a fight. Many times, I had to go sit on the couch away from the fire because I started a fight with an older brother for pulling my pants legs either forward, or backwards against my calves. When I got really cold again, Daddy or Mama let me get back to the fireplace.

The girls had it made around a fireplace. They usually wore dresses and caught the heat under their dresses. They could step away and bend down holding their dresses around their legs and stay warm for several minutes. All us boys did was turn around and around.

The house was surrounded by a cotton field. It was sort of pretty to see such a green carpet around the house when the cotton was about six inches high. Then, when it got time to pick the cotton, everything turned white.

The dirt road leading up to the house had big ruts in it. Daddy actually got stuck in them a few times with his truck. One of the big boys borrowed a tractor from Holmes to pull the truck out. When it rained bad, Daddy left the truck parked at the start of our dirt road and walked home. I don't know why they never fixed the big ruts in the road. When it was real hot, the ruts dried out and were big holes.

A few times during the summer after a good rain, Mama told us to go smooth the ruts out. We loved that. It was legal to get dirty—real dirty. We attacked the big ruts like playing football. We slipped and slid, and threw mud, and slung water on each other, and by the time we were through, it looked like a big pig sty. We were filthy and had to pump water in the big number six tub and clean up. We jumped in the tub clothes and all. Mama brought us dry clothes when we got clean. Of course, that usually meant several tubs full of water. When the ground dried up, the ruts were fairly level and got real dusty when driven over. Then, when we had another good rain, if someone drove over the spot, they just sank down and made big ruts again.

There was a creek about a third mile up the road from us that we played in a lot. It had water in it for most of the year. Even in the summer time, it had water holes all along it and dry spots in between them. We liked to go catch the fish and kill the snakes and gar out of the holes. Many times a few of us took sticks and beat the water if the hole wasn't too big. That stunned the fish and they floated to the surface and we just picked them up. We killed the gar and snakes and kept the fish if they were big enough to eat. Occasionally, we found a snake. Too bad for it. We had a good time beating it, and throwing rocks at it. I don't think a single one ever got away from us. Things really got exciting when there were two snakes. We really had fun.

No one lived close around us that had little kids we could play with. We liked to go to school just for that purpose if nothing else. Dennis Green Orr—D. G. Orr—who we just called DR, had a few kids we played with some. They lived about three quarter mile up the road but we didn't go there very often.

When I was eleven years old, in 1957, Boy (Velton) bought some fireworks from somewhere. It was just after Christmas and before New Year's Day. We went out in the dark of the night to shoot the fireworks. Besides sparklers and plain firecrackers, Boy managed to get some M-60 Cherry Bombs. They were powerful. When they popped it sounded like a canon. It was loud. I don't know how many he had, but we already fired a couple.

We popped many firecrackers and couldn't wait to get to the cherry bombs. They were a little larger than a standard grape, and had a relatively slow burning fuse. We liked to light the firecrackers and throw them so they exploded in mid air. The cherry bombs were so powerful we were somewhat afraid to hang on to hold them until the fuse got small enough that we could throw them high enough to explode in the air. We already held onto a few firecrackers just a second too long with them exploding, either in our fingers, or just out of our hand so that it stunned our fingers. Several times we had the feeling knocked out of our fingers because of that. We were a little afraid of the cherry bombs, especially at night.

One time Boy lit a cherry bomb fuse and let it burn down to approximately a quarter inch from the cherry bomb and threw it real high to the top of a tree. It was just at dark, but we could still see a few feet in front of us. We saw the lit fuse on the cherry bomb bouncing like a ping-pong ball on the limbs as it fell through the branches. Almost, on each limb we saw a tiny bit of fire fly off the fuse. That indicated it was still lit. We thought it should have gone off somewhere in the tree, but it didn't.

Eventually, it hit the ground but it still didn't explode. Boy and I waited a few seconds for it to explode, but it didn't. We looked at each other briefly, then took off running to the cherry bomb.

As we ran to the cherry bomb, Boy pushed me back a little and got just a step ahead of me. However, just as he got to the cherry bomb he stumbled on a root which gave me a chance to get even with him. It was obvious I was going to beat him to the cherry bomb so he tripped me just a few feet from it. As I fell, I reached out my hand to cover the cherry bomb lying just at the base of the tree and he fell with his hand on top of mine. About that time, the cherry bomb exploded.

I thought it blew my hand off. I had no feeling from just above my wrist down. Both of our hands flew up about a foot. It was strange to me, that it didn't hurt at that instant. We both sat on our knees just looking at each other. It took about thirty seconds before the feeling started back into my hand. By the time it got to my fingertips, I was in serious pain.

Boy thought it was funny, but I hopped around crying and holding my hand. I was afraid to tell Mama because I knew she would whip me. I was in a dilemma. I didn't know if this pain was going to be permanent, or disappear, eventually. We went to the light from a window to determine if it blew a hole in my hand. It hurt so bad I thought it might have broken some bones. Thankfully, it didn't. It jarred my muscles so much that it took about a week before I was able to do things normally with my hand. Needless to say, I never fooled with cherry bombs again.

Between the Holmes Bronson house and the McCullum house, about a three quarter mile down the road, is where I was born in 1948. I thought it was interesting that we lived close to where I was born ten years ago. Mama and Daddy lived in a house owned by a Dr. Sheppard. The Dr. Sheppard house was gone when we moved to the Holmes Bronson house. There was only an open pasture and field now.

I heard many stories about that house from Virgil, Louise (Virginia), Vennie Lee, and Velton (Boy). Louise and Vennie told me they changed my diapers many times there. Boy said him, Buster (Vernon) and Snookem (Vester Lee) waded flooded creek water up to his chest a short distance from the flooded Beouf River, going to Mike Bell's store. (About two miles away) The store was on a big hill. Several times that year they went to the store to help a Scotty Greenheagen set up a "tent" movie house. He kept the tent in the back of a 1948 panel truck. They walked from the Dr. Sheppard house and worked most of the day helping Scotty. They set up the tent and chairs, and helped with the projector and screen for no pay.

However, they watched the black and white movie free while everyone else paid a quarter. Daddy went many times and they talked Scotty into letting him watch for free also. However, the popcorn cost a nickel and Daddy either, didn't have it, or wouldn't give them a nickel. That made them mad.

The movie played Friday and Saturday at Mike Bell's. Then, moved to Goldmine (a mile from the Sheppard house) for Monday and Tuesday. They moved again on Wednesday and Thursday to Pialette's and Gilley's store near Beouf River. (About three miles away) After that, Scotty packed up and moved everything to the Ft. Necessity community. That was too far away for my brothers to help him.

Chapter 32. The Hurricane

Another hot day in the summer of 1958, I was ten. The newness of our 'new' house had worn off and we were looking for something to do. The Holmes Bronson house was located on a little hill with lots of dirt around. We had a lot of fun with our push sticks with the eight pound lard bucket lid nailed on the end. We also liked to fill old tires up with dirt and run them down the hill. We disappeared usually from those standing on the hill. Watching others do the same, we saw the tire come out of the dust cloud before the person. The tire out ran us down the hill and it was interesting to see the tire run out of the dust cloud way ahead of the person. We had lots of races with the tires down the hill.

We had a mark on the ground at the top and bottom of the hill. We got back some distance and pushed the tires up to the mark on the hill then let them go. Most times, we could tell which tire won the downhill race. After a few fights about who won, we got smart and put a person at the bottom of the hill to be the final judge.

We put all kinds of things in the tires to see what effect it had on the tires. We put wood, bricks, grass, and big clods of dirt in the tires as an experiment to see what happened. The bricks around the inside of the tires were the best if they didn't fall out. But, that's what usually happened. The grass was the worst. It just stayed in place as the centrifugal force grabbed it and held it in place. Every now and then, a big clod of dirt dropped out and made a big dust cloud that was interesting to watch.

Then, there was jumping the tires. Several of us got at the bottom of the hill and with the tire flying at us, we tried to jump it. With the tire coming at you very fast, you had to time your jump to clear it. A little too late, and you might get run over. A little too early, and you might get caught on top of it just before it rolled you backwards, then over you. It was real exciting to clear the tire. Many times we lined up one behind the other and jumped it. Most times, someone messed up and either hit the tire or didn't time their jump right and got ran over. The girls had the most trouble with their dresses. We all jumped and yelled and gave each other "high fives" when we all cleared it on the same roll. We switched off with the person on the hill so everyone had a chance to clear the tire. Occasionally, someone barely hit the tire and deflected it. Since the next person was only a few feet behind and moving toward the tire to jump it, the deflection caused the tire to run into, or over, the next person. That was always a lot of fun trying to either jump or dodge the deflected tire.

Another thing we did with the tire was throw things through the center as it rolled down the hill. One person got it rolling and the rest of us strung out down the hill maybe ten feet from it's line of run. We all had something to throw through it. We used up a lot of rubber on the tire repeating this game until we all threw something through it. Then, we really cheered. Several times, a couple of us got our throw through it, but if someone missed, it usually deflected the tire making it wobble and harder for the next person to make a good throw. Obviously, we were happy when we all made good throws. Then, we switched off with whoever rolled the tire and started over.

We played this game of elimination also. Whoever missed, was out, and we played down to one winner. The good thing was, only one person had to miss. The only way a person could be eliminated was for everyone else to make their throw except you. The first person out became the tire roller until we only had one person left as champion. I was champion about as many times as I was the first person out. It was still fun and we spent a lot of time playing this game. When we got pretty good at one distance, we changed to a further distance and started over. Eventually, we used medium size rocks since they could go through a lot easier and didn't deflect the tire as much if you hit it.

Another thing we liked doing, us boys anyway, was to tackle the tire from the side as it rolled down the hill. For some reason, we never got the girls that interested in this game. They were content to just roll the tires down the hill for us. We grabbed the tire and held on to it. It usually flipped us a couple times in the air before it fell. Sometimes, we couldn't hold on to it and after throwing us off, the tire wobbled down hill until it fell. We tried to get in front of the tire and catch it head on coming at us. After a few times of getting hit too hard, we changed tactics.

We especially liked to hit the tire from the side running beside it a few steps. We ran beside it several steps then jumped on it and held on. We ducked our heads in the center of the tire and let the tire run over our shoulders. The forward momentum of the rolling tire usually flipped us several times before, either we let go, or we thrashed around so much we deflected the tire to the ground.

Once when either me or Boy caught the tire and it flipped us a few times, we let go and stood up running beside the tire like before we caught it. That was a new challenge for us all. But the girls didn't want to try it. Man (Verlon) tried it a few times before he finally gave up. Usually, we did this a few times or until one of us didn't put our head in the center of the tire and bopped our heads on the ground. After staggering around a little like someone drunk, we finally got our bearings and realized that everyone was laughing at us. It was all fun to us.

Another favorite thing was making dams. We pumped buckets of water first. Then made our "cities" of people about half way down the hill. Our cities had streets and houses and even cars, usually, made out of rocks and wood chips. We broke little sticks and stuck them into the soft dirt for people. We made pretty good cities and added a big dam up close to the top of the hill. Of course, we knew this wouldn't stop the water, but made for some terrific screams and shouts of horror as the dam broke.

Eventually, this "evil demon" went up the hill by the buckets of water while everyone else got ready and strung out along the path toward our cities. The "demon" poured the buckets of water out yelling for everyone to die while everyone else was involved in saving the cities. It was like a dam broke upstream from a city and we had to save all the people. There was no picking the people up or moving them. They either drowned or we saved them. We started scooping up dirt and trying to make a dam to stop the water. We worked up a good sweat yelling at each other while we were trying to stop the flow.

Usually, we made so much racket, the dogs came over and added their barking to us saving the cities. They jumped around trying to bite whatever was attacking our hands. The excitement for them was high also. Sometimes they stepped on our dams or ran through our cities stepping on, and kicking, people and cars everywhere. Of course, we had to scream about that too. At first, all our efforts did no good to stop the flow.

As the water coursed down hill, the excitement built, and the yelling became louder, and the dust flew as we made dam after dam. When our dams started holding some of the water, it usually filled up and either overflowed or changed directions. Since the dirt was mostly powdery, it didn't absorb the water as fast as you might think and the water ran down in a torrent toward our city with us scrambling to save it.

Many times we saved the city only to realize we needed more water. Another bucket or two, and we usually lost the city, or parts of it, before we got the water stopped. We had a lot of fun doing that. Sometimes we took it out on the city folks for not trying to help us and we destroyed the city ourselves. Usually the cities were named Sodom and/or Gomorrah anyway and we acted like God destroying it for it's evil ways. The city was doomed from the start.

After we destroyed the city, we had plenty of damp dirt which we used to make "frog houses." Everyone knows how to make frog houses. All you have to do is put your foot down, mound the wet/damp dirt around it, pack it down good, then pull your foot out. It leaves a little mound of dirt with a big entrance. Sort of like a cave. Frogs actually do like them. We left them up overnight and found frogs in them before, many times. Of course, you could use you hand also, but they weren't as good as using your feet.

We got all fancy with some of our frog houses. I doubt the frogs ever really cared, but we put grass or flowers on them. We put up fences for the "frog cattle." Never saw a frog with a car, but we had driveways and mailboxes. We used sticks to carve little windows in the sides or, sometimes, just scraped the dirt and made a window design. We always thought you were lucky if you left your house up overnight and a toad frog liked it enough to use it for a house. We got up early and checked the frog houses. If there was a frog, it was our guest and we didn't mind it peeing on us when we petted it. After a lot of petting, we put it back in the house to see how long it stayed. Sometimes, it may be several days before it was gone.

When it rained, we were real busy until the lightning started. We could tell if a rain was coming and we worked furiously building our cities for the big flood. Of course, we had Noah's Ark built in the middle of the city just in case this was going to be a long rain. Nothing elaborate, usually a piece of wood with a flag on it and dubbed as the Ark. Sometimes, if we had a piece of plastic, we got a little fancier. Then, when the rain came, we watched out the windows to see if the city folks were going to save themselves. Never happened.

We watched as the little rivulets of water became larger rivers and usually screamed when the cities were flooded. Mama usually told us to shut up, then we screamed real low while watching the city. If the rain was light, and didn't have any lightning, Mama let us go outside and we worked like crazy trying to save the cities. If the rain was bad, we just screamed quietly as the flood overtook the cities and cheered when the Ark started floating. It usually didn't go very far before it ran a-ground but it was still a success. If the water was flowing pretty good, when the rain quit, we got little sticks that were our little race boats. We put them in the running streams and followed them as far as we could.

In 1959, Hurricane Autry hit Louisiana. We were at the Holmes Bronson house. There was two round switch cane patches in front of our house on the hill. They were probably ten to fifteen feet around and separated just enough for a vehicle to fit in between them. Daddy always parked the truck in between them. They grew ten to fifteen feet high. When Autry hit, it was the second hurricane I can clearly remember, with Audrey being the first a couple years ago.

We had a lot of hard winds. I guess they were sixty to seventy miles per hour. It blew the switch cane over so far, I could touch the tops of the cane standing on the ground. Mama was doing all she could to keep us kids rounded up. The winds blew some tin off the top of our house and everyone worked to keep the rain from getting everything wet.

The clouds gathered for a day or two and the winds seemed to slowly pick up. Eventually, it started raining, a little at first. All us kids ran outside and started building dams and trying to save the cities. We heard Mama and Daddy talking about this was going to be bad. We built Noah's Ark and a big dam around the cities. When the rain started and it wasn't too bad, we saved the city easily. Finally, the wind got pretty severe and we had a lot of fun just leaning into the wind and not falling down. Mama realized we were still outside and yelled at us to come in the house.

We quickly made a few frog houses just so we could watch the rain tear them up. As the wind got worse and the rain got real hard, we sensed the fear in Mama and Daddy. This was serious. All us kids got quiet and when some tin ripped off the house, we thought we were all goners. After moving the stuff in the room where the tin ripped off, we went back to look out the windows.

The rain was blowing almost straight horizontal to the ground. We all talked about how the wind was blowing the rain sideways. We couldn't see our dams, or cities, or Noah's Ark because the rain was so hard. We thought the windows were going to break and Daddy made us get away from them. We huddled up in the front room in a little circle and Daddy made us all sit down. The ground was pretty wet and with the wind blowing so hard, it blew the truck sideways and pushed the tail of the truck up close to the house. That scared all us little kids and Daddy didn't like that either.

The wind seemed to pick up some as it came between the switch cane. I think it was a good thing the truck was pushed up close to the house and turned sideways. I think it helped deflect some of the wind over the house. With the round patch of cane to the left and the truck in the open on the right, they deflected a lot of wind over the house and saved us from more damage, I'm sure.

After what seemed like six hours, when it was really maybe only three, the wind started slacking up a little and the rain started letting up some. It wasn't blowing horizontal anymore and we knew the worst was over. Since the house was on a little hill and out in the middle of this big cotton patch, everything that wasn't tied down or in the house got blown in the field or just blew completely away. When the storm subsided and we were able to go outside and look around, it looked like a different place.

The wind was still blowing twenty five to thirty miles per hour, but wasn't bad. The rain was just a heavy drizzle. We looked around the house and the loose dirt on the side of the hill that we played in so much, was at the bottom of the hill. The side of the hill was now hard, packed, dirt with nothing loose on top. Everything was blown out in the field that was around the house. We had some asphalt shingles on the front part of the house that were torn off. We had mud in the house where our rags got wet and blew out of the cracks in the boards. A couple trees behind the house were down from the wind.

The cotton field looked flat. The wind blew the cotton stalks over and they were laying about one foot off the ground. This was serious. I still remember how scared I was, mostly because Mama and Daddy were scared. We lost electricity which wasn't a big deal to us. After a few days, the power was back on and we heard on the news how bad the hurricane really was.

We were very lucky compared to other people around us. We saw a lot of Holmes Bronson's stuff around his house out in the field. We scattered out picking up what we could find and took it back where it belonged. It was maybe a week before things started getting back to normal and even longer before we could haul enough dirt back up the hill for us to start our games again.

Chapter 33. The Blister Bug

It was a typical cold day in the winter of 1958. I was still ten. We didn't like to get out of the house, but had to get wood for the fireplace and cook stove. We had some warm days every so often, but this wasn't one of them. The ground wasn't frozen, but with a little breeze, it was pretty cold outside. The ground was still wet from a recent rain. That made it seem even more cold to be walking around. Boy (Velton) and I had to get wood for the fireplace that day. Thankfully, we had already gathered and split up some wood. Now we just had to bring the wood inside.

We went outside barefooted. This was common for us. When at home, we usually didn't wear shoes. One, because we didn't want to wear them out around the house, and saved them to wear to school on the really cold days. Two, I can remember not having any to wear. Or, if I had some, they were too big for me. However, they did offer protection from the cold and I wore a couple pair of socks to keep my feet warm. Which, usually, was a problem with the "brogans" since, if I had any, they were usually too big, and probably had a few holes in them too.

We went to school barefooted many times in the winter on warm days. But, so did some other people. It always started out cold. Maybe close to freezing. The ground was hard like concrete. The ruts in the road didn't crumble and stood up like sharp points. If your foot slipped off one of the mountain ridges, your toes stung from hitting the bottom of the ruts. And, if you stubbed your toe, that hurt! They stung for five minutes or more. We carried our books in our hands and when we got to the metal gate at the bus stop, we stood on our books and squatted down trying to warm our feet.

We weren't the only ones to go to school barefooted. We met many other kids at school barefooted. Usually, the day warmed up enough so that by the time you came home, it was plenty warm enough to not have shoes on. It was just starting out the day that was always cold. When we got to school, the wooden floors felt warm and, many times, I went to the bathroom and washed my feet with warm water to thaw them out some. Of course, usually, I got to playing with other boys running around and soon I warmed up and my feet didn't hurt. By the first recess, if it was going to be a warm day, it was warm enough to play outside without your feet getting cold.

Well, this day, Boy and I went outside to get some wood to bring in. We could stand several minutes outside barefooted without our feet getting too cold. We ran to the wood pile and got an armload to bring in. We usually put several armloads on the porch also. After bringing in what we thought was enough, we started stacking some on the porch. We stacked all the wood we had split and were hoping that was enough. Our feet began to hurt some and seemed like they lost some of their feeling when they got cold enough. Our toes were tingling as we saw our cloud-like breath escaping from our mouths and noses like we were smoking.

About the time we finished stacking the wood on the porch, Mama told us we needed more on the porch because it was going to be real cold overnight and we might need more wood. Plus, there might be a little snow, sleet, or rain by tomorrow night. She told us we better split up plenty wood and put it on the porch otherwise, it'll be covered with ice tomorrow night.

Well, that didn't make us feel any warmer. My toes were already tingling and I'd certainly lost some of the feeling in my feet also. The thought of going to school tomorrow, either barefooted or wearing the brogans with the holes in them, wasn't very comforting. But, Boy and I picked up an ax and started trying to split the blocks of wood. Boy had a big block with a few knots in it and proceeded to get the sledge hammer and wedges. I was maybe five or six feet to his right. I was hacking on another smaller block and made a crack in it already.

Boy started tapping the wedge into the block. Always, the wedges are a little tricky to get started. You usually held them with your hand and tapped them a few times with the sledge hammer to get the point stuck in the wood enough to hold the wedge in place. Then, with the wedge straight, you had to hit it straight down and fairly hard. Not too hard, because if you hit it too hard, it bounced back out and you had to start over. I got my ax stuck in my block when Boy was just fixing to hit the wedge fairly hard after tapping it in. I was holding my block between my feet and trying to work my ax out of the block. Boy hit the wedge crooked and sent it flying toward me.

The wedge gave that familiar ring of a miss hit and started flying. I looked over just in time to see the wedge tumbling in flight and falling as it came my way. Since we were so close, there was no time to do anything. Automatically, I let go of my ax and tried to jump out of the way of the flying wedge. I made a quick little hop backwards away from my block with my hands in the air like the wedge was going to hit my hands. It didn't. It did, however, glance off my block and fly sideways onto my right foot. Even though the block took most of it's momentum, the wedge hit my foot pretty hard.

I danced around holding my foot trying to rub it enough for the feeling to come back in it. Yes, it hurt! My feet were cold, but not so cold they didn't know how to issue pain. Besides, this was on the top part of my foot anyway. The bottom part was pretty numb from the cold. The top part was cold but not that numb. Boy looked at me jumping around and walked over to get his wedge and said something about not hitting it right.

No kidding! I limped around a little still rubbing my foot while ooohing and aaahing and blowing long smoke clouds from my mouth. Finally, I sat down on a block of wood next to a grassy spot by the wood pile and maybe fifteen feet or more from Boy. I told him I wish I'd been wearing my shoes that time. I couldn't get mad at him, since that happened to me a lot also. It was a fairly common thing to send the wedge flying. The custom, however, was to tell someone to watch out if anyone was close to you when you were going to make your first wedge hit. I reminded Boy of that custom and even though I was plenty far enough away this time, he said look out before he hit the wedge again. Good hit this time. I asked him why he didn't do that the first time, not expecting an answer.

I crossed my hurt leg onto the other with my left foot on the ground near the block I was sitting on. I rubbed my foot with my hands and watched Boy split the block of wood. Then, there came this warm feeling from the bottom of my left foot about the center of my arch. It felt like I put my foot down on a warm rock or something. The feeling was in-congruent. The bottom of my foot was still numb from the cold, plus, my toes were still tingling. It didn't make sense. There was no warm rock out here in the cold and, especially, with the wood and ground being damp. I spent a few seconds in amazed thought about what felt so warm before I decided to move my foot and see what it was. I picked up my foot and looked at the ground. Nothing but a piece of bark on top of the grass. That certainly wasn't warm! Then, I noticed my foot was starting to burn, or feel like it was very hot in a localized spot, on my arch. As a couple more seconds passed while I looked at the bark, I realized, finally, this wasn't warmth, this was pain! I guess, with my foot being so numb from the cold, the warmth was actually pain working it's way through my nerves.

I jerked my foot up to look at the bottom. There, holding on and bent in half, was a medium size black bug. Plus, there was the unmistakable smell of a blister bug. The blister bug, is a small to medium size bug with a two part body and big head. There are several colors of them, but most common to me is a black and semi soft body bug. I guess they are part of the stink bug family because if you make them mad, they give off this terrible odor. They have little pincers at their mouths that they grab onto something and bend their back end up close to their mouths and squirt this acid into what ever it's holding. I looked at this bug bent double like a big black ant squirting it's acid into my foot. The smell was very strong and, instinctively, I slapped it off my foot. It immediately went under the piece of bark.

Evidently, it had been under the bark when I put my foot down and, I guess, I mashed it some and now it was attacking me. The pain finally got to some, apparently, live and thawed out nerve endings and sent the pain full force up my leg. I let out a good yell and stomped the piece of bark. Boy came over to see what I was yelling about since I was now hopping around on my right foot, that just got hit with the wedge, and holding my left foot. As the pain coursed up my leg, it seemed like my whole leg was on fire with the hottest spot on the arch of my foot. As Boy got closer, he said, "Wow, I smell a blister bug and it's strong! You better watch out and not step on it!"

"It's too late. It stung me on my foot."

He came over and looked at my foot. "I see where it got you. The smell is very strong over by that block."

"Yeah, I know, look under that piece of bark."

There was the blister bug squashed flat with the smell so strong, you could almost see it.

"Looks like it got you pretty good. Probably have a good blister."

"Probably, my foot was numb on the bottom and I didn't know it bit me until I started looking at what caused such a warm feeling under my arch."

"How's your other foot from the wedge hitting it?"

"Well, it don't hurt as much as my left foot now."

I guess, because it was so cold on the ground, after the initial pain coursed through my leg, it actually felt good to put my foot on the ground. The cold helped numb the pain some. There was nothing much you could do about the bite now. In the past, usually in the summer, when someone stepped on a blister bug, you typically felt the little bit of pain when they grabbed you. Then, by the time they doubled up to squirt the acid in, you felt them and knocked them off or stomped them to death before they had time to do any damage. This coldness, however, was different.

I went in the house to show Mama and, at first, she didn't believe me about being bitten since it was so cold. I showed her my foot and Boy brought the bug in on the piece of bark. All through the house, it was like a fire alarm went off. Everyone said they smelled a blister bug. Their smell is unique like a skunk. Once you smell it, you never forget it. Mama told Boy to throw the bug out and for me to wash my foot. Sure enough, there was the unmistakable mark of a bite. She poured coal oil on the bite mark and wrapped it with a rag soaked with coal oil saying that was all she could do for now.

The cold felt good again on my hot foot. The pain turned into a burning sensation with the burning hottest at the bite and just a warm feeling up my leg a little. At this early stage, there was no blister and only just the hint of pain to walk on it. With the cold ground, even that pain went away after a few minutes. We finished splitting up more wood and putting it on the porch. We had warmed up some before we were through. When we went back in the house, it seemed real warm.

Mama was right. That night, it got down to below freezing and sleeted most of the night. The next morning, the ground was mostly white and pretty frozen from it's appearance through the window. This being Monday, I had school and heard some of the other kids up and a fire in the fireplace. I smelled the biscuits cooking and heard the spoon stirring the gravy of some kind in the kitchen. I threw the cover off and hit the floor with my feet.

Ouch! Wow, I must have stepped on a couple tacks, or nails, or something, with my left foot. I jerked my foot off the floor and tumbled forward landing on the floor. Looking back beside the bed, I didn't see anything that I could have stepped on. Oh great, I thought! Now I got a nail stuck in my foot. I jerked my left foot up to quickly pull the nail out. There was no nail. But, there was a big blister!

About one inch in diameter and about a half inch high. A clear-looking fluid was inside the blister and the skin that was real tight, appearing paper thin. The edges of the blister were reddish. I poked at it with my finger and pain zipped to my brain. Man, did that hurt! Just looking at it hurt! This wasn't good. I didn't know what I was going to do. I sort of hopped and limped into the kitchen to show Mama. I walked on the ball of my foot bearing just a little weight, but even that hurt as it pulled on the skin of the blister. I guess, over night, under the warm cover, it grew like a knot of malignant cancer. Mama wrapped it again before I went to bed and soaked it with coal oil, but through the night, I must have kicked off the wrapping.

I showed it to Mama and she poked at it with her finger and sent a dagger straight from my foot to my brain. I screamed out that it hurt real bad and for the others to quit looking at it because it hurt just to look at it.

"Well, I'll have to bust it." (Lance it.)

Just the thought of sticking a needle in it made it hurt. "I don't know if I can stand that."

"Well, you'll have to do something because you have to go to school."

"What will happen if you don't lance it?"

"I imagine in a few days it'll probably go down by itself."

"A few days?" I didn't like that thought either.

"Well, get ready for school and I'll look at it again later."

I could tell this was going to be a problem. It hurt a lot just to walk on the ball of my foot and if I wasn't careful and let the blister touch the floor, I instantly felt the pain.

In a little while, I was ready for school, and had my books ready, and even put on one brogan shoe. This was going to look stupid going to school with one shoe on and barefooted on the other foot. I didn't care, the pain was too much to care about how it looked. There was no way I could put a shoe on my left foot. The other kids started straggling out going to the gate at the bus stop. The bus would be coming very soon.

Mama got some alcohol and a needle. She put some alcohol on a rag and started rubbing the blister with it. I hurt bad and I was hollering each time she touched it.

"There's nothing I can do to make it not hurt."

By the time she got ready to push the needle in it, it was already hurting so bad I could hardly stand it. She poked the needle around the base of the blister just to see how much that hurt. It was even worse. As she started to push on the needle at the base, I grabbed her hand saying, "Mama, it hurts too much."

The skin was much tougher around the base than it appeared on the top. Mama tried to be as gentle as possible, but just probing and barely pushing the base skin, only made it hurt more. Finally, "Can we just wait until I get in from school? I'll let you puncture it then and maybe it won't be hurting so much."

"Alright, it's your foot."

The ground was slick in spots from the frozen sleet. It was also frozen as hard as concrete. All the other kids were already at the bus stop and I saw them shifting around and squatting down on their books trying to get warm. The one third mile to the bus stop seemed like five miles to me that morning. On the uneven ground, I continually hit the blister on the high spots of frozen ground as I started my cold, frozen, walk to the gate. My toes were starting to tingle from the cold and I was only a hundred feet from the house. Every time my blister touched the ground, a sharp pain shot up my leg. I kept my heel off the ground as high as possible walking on the ball of my foot.

About a quarter of the way from the house, the other kids starting yelling at me to hurry up. I looked at them to see them waiving and yelling and saw the bus coming down the hill from the left. I started running as best I could. Mostly hopping, and letting my left foot hit the ground only to get my balance every now and then. The bus stopped and the others got on board. I was approaching the big ruts in the road and they looked like little mountains. All the little mountain tops had little hands reaching out for the blister. I was hopping faster now and every time my left foot hit the ground, the pain surged up my leg. I knew the blister was touching the ground pretty much each time my foot hit the ground.

I looked up at the bus. Everyone was on board now and only one person left standing up moving to a seat. The door was open and I saw the driver looking up the dirt road as I came hopping toward it. I saw all the white faces on this side of the bus turned toward me. I looked back down at the big ruts as I approached them. This was about the half way mark and the bus had been waiting for maybe fifteen seconds now. I wasn't sure how much longer the driver would wait. Then, I heard the bus horn. I looked back up still running/ hopping as best I could. I saw the driver waiving his arm for me to hurry up. I yelled out in frustration, "I running as fast as I can."

I don't think he heard me. I was moving even faster now and almost cleared the ruts. The driver blew the horn again. That made me mad. Everyone on the bus could see I was doing the best I could. Why was the driver rushing me under the circumstances? I was sure my brothers and sisters told everyone what happened to me. As I looked up again, I was real mad now because he blew the horn again. I yelled back almost crying, "I'm going as fast as I can already, just wait another couple minutes."

Then, I fell!

Right at the end of the ruts, there was a little mound of frozen dirt. I happened to be looking at the bus at that instant, but felt the pain very sharp up my leg. I lifted my foot, instinctively, and it caused me to fall. My books went flying and scattered all over the dirt road ahead of me sliding on the frozen sleet. By the time I hit the ground, my eyes were filled with tears. I saw a big drop fall from each eye as I caught myself with my elbows on the ground. I looked at the bus and saw the door closing. An instant later, he drove away.

I laid on the ground crying and watched the bus drive away. I was really mad that he didn't wait for me. I was mad that everyone saw me fall. I was mad at the blister bug. I was mad at the cold. I was mad at the ruts in the road. I was mad at the sleet. I was mad at the pain in my foot and leg. I was mad that, now, I'd get a whipping too.

I sat up and pulled my foot to me looking at the blister. It appeared to be actually bigger. I wanted to rip it off my foot with my hands. I was mad for all the pain and trouble it caused. If it didn't hurt so much, I think I would have. I looked back at the house. Mama was standing on the porch with both hands on her hips. Yes, I know the custom. Usually, you got a whipping for missing the bus, and you worked around the house all day. Was she going to whip me after all this?

Mama waved at me to come back to the house and went back inside. I crawled around picking up my books thinking about the whipping I was going to get. Big tear drops fell melting little dents in the frozen sleet. Why didn't I just let her bust the blister before? Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have this much pain. After collecting my books, I started limping slowly back to the house, being careful not to let my blister touch the ground. By the time I got home, my toes were almost numb again and I didn't have much pain since I didn't let the blister touch the ground.

Mama stepped out on the porch with one hand on her hip and yelled, "come on and get in here."

I couldn't tell if the tone of voice was mad at me, or not. I was only thirty yards from the house and couldn't see a switch in her other hand. It looked like a dish rag. I started hopping a little now to hurry up and get to the house. You didn't want Mama mad at you when she whipped you, for sure.

I stepped in the house and even from the front room, I saw the switch in the kitchen wasn't in it's normal place. I felt the dread of the whipping coming over me. I put my books down and made my way to the kitchen. As I looked up, Mama was coming at me with the switch.

Immediately, "Mama, I was running as fast as I could, and the bus didn't wait on me, and when I fell, my books went everywhere, and the bus took off." I was already crying.

By then, Mama raised the switch and was almost to me. I braced for the pain from the switch.

I heard the switch swish by my shoulder as Mama bent over and yelled at the cat. She hit the floor right by me and the cat and yelled for it to stay out of the kitchen. I jumped out of the way, not breathing again, waiting for what she was going to do next. I guess it was my turn now. Mama turned around and faced me and put her hand on my shoulder then gently said,

"I know, son, I saw everything. Go over there and sit down and let's lance that blister."

I sat down on the kitchen table bench and put my foot up. Mama got some warm water and washed my foot then got the alcohol. She poured some on my blister then stuck the needle into the alcohol. She looked at me and said, "We have to bust this thing whether it hurts or not."

She had the needle next to the blister then looked at the door and yelled, "Get out of here!"

I turned my head around expecting to see the cat again, but there was no cat! That was strange. Why did she yell at the cat when it wasn't coming back in the kitchen? I looked back at her and she had a smile on her face. That was even more strange. I looked at my blister, and the clear fluid was poring out the bottom of the blister near the base.

Mama distracted my attention while she pushed the needle in the blister. I didn't feel anything! Wow! That was what she was smiling about. It worked and she knew it by me not yelling out when she pushed the needle in the blister. I looked at her laughing a little.

"That didn't even hurt! You knew there was no cat didn't you? You tricked me didn't you?"

She just knelt there smiling. She pushed all the fluid out of the blister she could. It started hurting some when it was all gone as she pushed around near the edges to get it all the fluid out.

"I'm going to make the hole a little bigger so it won't close back up and maybe make another blister."

She took the needle and ripped the skin a little. It hurt some, but not as much as I thought it would.

"I'll wrap it with coal oil since the alcohol will burn the inside of the blister and the coal oil won't."

It didn't! She wrapped it up and immediately, I could almost put my foot on the floor. Without the blister sticking out to touch the floor first, there was very little pain.

I was almost walking normal again by the time the kids got in from school. I asked, "did ya'll tell the bus driver what was wrong with me?"

"Yes. He left you on purpose. He said if your foot was that bad, you didn't need to be at school trying to limp around barefooted as cold as it was."

That made sense to me and I wasn't mad at the driver anymore. The other kids said he hated to leave me like that, but thought, it was better if I went back home and got the blister lanced.

Mama didn't whip me and I did small jobs inside the house all day. It was a pretty good day after all.

I went to school the next day and told the driver thanks for going off and leaving me. It was several days before my foot was back to normal. No other blisters formed.

I still hate those blister bugs and their smell is burned into my memory.

Chapter 34. The Rabid Dog

In 1958 when I was ten, on our way to and from the bus stop each day, I always petted Holmes Bronson's dog named Buck. He was a mix between a German Shepherd and maybe a blue tick hound. He was a real friendly dog and came up to just over my waist in height. They kept him inside a chain link fence about four feet high around their house. He saw us coming to the bus stop each morning and started his friendly barking, looking our direction, and wagging his tail as we came down the dirt road. Then, each afternoon when we got off the bus, he was standing just inside the fence doing the same thing. I always reached over the fence to pet him some as he put his front feet up on the top of the fence. I talked to him as we walked down the fence line. If it was real cold, he didn't met us in the morning, but usually did in the afternoon. Sometimes if it was just cool outside and he felt good, he ran around in the yard, sort of showing off I guess, then ran up to the fence for a petting. We repeated this routine almost daily and we both liked it.

One day in the fall it was a warm day on a Friday when we were going to the bus stop. Buck ran to the fence and barked a little like he always did, but seemed a little louder than usual. As we approached him, I noticed his tail wasn't wagging with the usual speed, in fact, hardly at all. My sisters straggled on in front of me and Buck seemed to bark at them and snap at the fence as they passed. They rarely petted him, but this seemed a little unusual for Buck.

As I approached the fence angling toward it, Buck noticed I was closer to the fence than the others. He turned and ran toward me. I was close to the fence and fixing to put my hand over the top of it when Buck got next to me. He started biting at the fence about knee high and barking a lot more than usual. I also noticed he wasn't wagging his tail, either. That bothered me a little and I wondered what might be wrong with him? I started to reach over the fence to pet him, but when he saw my hand starting over the fence he jumped up, biting at my hand. I jerked it out of the way just as his mouth snapped shut where my hand was. That scared me a little and I backed away from the fence. Buck jumped on the fence with his feet on the top rail barking at me.

Mrs. Bronson came to the back door and yelled at Buck to get off the fence and be quiet. Buck turned around, looked at her, and got off the fence. He walked beside the fence with me all the way to the bus stop. He was barking more than usual and sprinted away from the fence every now and then to bite the base of several little trees they had in the yard. Then, he came running back to the fence barking. This was very unusual for Buck and as the bus arrived, we were talking about how unusual this was.

We got on the bus still talking about Buck. He was at the corner of the yard barking as the bus drove away. I quickly forgot about Buck and started playing with some friends on the bus. I never thought about him again until just before we got off the bus that afternoon.

When we got of the bus, Buck ran up to us barking and seemed more vicious. The girls jumped further away from the fence and I started for the corner to see if he'd let me pet him. As I approached, it was obvious he was meaner looking and I didn't chance putting my hand over the fence. Then, Buck did something crazy. He jumped away from the fence a little and started going around in circles. It looked like he was chasing his tail. We all stopped to watch him a few seconds wondering what was wrong with him. I never saw him do that before. As I continued to walk beside the fence, Buck stopped abruptly and ran to the fence biting it at intervals as I moved along. There was something very strange about his actions and his mouth seemed awful wetter than usual. I wasn't going to put my hand over and pet him this time. He followed me along the fence.

As I left the fence and started toward the house, Mrs. Bronson came to her back door and yelled through the screen at me. She wanted me to come in the morning and help her with her flowers a few hours. This wasn't unusual. She had lots of flowers around the house and several spots in the front and back yards. Every now and then, she got me, usually, to help her pull out grass, or maybe pull up some flowers, and replant new ones, or cut the grass down around the beds in the yard. She usually worked me a few hours and gave me fifty cents or so. I always had a good time talking to her about her flowers, and insects, and things, between playing with Buck a little. Sometimes she went in the house and poured some Coke in a glass of ice and brought it to me. We got along real good and she seemed to like all my questions about everything. She seemed pretty smart about flowers to me, but, what did I know about flowers anyway? I yelled back that I'd be back in the morning when it started getting warm. I knew she didn't like getting up real early from our talks, and didn't want me there until it was late morning.

The next morning about ten, I started walking to her house. I was surprised that Buck wasn't at the fence barking at me as usual. Maybe he didn't hear me. As I got even with the fence, I looked for him. I wanted to see if he was still acting strange like he was yesterday, but I didn't see him anywhere. I walked along the fence going toward the bus stop. There was a gate half way from the fence corner to the bus stop. I was fixing to open the gate when I saw Buck. About the same time, he saw me.

He started barking loudly and acting like he wanted to get at me. He was chained to a little metal spike in the ground. They chained him to the metal spike when they had company sometimes. They didn't want Buck jumping up on folks when they visited, and usually chained him to the metal spike. This was very unusual for me, however. She knew I liked Buck and we played together a lot. She didn't have to chain him up because I was coming.

Buck was jerking hard on the chain. He ran to its end and seemed to forget he was tied up. It flipped him in the air and he hit the ground only to get up and do it again. He had white foam-like spit drooling out his mouth and acted like he wanted to tear me to pieces. He looked mean and vicious. This wasn't the Buck I knew. I was glad he was tied up at the time.

I walked closer toward Buck and the back door, hoping Mrs. Bronson showed up and explained what was wrong with Buck and why she had him chained up. I figured he worked up the foam in his mouth trying to get free and greet me at the fence. This didn't make sense and I was getting more afraid of Buck, the closer I got. He looked mean and bit the chain and ran at me only to get flipped and bite the chain more. About the time I reached the door, I noticed the spike was either bent, or coming out of the ground.

At the time, I was hoping it was just bent. Buck lunged at me snapping and barking and slinging the white foam over everything. The chain stopped him about three or four feet from me. I was glad. He jumped up and started biting the chain and slinging it like a snake from side to side, then took off running at me again.

I heard Mrs. Bronson inside the house. It sounded like she was yelling at someone. She was yelling for someone to hurry and get here. I knocked on the door while watching Buck but I don't think she heard me because she was still yelling at someone. That was strange to me. There were no cars at the house. So, she didn't have visitors. Unless there was someone staying with her at the time, I couldn't think who she could be talking to in that voice. Holmes' truck was gone, so I knew he wasn't home.

I started to knock again looking at Buck still tearing the chain up. He made another lunge at me and this time, I saw it. Without fail, the spike wasn't bent, it was loose! I looked at Buck with horror on my face and my mind raced about what to do. I knew the spike wouldn't hold another lunge. I expected if Buck got to me, he'd tear me up like he was doing the chain. He flipped again and was slinging the chain from side to side. I yelled for Mrs. Bronson. I reached up and tried to open the door. It was locked. I started backing away from the door, and the dog. I figured if I got away from the door maybe Buck would settle down. Maybe he thought I was trying to break in the house and he was doing all he could to stop me. I started backing away slowly at first, then a little faster as I got further away. Buck didn't settle down.

He ran back to the spike and started running in a circle at the end of the chain. There was a circle of grass gone where he'd been running around at the end of the chain. I guessed him straining against the chain caused his feet to pull all the grass up in a circle. The ground was almost bare in the circle. As Buck ran in a circle, I saw the spike working loose. I had to do something and fast. I knew Buck could jump the four foot fence if he wanted to, so there was no safety in being inside or outside the fence. I had to find something else or get inside the house.

As I thought about getting inside the house, I knew I might be able to get in the front door before Buck pulled the spike up. There was something very wrong with Buck because he didn't recognize me as his friend. I decided to run around the side of the house and go to the front door, but before I took a step, Buck made another lunge at me. This time, the spike pulled completely up just about the time Buck flipped. He hit the ground, grabbed the chain, and shook it. I don't think he realized he was free at that moment. I looked around desperately trying to find somewhere to go, and I had to do it fast.

I looked at the little tree saplings in the yard and saw the bottom where Buck chewed the bark off. I could climb them, but was afraid they wouldn't get me far enough off the ground. Besides, if Buck jumped up one of them after me, they'd probably bend to the ground. My mind raced. I looked everywhere. Mrs. Bronson had an old horse drawn planter as an antique in the front yard across from me with flowers around it. That won't do. It's not high enough and Buck could easily get me there. Time was flying now and I looked back at Buck. He had just let go of the chain and I knew his next lunge at me was fixing to start.

I was certainly in the panic mode now. Looking around, I had nowhere to run where I was protected. The metal gate outside the fence might get me high enough. I turned and started running for the metal gate as I looked at it. That want do either. Buck could almost stand up with his paws on the top of the gate. With a little jump, he could surely get me there. I looked back at Buck. He just started his lunge at me. But, I knew he wouldn't be stopped by the spike this time.

I ran into the chain link gate while still looking back at Buck. He took the first few steps toward me. I bounced off the gate hitting the ground. I turned over quickly only to see Buck sprinting toward me. I jumped up quickly, but it seemed like slow motion to me. Still looking sideways at Buck, I unlatched the gate and jumped outside it. I quickly latched it back only a split second before Buck ran full force into the post. Out of instinct, I jumped backwards and fell down. I glanced back at my house and, although only just over a third mile, it might as well be five miles. I'd never make it back home before Buck got me. Time was running out, I better think of something, and do it now!

Still on my knees, I turned around to look at Buck. He was dazed a little from hitting the gate post with his head, but I knew that wouldn't last long. He seemed to be shaking his head a little. He was only a few feet from me with the fence between us. I saw foam all around his mouth. His eyes looked mean. They were red and bloodshot. As he shook his head, some of the foam slung on me. Then, I must have got my hearing back because, I heard myself yelling at Mrs. Bronson, yelling at Buck, and screaming, all at the same time. I don't know if I'd been yelling before then, or not. It was only now that I realized I was screaming.

Buck was coming around and turning toward the fence and me. In an instant, he was biting at the fence. The foam slung all over me. We were eye to eye separated only by the fence. I was petrified! I didn't know what to do. For a few seconds, I couldn't move. My mind was confused. It was tangled up with all the thoughts of how I could survive Buck's attack. Another fence attack showed Buck's bloody mouth and several broken teeth. It was a stark contrast to the white foam. Think! Think! Do something! For an instant, my mind was frozen.

I grabbed a handful of dirt with both hands thinking I may be able to blind him until I could get a club or something. I threw the dirt in his face and some went in his eyes. He was shaking his head again and rubbing his eyes with his legs. I was fixing to run toward the house, or at least, around the fence trying to find something to hit him with when the front door swung open.

Mrs. Bronson saw me just on the other side of the fence from Buck and screamed real loud. She yelled for Buck to get back. Then, she was calling for God, "Dear God, don't let this happen!"

She stepped outside the house a few feet and yelled at Buck again. She pulled off her tennis shoes and threw them at Buck. Buck backed away from the fence a little and, pretty much, quit rubbing his eyes. One of Mrs. Bronson's shoes almost hit him while the other landed about half way to him. Buck jumped on the shoe and slung it back and forth. Mrs. Bronson yelled, "run! run! get away from him!"

I got up and started to run to the house, but stopped in only a few steps. I yelled back, "I'll never make it to the house. He'll catch me. Is the back door open?"

"No, it's locked."

No matter anyway, I'd never make it past Buck to get to it. I thought about the gravel road. It had rocks I might could throw at Buck or, at least, try to get on the metal gate. I had to do something. Buck slung the shoe so much, he ripped it's side and it flew away from him. Mrs. Bronson was still screaming at Buck, but wasn't moving toward him. Buck turned and ran for her. She saw him running for her and I saw horror on her face. She turned around and jumped back in the house just before Buck hit the big wooden door. He jumped up and down barking and chewing on the door knob. I could still hear her screaming inside.

Meanwhile, I started running for the road and toward the metal gate. That was all I could think of at the time, and I knew that wouldn't do for long. I started sensing the doom that was coming. My heart was racing. I heard it pounding like a bass drum in my head. I went into this trance-like state of panic. I looked all around for anything to protect myself. Nothing! The rocks on the road wouldn't stop Buck and I quickly gave up that idea. I didn't like the gate idea either. It wasn't high enough. Buck could jump higher than the top of the post holding the gate which was the highest thing around the gate. I glanced back at Buck. He was still jumping at the door, barking, and trying to chew the door knob. I heard Mrs. Bronson screaming inside. What was I going to do? Any second now, Buck would remember me and be coming after me. Time was running out for me and I still had no plan. I looked back at the house, wishfully. Never make it!

I glanced up and down the road hoping a car, truck, tractor, or something would come that I could flag down and get to safety. Nothing! I ran to the metal gate hoping I could think of something. What? Think! Think of something! I jerked the metal gate free of the grass holding it open. I figured maybe I could keep the gate between me and Buck. Maybe! For how long? That won't work, he would just crawl under it or run around it. Then what? I started getting that awful feeling of doom. I didn't see any way to avoid Buck's attack. It would be brutal. It would be fatal. I didn't have anything to repel him either. For an instant, I pictured my arm in his mouth and him crushing the bones. My mind was spinning a thousand miles an hour. I pictured Buck tearing me apart like he was shaking the chain. Think! Look around! Find something!

Desperately, I looked back the other direction. There! Out in the field! There was one of Holmes' big Farmall tractors. It was about one hundred yards from the house out in the field on the turn row. If I could make it to the tractor, just maybe, I'd be high enough. IF and MAYBE! That was a long way to go before Buck got me. I didn't have any choice. That was my best chance. I had to make it somehow! I took off running for the tractor. It seemed like I was running in slow motion. My legs were moving as fast as I could go, but it seemed like I wasn't getting any closer to the tractor. I wanted my body to catch up to my mind. All I could think about was getting to the tractor, but my legs just weren't moving my body fast enough. It seemed like I'd been running for five minutes and the tractor was still far away. Why was I moving in slow motion now? I needed to run as fast as I could! I looked back toward the house. Buck left the door and ran to the middle of the yard and got the other shoe. He was slinging it hard like the first one. My heart was pounding!

I could hardly breathe! I glanced back at the tractor. It was barely a little closer. I started to think I might make it. If, only if, Buck delayed just a few moments longer. Let me get closer to the tractor, I thought.

I glanced back at the house. Buck slung the shoe away and it happened to fly my direction. Buck looked the direction the shoe went and saw me moving as I ran toward the tractor. I attracted his attention and he headed for the fence and toward me. Even from this distance, I saw his mouth foaming and his eyes were bigger than normal. He looked crazy and mean. I glanced back at the tractor. I was still moving in slow motion. My head was pounding. I started a low scream in between breaths. The tractor still looked so far away.

I glanced back at Buck. He was jumping the fence now, like a deer. I looked at the ground and decided I better get another couple handfuls of dirt in case I didn't make it to the tractor. I was running through the cotton stalks and they were tearing at me trying to slow me down. I saw cotton bolls flying in the air, sporadically, being kicked free as I ran. Then, I fell!

God no! Not now! I tripped on a cotton stalk! I couldn't believe this was happening. Why now? Why now, when my life depended on me staying on my feet? I heard a bell-like ring back at the fence. I jumped up with my hands full of dirt and glanced back at the house. It appeared the spike Buck was dragging hit the fence and made the ring sound. For a split second, I hoped it might catch on the fence and stop Buck, but as I looked back, I saw it just flip high in the air and Buck was running out from under the arc it made in the air.

I took off running again for the tractor. It was maybe twenty to twenty five yards away. I had to make it now because there was nothing between me and Buck but cotton stalks. I kicked hard for the tractor. The stalks were tearing at my legs, slowing me down. Delaying my freedom. Aiding Buck on his quest to tear me to pieces.

I heard my low scream getting louder. I heard Buck slashing through the stalks and what I imagined was the chain and spike ripping through them. Would the chain and spike get caught on the stalks and delay Buck like they did me? No, it appeared they just ripped through the stalks. I had no help from them. The tractor was growing large in front of me. I didn't know if I was going to make it. Run faster was all I could think of. How! I kicked as hard as I could. Buck sounded like he was getting closer. Cotton bolls flew up in front of me. My senses were on full alert. I stretched my legs as far as I could, pushing through the cotton stalks with all my might. Only three more rows and I'd be at the tractor.

No! Not again! I hit the ground hard. Why? I heard my brain ask. Get up! Run! It answered. I started to crawl a little then realized that was too slow. I heard Buck ever so close now.

I jumped up and, without even looking for Buck, I jumped on the plows at the back of the tractor. Buck was very close now. I heard his breathing and the cotton stalks being ripped by him and the chain. I pulled myself on the plows just as I glanced sideways for Buck. He was in the air right behind me. I jumped from the plows toward the seat. Buck grabbed my pants leg and I heard it rip as he hit the side of the plows and then the ground. I caught the back of the seat with one hand and started pulling myself up when he grabbed my pants leg. He pulled me down in mid air and I almost fell off the tractor plows to the ground. Buck hit the ground just behind the plows.

I pulled myself up and jumped up to the seat. I heard Mrs. Bronson still screaming. She kept yelling, "No! No! God No!"

I glanced back toward the house and saw her standing outside the front door on the patio area. Buck bounced off the plows and was trying to jump them to get to me. I didn't know if he was able to get to me or not. If he ever got on top of the curved section of the plows, he could get me. I jumped from the seat to the top of the tractor hood and ran toward the front of the tractor. Buck ran around the back of the tractor and curved around the back tire heading for the front. I didn't think he could jump this high. I hoped he couldn't. I saw the chain and spike drag over the outboard plow. For an instant I hoped it might wrap around the plow and hang up. But, just like on the chain link fence, it flew high in the air as the spike temporarily hung up on the plow, then jerked free. In an instant Buck jumped up toward me. I raised my leg on that side and almost slipped off the tractor.

That scared me even more. If I fell, there was no escape. I struggled to maintain my balance on the tractor hood. I jumped back toward the seat a step, hoping I could get my balance again. Thank God, it worked! Somehow, I had to remain calm enough to out smart Buck. The front tires on the Farmall were under the center of the tractor. That didn't give Buck enough clearance to spring off the tires and jump up to get me. I thought for an instant, what I'd do if this had been the John Deere tractor with the tires away from the center. They would give Buck just the right height to jump from one of the front tires to the top of the tractor. Thank God for little favors, I thought.

Buck jumped almost as high as my feet. But, he was jumping more vertical now and couldn't reach over the hood of the tractor to grab my feet. Every jump or two, he caught something on the tractor engine and got a few inches higher and it scared me again. He almost got me several times. It seemed, for the moment, anyway, he couldn't reach me.

I started thinking what else I could do? I thought about going back toward the seat again knowing Buck would run to the back of the tractor. Maybe, if I could get him to run around the plows enough, he'd tangle the chain around them. Then, as I started back toward the seat, I thought, if Buck didn't tangle up the chain, he may wind up getting on top of the plows, and from there, he could easily jump to the seat. When I was about half way to the seat, Buck ran to the back of the tractor again. He almost jumped on top of the plows that time. I yelled at him and moved back to the front of the tractor. Buck followed me, and for now, I figured, I was as safe as I was going to be.

I looked back at the house. Mrs. Bronson was gone. Over Buck's barking, I heard her screaming in the house again like she was talking to someone. She seemed pretty desperate by the tone of her voice. I figured if there was no one in the house, she must be on the telephone calling someone.

Here comes a truck! Now, I'll be rescued. I started yelling and waving at the people in the truck. They were going a little fast and didn't seem to slow down as they got closer. I couldn't believe this! What is wrong with those people? Couldn't they see I was yelling for my life here? I was yelling as loud as I could and waving my arms frantically. I know they heard me. What was wrong with them? As they drove by, they yelled and waved back at me. I saw the big smile on both the young men's faces as they passed by. About the time they got even with the house, I saw the front door fly open and Mrs. Bronson ran out waving at them, but they just waved at her too and kept on going up the road. I couldn't believe this! How could they not see I was in a serious situation here as Buck continued to jump up at me? Thinking about my situation, I figured the guys must have thought I was playing with the dog and was just waving at them being friendly. I guess it might have looked like that from their point of view. Well, for now, Buck couldn't get me and unless he figured out some other way, I was safe, at least, for now, as long as I didn't slip and fall off the tractor.

Several minutes later, Buck was looking more tired. He wasn't jumping up as much, nor as high as he was. I could tell he was getting tired. I started looking closer at him and tried to talk to him. I couldn't believe Buck didn't know me. We were friends! I started talking to him like we were playing again. He didn't seem to hear me. He was still foaming at the mouth and had a vicious look in his eyes. I guessed he'd gone mad.

I heard about that happening to dogs, but never saw it before. It was strange how mean he became. Also, strange that he didn't remember me as a friend. He must really be mad, because he broke a few teeth out biting on the chain. I felt sorry for Buck. I didn't know what was going to happen to him. I didn't know if he could be treated for this problem or not. The stories I heard from other people always ended up with the dog being killed. Was that going to happen to Buck? I hoped not. I wanted to play with him when he got well. I know Buck wouldn't treat me this way if he was well. I tried to talk to him, but it wasn't doing any good. I started looking around to see if there was anything else I could do. There was nothing else I could do unless Buck collapsed, or something.

Then, I heard it! It was far off but I definitely heard it. It sounded like it was getting closer. A siren! Like on a police car or something. I guess Mrs. Bronson called the police. The sound was getting closer now and, sure enough, I saw a truck in front of the police car flying down the road toward us. It was Holmes Bronson in front and the police car. They flew by me and were sliding on the gravel to turn in at the house. I saw Mrs. Bronson running toward the gate on my side of the chain link fence. Holmes jumped out of the truck and had a rifle in his hand. I saw the policeman get out of his car and now they were all standing in a huddle at the gate as Mrs. Bronson pointed my direction. They talked a few seconds about what to do. Then, Holmes chambered a round in the rifle, and the policeman pulled his gun and they started walking toward me.

Holmes was in the cotton patch and the policeman walked on the turn row. They got about half way to me and I yelled, "are you going to shoot Buck?"

Holmes yelled back, "he's gone mad. I don't have any choice. Did Buck bite you?"

"No, he ripped my pants leg, though. You going to shoot me too?"

"No, but there's nothing I can do for Buck now, he's got to be killed."

He told the policeman to shoot Buck when he came around the end of the tractor.

They kept walking closer and Holmes was calling for Buck. I started walking toward the seat and, just like I had a leash, Buck started around the tire toward the plows. As he ran around the back tire, Buck cut between the tire and the plows. He looked up at me for a second, then saw the policeman on the turn row. Buck cut back through the plows to go for the policeman. The little "S" he made between the plows, caused the spike chain to wrap around a plow and hang up. Buck was pulling hard and rearing up on his back feet with the collar around his neck. Then, Holmes shot him in the side with his rifle. Buck's opposite side blew out a big spray of blood. It turned the cotton stalks red, instantly. Buck fell on the ground and breathed a few times then stopped. He was dead.

Holmes asked me, "are you okay?"

"Yes, I think so."

"You can get down now."

I got down and walked over to Mrs. Bronson.

"They killed Buck."

She hugged me. thanking God.

"I'm so sorry, Victor, they had to, I think he had gone mad. Are you okay, did he bite you?"

"No, ma'am."

"Well, go on home now and come back next Saturday."

"Yes, ma'am. I wish Buck hadn't gone mad."I started for the house. Holmes was dragging Buck by the chain back toward the house. I felt bad that Buck was dead.

I told everyone at home about Buck. They all thought it must have been real exciting, but I said I was scared to death. Everyone at school heard about what happened and I had to tell the story a few times. Most said I was lucky to still be alive. I told them I thought Buck was going to get me several times. I agree, I was very lucky. I know God was watching over me that morning. I had a few bad dreams over the next few weeks, waking up with a start and my heart pounding. In them, Buck caught me and pulled me off the tractor by my pants leg. I always woke up then. The dreams stopped after a few weeks. I still remember the good old Buck, not the bad one.

(Later in life, I learned about Rabies. It's a virus carried by bats, monkeys, raccoons, foxes, skunks, cattle, wolves, dogs, or cats. These animals, primarily, may come in contact with humans. Skunks pose the greatest risk to domestic animals. Interesting to me was that rodents, such as mice and squirrels are seldom infected. The virus affects the central nervous system, even in humans. It used to be called "hydrophobia" because of the tendency to "foam at the mouth."

There are three stages of the disease in animals. Stage one may last one to three days and results in behavioral changes for the animal, usually in eating, drinking, or reduced activity. Stage two was Buck's stage. It can last four days. It is the 'excitable' stage often know as "furious rabies" where the animal may bite anything near. Stage three is the "paralytic" stage where there is paralysis of the rear limbs first, leading to in-coordination. Later, throat and facial muscle paralysis usually leads to respiratory death. These same things happen to humans without treatment. Domestic animals are usually treated to prevent Rabies. That treatment is relatively recent and widespread. In the 1950's, treatment wasn't widespread and most animals were killed, like Buck.)

Chapter 35. Let's Go Hunting

As you might expect with a family as large as ours, we could eat a lot of food. With seven boys in the family, we all grew up hunting. We always had wild game on the table, usually, twenty four hours a day. It was good to get domestic animals to eat for a change of taste. We butchered a hog every couple years and a cow every few years. We always had chickens, ducks, geese, and even a short spell with some rabbits. We raised several hogs and seemed to always have a couple milk cows. We never had any horses of our own, but usually had access to some. I remember Daddy talking about using horses for plowing and for skidding logs.

At eleven years old in 1959, I went hunting with the grown ups every now and then. I always tagged along with someone, if they let me, from the time I was seven or eight. I liked to hear the stories about hunting when my big brothers returned. I wanted to know just how they found, stalked, and killed the squirrel, rabbit, hog, or deer. We all gathered around when Daddy, Buster (Vernon), Boy (Velton), and Snookem (Vester Lee-Sylvester) came back from hunting. All us little kids wanted to hear all about the hunt. They told their stories one after the other and it was very interesting to me. I learned a lot about the different animals and their habitat from the stories, plus, even without a gun, I went into the woods around the house and hunted.

I didn't have a gun, but sometimes Daddy or Boy let me go with them. I had to be very quiet and slip around in the woods behind them. I carried a sling shot, however. The sling shot had several names I heard about. The first was a "Sheppard's sling" and a "David's sling." Both terms came from the Bible about the story of King David killing Goliath with his sling.

Another common name was "nigger shooters." I never understood why they were called that. I couldn't imagine ever shooting a black person with one. I guess somewhere in it's history they were used for such a purpose. Almost every boy ten or older had one in their back pocket with a pocket full of rocks, either in the front, or back. Technically, what was called a "nigger shooter" was different from a sling shot. I learned as I got older, you couldn't call it by that name. They had another name that is still used today— "Wrist rocket." Today, they're pretty fancy. Even use surgical tubing for the "rubber" part. They even have little steel balls you can buy for shooting. I'm sure that improved the accuracy of the wrist rocket, but we didn't have anything that nice back then.

I searched the roads and river beds for the smoothest round rocks. Most boys were always looking down at the rocks when we were on a gravel road. Sometimes, if you had some old marbles you didn't want, or like, you could use them. I got pretty good with the old-timey wrist rocket. I think most of the hits I had on birds were more luck than skill. You could always get pretty close with the rocks, especially, with the smooth, round ones. But with the average rock, sometimes it went fairly straight and other times, horribly crooked. So, on average, it was mostly luck when you actually hit something you aimed at.

But, with all the practice I got, I could hit an eight pound lard bucket with the open end facing me—to stop the good rocks—pretty consistently within twenty five yards. I gave the sparrows fits around the house. Since they were so little, I rarely hit one, but got close enough to scare them pretty badly which gave me something to brag about, at least, how close I got.

As stated before, I had a sling shot. I liked it a lot. It was the type David, in the Bible, killed Goliath with. I used an old shoe tongue and punched little holes in each side in the middle. Then, I got some nylon string, which we called "stagen," normally used to tie hooks on a trout (trot) line for fishing. With the stagen, we tied about three feet of it to each side of the shoe tongue. I made a loop in one line to tie around my middle finger and tied a knot in the other line which you held between your first finger and thumb. After balancing a medium size rock in the tongue, I slowly started turning it around and around over my head, then picked up speed quickly. Facing about forty five degrees to my intended target, I let go of the line between my first finger and thumb. That sent the rock flying at great speed.

I could routinely 'sling' a rock between 150 and 200 yards. Accuracy at that distance wasn't very good. However, I could get within about fifteen yards of what I was throwing at. Within about fifty yards, I was pretty good. With a good rock and no trouble with my swing up, I routinely got within one foot of my target. I've watched other kids get even better than that. The speed of the rock at that short distance was deadly. It's not surprising that David was able to kill Goliath with one rock. I could put a really good dent in a tree or send a rock completely through an eight pound lard bucket at that distance.

I carried my sling shot in my back pocket with my wrist rocket usually. I killed several birds with both my weapons before. Of course, you couldn't do any serious game hunting with the sling shot unless you were in a lot of cover. The movement of the wind-up slinging the tongue around caused you to be seen. However, I hit many squirrels with my wrist rocket. Never killed any. Usually, because they were too far away and the wrist rocket never had the power of the sling shot.

So, even though I had my weapons with me when I went hunting with Daddy or my brothers, I rarely used them. There were several times, however, when they were quite useful. For example, as you sneaked around the woods looking for squirrels, if they saw you, they got on the other side of the tree from you. If you tried to walk around to the other side, they heard, or saw, you and moved around opposite you again. Our trick was to move to a good position and be quiet for a few minutes. This must have confused the squirrel because it couldn't hear you moving around on the ground. After a few minutes, I took the wrist rocket and shot a rock through the leaves on the ground on the side of the tree the squirrel was on. The rock hitting the ground and tree limbs usually scared the squirrel to our side of the tree. Then, you shot the squirrel. Worked like a champ! Did it many times. Even as I got older and had a gun, I carried several rocks in my pocket to throw for this purpose.

There was a large patch of woods across the road and down a little from Holmes Bronson's house. I went hunting there a lot for squirrels. Always found plenty and usually killed a few each time I went. I remember a few years later, that piece of land came up for sale. I didn't want anyone else to buy "my" hunting land. I checked around asking several grown ups at school if that was a good price for the land. Everyone said it was. It was about forty acres in the general shape of an "L." I wanted to buy that land so bad. I couldn't talk Daddy or my brothers into buying the land. I even tried to see if I could borrow the money. It was a very good deal. I don't remember just how much it was, but everyone I asked about it, said it was a very good deal. I bothered Daddy and my brothers for several months about it. I told them if they loaned me the money, I'd pay them back. I lost the land. Some big hunting club bought it.

One day, I saw some of the men putting up "No Hunting" signs on the property and ran over to them stating I hunted those woods all the time. I wanted to know how much money it cost to hunt in the woods? They laughed at me and said I could still hunt the woods if I wanted to. They took my name and said they'd tell everyone at the hunting club that I had permission to hunt there anytime I wanted to. That was real nice of them, and I never had any trouble while hunting the land.

Another place we hunted a lot was behind the "Wooten" place. It was down the road from Holmes Bronson's house maybe three quarters of a mile. We walked wherever we went hunting close around the house. Old Mrs. McCullum lived on the Wooten place. I guess she was some kind of relative. She was a rough old lady and often came out on the porch and shook her hand at you, yelling something. Usually, she didn't want you shooting her house or her dogs. She didn't mind us hunting, just don't shoot her house or dogs. We always thanked her and said we wouldn't. However, the dogs did need shooting. Those suckers ran at you and looked real mean. The fence was an old part wooden and chicken wire fence and the dogs could easily get over or through it if they wanted to. I guess they were just defending their territory, and never jumped the fence. Every time we went by the house though, you always had your gun ready. The dogs were sort of big and acted like they were going to tear you apart.

Eventually, I got to use a .22/.410. It was a rifle-like gun that had a .22 rifle on top of a .410 shotgun. It was an "over-and-under" gun. You only had one shot each. I borrowed it from Big Annie, James W. Oliveaux, who eventually married Vennie, my sister. He came over one day and brought it in his truck. He asked me how I'd like to go hunting with a real gun? He didn't need an answer by the look on my face. I told him that would be great but where was I going to get a gun? I saw he didn't take one out of the truck. He told me he knew someone that had a .22/.410 I could use if I wanted to. I told him I'd kill every squirrel in the woods with a real gun. He wanted to talk to Daddy and see if it was okay with him. I figured it was since he took me hunting many times and I was quieter in the woods than him.

Several times I told Daddy he was making too much racket every now and then, like I had the gun. He usually smiled back at me and said it was all right because there weren't any squirrels around here anyway. Often, I saw or heard a squirrel before he did. When I pointed it out to him, I was surprised he hadn't already seen it. Of course, I actually think, many times, he had already seen it and was waiting for me to see it. Every now and then, I actually saw one before him and usually he told everyone at the house about it. I swelled up like a balloon, grinning from ear to ear when he told everyone. So, I was pretty sure Daddy would let me borrow the gun Big Annie knew about.

1967; Vennie and Big Annie

We talked to Daddy and he said he thought I was responsible enough to have a real gun. Then, they both started asking me all kinds of questions about different situations and whether I'd shoot or not. Most of the questions were common sense and good hunting ethics. I had no trouble explaining what should be done in each situation. Finally, they started running out of questions and I knew I'd answered all them without any problems. Then, there was a silence for a few seconds. Daddy asked Big Annie about the gun.

"Who does the gun belong to and do you think there will be any problem with him using it, or getting it?"

"It belongs to a friend of mine, and there won't be any problems getting it."

"Well, I guess it'll be alright for him to use the gun."

I started breathing again from the silence. Big Annie smiled real big and looked at me.

Then, I thought about the ammunition.

"What about the bullets, I don't have any for either caliber?"

Big Annie stated, "I've got some."

We stood up and, as we walked out of the house, "when you reckon you can get the gun?"

"Pretty quick."

"That's great! I'll wait for your return."

He opened the drivers side of the truck and took the gun out and gave it to me. I was probably floating a foot off the ground by the time he reached back in the truck to get some ammunition. He showed me all about the gun and told me how to shoot it and he expected to be eating a squirrel in a day or two. I told him I'd take good care of it and make sure he got the first squirrel.

I was one of the big kids now. I walked in the house and showed it to Daddy and the other kids. I begged Daddy to let me go hunting that afternoon. He told me to eat dinner (lunch) first. I got the gun oil and started cleaning it up. I was showing and telling Man (Verlon) and Boy all about it. I let Boy hold it and point it a few times. He said I should be able to kill a squirrel with it. Seemed like two hours before we finally ate dinner and I wolfed my food down like I was starving. I wanted to hurry up and get in the woods.

Finally, Daddy said I could go and told me to be careful. I took off for the woods with the plan to shoot the .22 first and if I needed another shot, the .410. It wasn't long before I saw a squirrel. I sneaked up right under it. It went out on a limb to get an acorn and when it stopped, I shot it with the .22. It jumped sideways and almost fell out of the tree, but held on and started slowly moving along the limb toward the tree body. I shot the .410 and it came falling out of the tree. It hit the ground several feet in front of me and tried to crawl back to the tree. I quickly reloaded and was ready to shoot again by the time the squirrel got to the tree, but it could go any further and died. I went over to pick up my prize and had mixed emotions about killing the squirrel.

I saw Daddy and my brothers kill them before. I actually killed several birds with my wrist rocket and sling shot, but this was different. With my other weapons, the birds had a good chance of escape and I had to be very lucky to kill it. This wasn't the same. I looked at the squirrel and back up in the tree. It seemed like it didn't have a chance to get away. I sat down and thought about the circumstances and the fact that just a couple minutes ago, this squirrel was alive and minding it's own business. Now, I had taken it's life. I didn't feel like a swollen balloon now. I felt sorry for the squirrel and wished I had missed it. But then, I thought about what I'd tell everyone at the house if I'd missed it. I had an emotional dilemma and didn't know how to solve it. I sat there petting the squirrel and trying to solve my problem.

I sat there fifteen to twenty minutes. Then, decided to go back to the house and see if Daddy or my brothers felt this way when they killed a squirrel or other animals. My brothers saw me coming and they, with a few girls, came running out to meet me. I heard Man say that I had one. Someone else said that was quick, I was only gone a little while. I said, "yes, I got one, but don't feel like hunting anymore today."

They seemed puzzled about that. I walked in the house while Man and a couple girls said they'd help me clean it.

"Ok, let me put the gun up first."

When I went in the house. Daddy said, sort of low, "Well, I see you killed one."

"Yes sir, but I don't feel very good about it."

"I see, well, put the gun up and come back here."

I returned and Daddy explained that God put animals on the earth for us to eat. He asked, "You remember the hogs we raised and killed to eat and the cow we killed once?"

"Yes sir, but I didn't have to kill them."

"Did you eat any of the meat?"

"Of course, I did!"

"Then, you might as well have killed them. They had to die for you to eat them. What's the difference?"

I thought about that a few minutes.

"It's good that you feel bad about killing the squirrel. We should always think before we take a life off the world and never do it without purpose. Are you going to throw the squirrel away or eat it?"

"I promised Big Annie I'd give him the first one."

"Then, it won't be wasted. You killed for a purpose. For food, just like God intended."

"I guess you're right, but I still don't feel any better."

"You should never kill just for the sport of it. Killing for sport only, makes you a small man in other hunter's eyes and violates God's purpose for the animal being put on the earth."

That made sense to me. If I wasn't planning on using the animal for food or some other purpose, I shouldn't kill it.

"Telling about the kill is second to the purpose for the kill."

"I don't think I'll brag about killing the squirrel."

"That's good. Now go out there and clean it for Big Annie."

I cleaned the squirrel. I didn't go hunting again for a few days. Big Annie came over and I gave him the squirrel. He was sort of excited about it and wanted me to tell him all about killing it. Then, he saw I wasn't very excited about it. I think he knew what was wrong with me and asked, "have you gone again since you killed the squirrel?"

"No."

"Well, I was hoping you had more than one. We don't have any meat left to eat and I don't have time to go hunting. I sure could use a few more squirrels. Maybe a rabbit or two if you run across any."

"You really don't have any more meat to eat?"

"No."

"OK then, I'll go hunting again and try to kill a few more squirrels."

I went in the house and got the gun and asked Mama if I could go hunting again? She said she didn't care, but be back before dark.

I don't know if Big Annie was lying or not. He seemed sincere and I felt like I had a real purpose for killing squirrels again. I went hunting that evening and got four more for him. He was over the next day for them. He thanked me a lot and was glad I killed them. I never felt bad about killing things again, but have never killed needlessly.

Chapter 36. My First Alcohol?

Mama was "mad as a wet hen." I don't know just how mad hens get when they're wet, evidently, pretty mad, since this old saying is still around. I've thought about that saying many times. Who determined a hen was mad? What does a mad hen look like? Other than being wet, how can they look any different than any other time, since they don't have any facial muscles? Why does a hen get mad when it gets wet?

Regardless, Mama was still pretty mad and everyone knew it. She was yelling at the girls about almost everything. She looked at us boys with those "dagger-eyes." It's that kind of look with a frown on her face, eyebrows down, and her lips sort of tight. The tone of her voice told everyone her mood. All us little kids watched our step and jumped like frogs if she called one of us. We were all pretty quiet and there was hardly any arguing among the kids. We were afraid she would whip us for something. We knew she was a whipping just waiting for a reason, and we didn't want to give her one. We walked around like we were "on egg shells,"—another saying I don't understand—darting looks at each other and watching Mama with our ears on alert in case she called our name for something. We hated it when Mama was like that.

It was 1959, I was eleven years old. Buster (Vernon) and Boy (Velton) were the reason she was mad. I don't remember if Buster was staying at home all the time or not. I know he was at home a lot. He wasn't married at the time. He was old enough that he had his own money and a beat up old car which seemed to stay broke a lot. Many times, he went somewhere with Snookem (Vester Lee). Boy and Snookem were still at home. I know it was a Saturday afternoon. Buster, Snookem, and Boy went somewhere in Snookem's "Little Joe from Cokomo" car and got some beer. The popular type was "Schlitz" beer. It cost a little more than "Jax" beer. Beer drinkers said the Schlitz tasted better. Most people didn't want to spend the little extra money on Schlitz, and bought Jax. I guess it was the cheapest of all the beers. Boy had some of the Jax beer.

1959;Victor -11 1962; Buster-24 1958; Snookem-19

Somehow, Buster and the others knew that Virgil was coming to the house that afternoon. Virgil was married and didn't live at home. I don't know where he lived at this time, but guess he got with Buster and told him he was coming over that Saturday afternoon. So, before Buster and them got back, Virgil showed up. Daddy was still gone somewhere, I guess, working. I'd seen this "get together" before. It usually meant they'd sit around drinking beer and smoking.

That was the cause of Mama's attitude and mood. Mama didn't allow drinking in the house and didn't want it even at the house. When all the big boys got together, several times, she made them leave the house if they were going to drink. She couldn't stop them from drinking, and I guess as a compromise, she let them drink at the house versus being on the road somewhere drunk. She just didn't like it around the rest of us kids.

All the big boys had their own money and Mama couldn't stop them spending it however they wanted. Daddy always kept all the money you made until you were sixteen years old. Then, you could keep half of all you made until you left the house, usually. About nineteen, if you were still at home, he let you keep all you made, but you had to help out with food for the house. From the time you kept half your money, you had to buy your own clothes and everything else, except food.

We got paid for chopping and picking cotton, helping people pull corn, and picking peas by the bushel for someone. Also, picking up pecans in the fall for three to five cents per pound, helping people harvest their garden produce, and I always helped DR, our neighbor up the road, pick his peaches, or helped other people with other farm work. Daddy took a few of us kids with him to pick up junk iron and sell it sometimes. In winter, he also ran several trap lines and we had to help him skin and stretch the 'coons, minks, and 'possums, mostly, or whatever he caught. Anyway, us little kids didn't have any money unless we found some or did some little odd job for someone and got paid for it. Daddy didn't mind if we got a few dollars for helping someone do something, but if you made about five dollars or more, you had to give it to him.

1960; Virgil-27; Boy-18 w Vickie 2

When you were sixteen, you could actually have money in you pocket. We all sort of envied the big kids, with their freedom, transportation, and money. One thing for sure, us little kids wouldn't waste our money on things like beer when we could buy candy. That wasn't a waste. You could always drink water to kill a thirst. That's what they said the beer did for them. It was strange to us little kids how the big kids could drink quart after quart of Jax beer, but couldn't drink that much water. But, they said they liked it.

As stated before, Mama was mad at the big kids for sitting around on the porch drinking, and laughing, and carrying on. She didn't let them bring the beer in the house and didn't want us little kids hanging around them on the porch either. We slipped around the house and listened to their stories and heard what made them laugh so much. Of course, we had one eye and ear on the lookout for Mama. Sometimes, we went out the kitchen door and ran around the house and stood by the side of the house or sat down on the ground to listen to the big kids.

If Mama didn't see you for a while, she usually called you for something, and we took off running around the house to go in the kitchen. Usually, Mama asked us where we were and we usually said, just outside playing. She told us to stay away from the front porch and them drinking. So, you can see how there was always that tug of war between doing what Mama said and wanting to listen to the stories on the front porch.

As the evening wore down and the sun got a little low in the sky, the drinking party got more mellow. We heard them talking low and seemed to be laughing more. Their personalities seemed to change. They weren't as "on edge" with each other. Actually, they seemed to be getting along better with each other—friendlier. Mama always said they were just getting more drunk. Mama knew from the beginning what danger the drinking party was for us little kids. Especially me!

She knew every time they threw a drinking party, I was asking them to save me some beer. Us little kids didn't know what it tasted like and didn't know if we'd like it or not. But, Mama was determined for us not to get any. She went on the porch and told them not give us little kids any. And she meant it, too. At first, it was no good even trying to ask them to save you any because Mama was watching everything going on. She was also trying to keep track of all us little kids. After a couple hours, Mama seemed to relax a little and didn't call us checking on us as often. Usually, we were tired of listening to the drinkers anyway and were playing or doing something else.

Not me, however. Not this time. I kept a steady vigil on the progress of the drinking. Several times before, when the drinking party started, I wasn't interested in the beer as much as the stories they were telling. After several times of watching their personalities change because of the drinking, I wanted to know what it was about the beer that made such a change. It seemed like it must be fun as they all got friendlier and more mellow. What harm could that be? I wanted to find out for myself and periodically sneaked around the side of the house to check on how much was left in the quart bottles.

I started dropping requests on them every now and then. I sneaked around the house and told them to save me a swallow or two so I could see what it tasted like. They said it'd make me drunk. I said I didn't want enough to make me drunk, I just wanted to taste it. They'd never say yes or no. Usually, they said something like "we'll see." As the time and drinking wore on, Mama loosened her vigil on us kids and the drinkers got more receptive to saving me some to taste.

Finally, as Buster seemed to be the friendliest, I started hitting him up to save me some of his. I could tell from the crumpled sack that he was on his last bottle. So was everyone else, it looked like. I was sure they wouldn't miss a couple swallows of their beer by now. Eventually, through me working on his drunk personality, he said he'd save me some. He had maybe three quarters of a bottle left and I sneaked around the house every ten minutes or so to check on the progress and remind him he was going to save me some of his beer. He didn't seem to get mad at me for reminding him so often. He usually said he knew, and he would. I ran back around the house and acted like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. I was full of anticipation and whispered to a couple of the kids that I thought Buster was going to save me a swallow of beer. They all seemed excited for me also.

We put our hands over our mouths, like someone could read our lips, and whispered to each other about how it might taste. I was going to finally get a taste and be completely fair and tell the others just what it tasted like. Checking on Buster again, he was down to a half bottle. I could hardly stand the anticipation and wanted to keep running around checking on his progress, but was scared to because Mama might see me. The suspense was killing me. Occasionally, I sent one of the other kids around the house to check on the quantity level in the bottle. About a quarter now Vear (Vera) told me.

I told everyone any minute now Buster would set the bottle against the house with what he saved for me. After a few minutes, I couldn't stand it any longer. I'd waited at least a whole five minutes. I sneaked around the house for another look. I saw there was about one inch of beer left in the quart bottle and stepped out from the side of the house to remind Buster he was supposed to save me some. He told me he saved me some and wanted to take one more little sip before he gave me the bottle. I was jumping up and down with excitement! As I watched him tip the bottle up, I told him to take only a little sip. Then, Mama called me.

I couldn't believe this! Why now? Why at this instant? Why couldn't she have waited just another few seconds? Man, I was mad! I knew all she wanted was to check on where I was, anyway. But why at this instant? Buster heard Mama call for me and said he'd put the bottle against the side of the house on the porch and I could get it when I got back. I said, "Okay, but don't drink anymore, I'll be back in a few seconds."

As I turned to leave, I saw there looked like maybe one inch of beer left in the bottle and Buster was putting it against the side of the house on the porch. I ran around the house real fast to see what Mama wanted.

Of all things, now she wanted me to do something. Probably ten times in the last couple hours, she just wanted to know what I was doing and where I was. I usually told her we were playing in the back yard or something. But, no! Not this time! She wanted me to Do something. That was going to take time away from me and my swallow of beer. Why couldn't she have me do this before now? Why right now, just when I was fixing to get my beer? I ran around the house passing the other kids still playing in the yard and rolled my eyes shaking my head. I put my hand over my mouth and whispered to Vear that Buster saved me some. I jumped in the house to see what Mama wanted. Actually, I don't remember what she wanted me to do. I think it was to bring in some stove wood for the night or get some water. I do remember it took me about fifteen minutes or so.

I never worked so fast in my life. All I could think about was that beer bottle waiting for me on the front porch. I kept playing over in my mind how it might taste, and would that little bit make me feel like them? I kept worrying that if I didn't hurry up and get back, Buster was going to finish drinking what he saved me. Every time I thought about that, I worked a little faster. Finally, I was finished and Mama told me to go back outside and play. I said okay about as nonchalantly as a person about to explode, but wanted it to come out casual-like. I'm sure Mama noticed how fast I was working, but now that she gave me the green light to go back outside and play, I wanted to appear to not be in any unusual hurry.

I sort of slowly made my way out the kitchen door. About the time I turned to go around the house and got out of sight of the kitchen door, I busted out running around the house as fast as I could. I left a dust cloud running and had to slide to stop myself as I got to the corner of the house leading to the porch. Instantly, I looked for the bottle standing up against the house. It was gone!

I couldn't believe this! Buster had saved me some, then Mama wanted me to do something just when I was fixing to get the bottle, and now, Buster finished drinking the beer that he was supposed to save for me. My enthusiasm hit rock bottom. I slowly started walking up to Buster. He had his side to me. I told him, "I thought you said you were going to save me some. But, I see you went ahead and drank it didn't you?"

He turned his head to look at me and said, "No, I did save you some. It's just inside the door there."

My spirits leaped to the tilt limit. I ran around the side of the porch and jumped three steps landing on top of the porch and started for the door. Then!

The screen door flew open. Mama was standing in the middle of the door holding a long switch. I stopped abruptly about two steps from the door. The first thing I saw was the switch.

Then, Mama held up a Jax beer bottle and asked, "Looking for this?"

"Huh?"

Mama held up the beer bottle and I saw it was about half full. My emotions were bouncing back and forth like lightning bolts. I couldn't understand what was going on. One instant, I was thrilled to see that, evidently, Buster either poured some more beer in the bottle, or had another bottle that I didn't know about. In the next few seconds, I felt many emotions, but the bottom line was dread. The next instant, I was overcome with fear because "Mama" was holding it. My mind raced. I glanced back and forth from the switch to the bottle. What was I going to say? Could I lie my way out of this? Another instant I felt a glimpse of calm as I thought maybe I could lie my way out of this. Then, I felt dread, because Mama wouldn't have asked me if I was looking for the bottle unless she knew I was. Then, I thought about pain, as I looked back at the big long switch she was holding. It was her favorite one—for serious whippings. About half an inch in diameter at the base, seasoned good, and had just the right amount of flex without breaking. It had those little knobs still on it where the limbs were pulled off.

An instant of despair hit me as I couldn't think of any way out of this situation. Think! My mind wasn't working fast enough. It was hung up somewhere between the switch and the beer bottle. Then, I thought an instant of condemnation as I wanted to blame Buster for saving me some when he knew he shouldn't have. Plus, an instant of criticism for them drinking on the front porch anyway.

Time was running out. I don't know how long I stood there, but knew it must have been one century, at least. I sensed the smoke coming out of my ears as my thoughts collided into each other and, still, I didn't have anything sensible to say. Finally, I said the only thing I could think of.

"Huh? Uh!"

That was enough! Mama ended my dilemma as she stepped toward me.

"Here, they saved you some beer and I wanted to give it to you."

She shoved the bottle toward me. I looked at it, bewildered by her words. This was like oil and water, like fire and water, this didn't make sense. There was no way she wanted to give me some beer! I, suddenly, decided I didn't want any. Yeah, that's my way out!

"Naw, that's all right, I don't want any. They can have it."

"No, here take it! I want you to drink every bit of it."

I didn't like her tone of voice. I sensed this was fixing to turn out bad. I didn't want to reach for it and started to back up a little.

"Here, drink it. I am going to make you drink every drop of it. And we're going to go throw the bottle away too."

"Mama, I don't want it, they can have it."

"No, take it and start drinking it, anyway."

I knew then, this would to turn out very bad!

I reluctantly took the bottle from her hand, still looking at her, as she told me, "You better not drop it, either. Take a big swallow."

I looked at her for mercy. There was none.

As I lifted the bottle up for a swallow, it had a very familiar smell. That was odd, since I never smelled good beer before. This didn't smell like the cans we picked up on the side of the road that sometimes had a few drops still in them. I never knew what those drops had in them, so I never tasted it. I did smell the cans and had some idea how beer should smell, or, at least, how the cans smelled after laying in the sun for no telling how long. But, this wasn't the smell like in the cans. This was a very familiar smell, like....pepper! Yes, it was like pepper! That's odd, I never knew good beer smelled like pepper. As I took a swallow, something else was very odd. This beer had something floating around in it. About the time it hit my mouth, I knew exactly what was in the beer.

Mama filled the bottle from maybe one inch high to it's half full mark, about three to four inches, with everything hot she had in the house. Louisiana "Hot Sauce," black pepper, Jalapeno peppers, plus three or four other types of peppers from the garden, vinegar, Cayenne, and several other cooking spices that were hot.

Mama over heard me asking Buster for the beer and finally told him to save me some but let her have it before I got it. She told me to do something while she "doctored" the beer. She ripped up the peppers and put the seeds and skins in the bottle plus everything else she could find to make it hot. Now, she wanted me to drink it. It was liquid fire. I was fixing to spit it out when she told me, "you better swallow it and not spit it out, either."

I had a mouthful and it burned the inside of my mouth like I had coals from the fireplace. I stood looking at her for an instant with my cheeks poked out on the sides, not believing she actually wanted me to swallow it. She pointed her finger at me and said, "swallow it."

My eyes were about to pop out of my head and my mouth was already on fire. I knew flames were coming out my nose and ears. I hated to think what this was going to do in my stomach. Once more, I looked at her for mercy.

"Swallow it!"

I swallowed it! It was like swallowing coals from the fireplace. It burned like fire all the way to my stomach. I was burning up from the inside out. Then, she turned me around, grabbed my left wrist, started whipping me and dragging me toward the cotton patch. The cotton patch had been disked and plowed and had row after row of fresh dirt. There was maybe 100 yards of cotton patch between the house and the fence. There was a big gully over the fence where we threw our trash. She whipped me for a little while as we stepped over the rows, then stopped and made me take another swallow.

She proceed to whip me some more until she stopped again long enough for me to take another swallow. She whipped me all the way to the fence and I had a little bit left in the bottle. She told me to finish it all while she was whipping me. It was hard to swallow between sobs with my throat so burnt and my stomach on fire. I was on fire on the inside from the beer and outside because of the whipping. This was like hell on earth. It was also hard to swallow because of me crying so much. I finished the bottle and held it up for her to see. She stopped whipping me told me to throw the bottle away. I threw the bottle into the gully.

"Never ask them to save you any more beer or you'll get the same thing next time. And don't get any water for three hours, and I better not catch you trying to get any." Then, she turned and walked back to the house.

I was on fire inside and out. She whipped me so much, I had little streaks of blood all over my back on my shirt and had several on my pants legs. My legs and butt felt raw and my back was stinging bad as the sweat got into the raw welts. My stomach was churning over and over. I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't know if that was good or bad. Would I get burnt again if it came up?

I slowly started making my way back to the house. I was on the edge of throwing up, but didn't. I saw everyone at the house on the porch and by the side of the house looking at what just happened. They were all watching Mama as she walked back to the house. I heard Mama tell everyone not to give me any water until she said so. As Mama entered the house, every one scattered like an explosion went off.

I got maybe half way back when I couldn't keep it down any longer. I threw up and wished I hadn't. It burned about as much coming up as it did going down. Besides, I didn't throw up very much. My stomach was still churning and gurgling. It felt like my stomach was tearing up and I had to use the toilet. I ran to the toilet and made it just in time.

I blew my stomach contents out and threw up again at the same time. I was thinking this was great, I had this hot stuff coming out both ends! I went to the back of the house and sat under a tree still crying some.

My whole back side was stinging now. I couldn't help thinking that Mama took her frustration out on me. She was mad at them drinking at the house, anyway. Even madder when they agreed to save me some beer. I didn't think it was fair, what I got. Why didn't she run them away from the house? Why didn't she whip them? I was mad and thought that one swallow would've made her point. Why make me drink all of her mixture? Wasn't that enough? And the whipping! This one was bad! I knew it'd be a good one with the good switch. There was no hope of it breaking. Why didn't she just make me drink all the mixture then whip me a little and make me throw the bottle away? That would've accomplished her point just as well.

No matter, she was Mama. She controlled the punishment. Besides, it was over now, except the pain inside and out. The hot mixture started me sweating real bad from the start and sweat got into the raw welts. It burned and I couldn't do anything about it. I wanted to go to the pump and, at least, wet my shirt, but was afraid Mama might think I was trying to get a drink of water. My whole insides were burning from my mouth clear to the other end.

I saw the little kids and a few of the bigger kids looking at me sitting under the tree. They glanced at me and quickly looked away in case Mama saw them. I could only guess what they were thinking. They were right. The beer wasn't worth this.

I didn't sit very long before I had to go to the toilet again. Everything was coming out liquid now. Every now and then, I felt like throwing up and fought it down to keep from re-burning everything from my stomach to my mouth again. After about one and a half hours, the burning started subsiding a little. I'd pretty much emptied my stomach and it wasn't churning and gurgling quite as bad as before. I had to stand up every so often because it hurt so much to stay sitting down. Besides, when I sat down, it seemed to just push the sweat into the raw areas. At least, I'd stopped sweating some and a few places where the sweat dried, there were little white salt lines on my clothes.

I guess I fell asleep a short period sitting against the tree. When I awoke, it was dark. I was parched on the inside. I felt like I could drink two gallons of water. I thought, this must be the way people felt out in the desert without water. The drinking party ended with my beer brew. That was just before it got dark. I wanted, so much, to go to the pump and get some water in the dark, but didn't want to chance Mama catching me. I figured she had someone watching me anyway and I didn't want to get any more whipping today.

I didn't have a watch, but it seemed like six hours already passed. I didn't know if Mama was actually watching the time or not. I was hoping someone was. After a while, I started getting a real sick feeling. Didn't matter, I didn't have anything left in my stomach to throw up. I started dry heaving. I couldn't control the urge to throw up anymore, but nothing was coming out. I was glad of that, but it didn't seem to help any. Slowly, the burning was going away in my mouth. At first, my mouth was flooded with saliva but now, I didn't have enough to spit. I dry heaved every so often for a while and each time, I saw the curtain in the kitchen move. I saw a dark shadow appear in the window but couldn't tell who it was.

I heard everyone's voices in the house. Everyone was very quiet. Only speaking when necessary. Just a little after dark, Daddy came in and I heard the other kids telling him that Buster saved me some beer, but Mama fixed it up for me to drink and whipped me all the way to the gully to throw the bottle away. I never heard Daddy say anything.

A little later, I heard everyone eating. The thought of food made me dry heave again. I was still parched and in desperate need of some water. I wondered how long it had been. Surely, it had been three hours by now. Later, they finished eating and I heard the dishes being washed. There was none of the usual complaining from the girls. I guess Mama was still mad and they didn't want her on them. Finally, Vear, I think, stuck her head out the kitchen door and said, "Mama said you can get some water now."

I jumped up, even through the stinging, and ran to the pump. I got the dipper next to the pump and quickly filled it with water and started to drink it down. It was so cool going down to my stomach. I swished some around in my mouth to cool it down. Then, before I even finish drinking all the water in the dipper, I had to throw up again.

What's going on here? I couldn't even drink water? It burned again coming up, but nothing like it had the first time I threw up. Seemed like I threw up all the water I drank. I was stunned! Now what? I let my stomach settle down a little and started sipping the water. Maybe that was the problem. Each sip was like ice cream on my throat and down to my stomach. I held a big swallow in my mouth. While the water cooled my mouth off, I took my shirt off and washed the blood out as best I could. It felt so good on my back to put the wet shirt back on. I took off my pants and soaked my legs and the pants legs also. It felt real good to have the cool pants on my calves. I pumped the pan full of cool water and stuck my face in it. It felt good.

As I slowly drank more water, it seemed like it was going to stay down. After maybe thirty minutes, I tried to get more water in my stomach to cool it off. I hadn't thrown up since the first big dipper full and decided to try it again. I slowly, but steadily, drank the water. I felt the coolness as it hit my stomach and it felt good. I drank almost all the dipper full of water and stopped to see what was going to happen.

My stomach started churning and gurgling again. Then, it started over. It tried to come out both ends. I ran for the toilet but had to stop and throw up before I got there. After that episode, I went back to the pump and decided I had better luck sipping the water. At least the burning had subsided a lot now. And, it looked like I could keep the water down if I just sipped it. I really had no choice.

Everyone started going to bed. I heard voices in the house. I heard Daddy and Mama talking about what went on this afternoon. Daddy said the mixture would probably tear my stomach up. He also said it might not have been so good to keep me from any water for three hours. There was some more talk, but I couldn't make out what was said.

Slowly, one by one, the light strings were pulled and the lights were going out. There was only one left in the kitchen now. My back and legs were feeling much better since I put the wet clothes on them. I'd decided to go sleep on the porch. I started making my way that direction when the kitchen door opened and Mama stuck her head out and told me to come there. I was surprised, but hurried to her.

I stopped at the steps going into the kitchen. I didn't know if she wanted me in the house or not. I was standing on the ground looking up at her. I didn't say anything. I was waiting to see what she wanted me to do.

She told me to come in the house. Her tone had changed. She didn't sound so harsh now. She spoke sort of low. I stepped inside and she shut the door. I turned around to face her, still not saying anything, and wondered what she was going to do now. "Is your stomach tore up?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Are you still burning inside?"

"It's almost quit now."

"Did you drink some water?"

"I did, but threw it up twice and it tore up my stomach the second time."

She went to the refrigerator and got a bottle of pink stuff. (Pepto Bismol, I think) She poured some in a table spoon and told me to swallow it. It tasted sort of good and was cool as it went down my throat. She poured another table spoon full and I took it also. She told me to take my shirt off. I did.

She got a pan of water and a rag and wet it and sat down on the bench at the table and told me to come to her. I glanced up at her face but she didn't look at me. Her hands were cool against my skin and soft to touch. She started gently wiping my back off with the wet rag. It was cool on my skin. A few areas were raw and stung more than others and she gently padded them instead of rubbing them like other places on my back.

"Are your legs like your back?"

"Yes ma'am, but I washed my legs off at the pump."

Then my stomach started churning and gurgling again. I told her I was feeling sick and I thought I was going to throw up. She stopped wiping my back as I was fighting to keep from throwing up. I lost.

I jumped for the door and threw up all over the ground. Then, ran to the toilet again. Afterwards, I went to the pump to wash off before I went back in the house.

Mama was sitting on the bench facing the table. The rag was on the table and she had both her arms in her lap just looking at the rag. I quietly entered the house and stood just inside the door. Mama looked at me and said, "I guess you can't even keep the pink stuff down?"

She finished wiping my back off and got the "Rosebud Salve" which we called "Rose Save."

This was unusual for her to put anything on you after a whipping. Especially the Save. That was usually put on sores, or cuts, or maybe under a bandage. I was puzzled about it, but didn't say anything.

"You think you can eat something?"

"I don't think it will stay down. I threw up once just thinking about food."

She put the Save on several areas on my back and told me to raise my pants legs. She wiped off several areas on my calves and put Save on them to. I liked the rose smell of the save. Besides, it felt good on the raw spots.

Then, she got up and got the Castor Oil. I was hoping she wouldn't give me any of it. It was usually punishment for eating wild plumbs, berries, persimmons, or whatever tore your stomach up. I didn't need any more punishment now. My mind raced again as she started pouring some in a table spoon.

I finally said, "Mama, don't make me take that."

She looked at me and said, "I know you don't like this, but it will help re-coat your throat and stomach. If you can keep it down, it will be good for you."

Her tone of voice wasn't the punishment sound that we usually got with the Castor Oil. It was different! Like, she really didn't want to give it to me, but was really trying to think of something that would help me. I closed my eyes and swallowed the awful stuff.

Punishment or not, the taste didn't change. I don't know if it was the actual Castor Oil, or just the thought and smell of it, but I felt myself starting to throw up again. I barely made it to the door this time. I don't think the Oil got very far down my throat. I stepped back inside and wiped my mouth off. The Oil taste was all in my mouth. I expected another dose, but Mama threw the spoon into the dishpan.

I jumped back a little looking at the dishpan, then quickly at her. She was putting the Castor Oil up.

"Well, I don't have anything else to try now. I'll have to get something else tomorrow that might stay down."

I could sense the frustration in her voice and didn't know what I should do. I said nothing.

She got the rag again and soaked it with water and rung it out. She put the rag on my forehead and told me to hold it there. It felt good and seemed to get rid of the feeling I had to throw up. She went to the bed room to get me another shirt and pants to put on. When she returned, she looked at me for a few seconds thinking.

"Try to go to sleep and I'll get something tomorrow to try."

"I'll hold the rag on my forehead some more because it makes the throw up feeling go away."

She looked at me a few more seconds like she wanted to say something, but didn't. Then, "turn the light off when you go to bed."

She left.

I soaked the rag again and put it on the back of my neck. My back and legs had pretty much quit stinging from the save she put on. The rag felt good, and cool, on my neck as I laid my head on my arms on the table. My stomach seemed to settle down a little. I still had the Castor Oil taste in my mouth. I tried not to think about it. I guess I went to sleep for a while. When I woke up, all was quiet.

I jumped up and put the rag in the pan and turned out the light. Quietly, I went to bed. As I laid down, I felt my backside hurting a little. I also noticed my stomach was settled down and the burning sensation was pretty much gone. I turned onto my stomach and went to sleep.

The next morning I got up to the smell of biscuits cooking. I started toward the kitchen and felt my shirt stuck to my back. Then, I got the sick feeling again. I ran for the back door and started dry heaving. I sat on the steps outside feeling miserable. Mama opened the door. I jumped out of the way. She looked at me and said, "I guess you still feel sick again?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She gave me the wet rag and told me to put it back on my forehead. I sat back down on the steps, wiped my forehead and put the rag on the back of my neck.

Vear came outside and sat down next to me. "You still feel sick?"

"Yeah."

"Can I get you anything?"
"No, I don't know what it would be."

"Velma is fixing you a butter biscuit if you want one."

"Velma?" My mortal enemy I thought? "Well, I'm surprised, and can't believe that, but don't think I could eat it anyway."

"Mama told Snookem to go to the store and get something. Him and Boy are gone. Buster went with Daddy to work somewhere. You have little bloody streaks on your back. Does it still hurt?"

"A little."

Mama said breakfast was ready.

"You want some gravy?"

"No, not now, I might try to eat later when my stomach settles down."

"Okay."

She got up and went to breakfast.

"Tell Velma thanks, but I'll try to eat later."

When everyone was through eating, Mama got the rag and wet it again. Snookem and Boy returned while everyone was eating breakfast. Mama came back with the wet rag and a bottle of white stuff and a teaspoon. (Milk of Magnesia, I think) She gave me the rag and told me to put it on the back of my neck then gave me a teaspoon full of the white stuff. She said she'd try just a little at a time and maybe I wouldn't throw it up.

It was real creamy and tasted sort of good. With the rag on my neck, I felt pretty good. One teaspoon went down good and I didn't feel the throw-up feeling again. Mama said she'd be back in a little while to see how I was doing. In about fifteen minutes, she came back to check on me. I told her the white stuff stayed down this time. She gave me two more spoonfuls. This time, I felt the cool liquid slowly going down my throat. It felt good as it went down my chest. I sat down with the rag on my neck. Mama said she'd be back after a while. This stuff seemed to be working. I didn't have the sick feeling again. In a few minutes, Mama brought me some milk. It was real cool and she told me to sip it. It was real sweet. She must have put something else in it, because normal milk didn't taste like this. It was good and as I sipped it, I realized how thirsty I was.

Taking it slowly, I drank the whole glass full. I smelled the food from breakfast as the breeze flowed through the house and decided I better move away from the back door steps. I didn't want to take any chances of getting sick again while things were going good.

A couple hours later, Mama called me to the house. I was sitting alone under the trees at the back of the house. The kids were in and out of the house. They glanced at me every now and then. Little Don came over a couple times and asked me, "you still sick?"

"Yes, a little."

I went back to the house and Mama said, "you should try to eat something."

"I don't want anything and I'm afraid to eat."

"You have to eat sometime."

"Maybe at dinner time."

"Okay. Did you threw up the milk?"

"No, ma'am. It tasted good."

"I'll fix you another glass."

In a little while, she called me back to the house. She handed me another wet rag and gave me a tablespoon full of the white stuff. She told me to wait a few minutes before I started sipping the milk. Again, the milk was cool and tasted sweet and as I drank it slowly, I heard my stomach gurgling again. I thought I was going to have trouble again, but it settled down.

I was getting pretty hungry but the thought of food didn't make me feel very good. I heard everyone eating dinner about one PM. I wandered over to the back door where I was sure to smell the food. I stood there a few minutes and smelled everything, and started getting sick again. I went back to sit under the trees. About three PM, Mama told me to come and try to eat something. I got the rag wet again and put it on my neck. Mama had some beans and cornbread on the table. I fixed my plate with some and tried to eat it.

The first spoonful seemed to go down okay, but the second one never made it. I ran to the back door and it all came back up. I went to the wash pan and washed my face and told Mama I guess I better wait a while. She gave me another tablespoon of the white stuff and said she'd fix me another glass of milk.

Velma brought me a clean shirt and told me to swap shirts. I looked at her expecting to defend myself, but, she seemed friendly and was holding the shirt out. As I took my shirt off, I felt where it stuck to my back in several places. When I had it off, I saw little bloody streaks on it. Mama told me to come over to the sink and she gently washed my back again. Velma gave me the shirt and I looked at her face for a sign of spitefulness. There was none. She glanced at my eyes and looked at my shirt. She took my shirt and I took the one out of her hand and said a low "thanks." She didn't say anything but took my shirt and left. I put my shirt on while Mama fixed another glass of milk. Then, with the wet rag on my neck, I sat under the trees again and sipped my milk.

By supper time, I was very hungry, but didn't feel much like eating. I knew I had to try though. I waited until every one finished. I went to the kitchen. Beans and cornbread again. I fixed my plate and started to eat just a little bit at a time. I waited a little between bites to see if it stayed down. This time, I got maybe half a plate down before I started feeling sick again. I told Mama I couldn't eat anymore. I went back outside in the cool air and went to the pump to wet the rag again. I felt my stomach churning. I was getting sick.

That little bit of food tore my stomach up. But, I didn't throw up this time. I sat outside in the dark. Daddy came home and I heard him ask Mama about me. She told him what I'd done throughout the day. She said it looked like I couldn't keep anything down very long. Later she fixed me another glass of the sweet cool milk and called me into the house. She gave me another tablespoon of the white stuff and the glass of milk. I went in the front room and watched TV with everyone else. Soon, the TV was turned off and everyone started going to bed.

For the next two days, I could eat just a little more food at dinner and supper before it tore my stomach up. I wasn't vomiting anymore and that was good. My back and legs formed little scabs on my welts. Mama sent Snookem to the store again to get more of the white stuff. She gave me a tablespoon full three times a day. I seemed to be getting back to normal. On the fourth day, I didn't eat a whole lot at dinner, but it didn't tear my stomach up. I knew I was getting better then. By supper, I ate a little more and even though my stomach churned and gurgled, I didn't get sick. The next couple days, I was very hungry but afraid to eat a lot because I didn't want to take the chance.

After about seven days, I was pretty much back to normal and was eating a lot more. Mama quit giving me the white stuff and I was eating with everyone else now. Life settled back down for me and my back and legs were healing fine.

It was maybe a month before my brothers got together for another beer party. Mama was mad again, as usual. I got completely away from the house. I went to the woods and tracked squirrels until it was dark, then went straight in the house. No one bothered the drinking party. Daddy came in early that day and busted it up. He told them to get away from the house and he didn't want them drinking around here again. That put a stop to the drinking party at the house. I guess they went somewhere else. They, occasionally, brought beer to the house and drank it, but there was never another party. Still, Mama was always mad when they brought beer to the house.

I never wanted beer again. To this day, I can't stand the smell of it. It may be okay to taste or drink, but I can just smell beer and I get sick to my stomach. That fire-like memory of my throat and stomach along with the taste of my "beer," is forever burned into my brain. I just can't get past the smell of the beer before I start feeling sick. I have never, in my life, taken a swallow of beer other than the brew Mama fixed for me.

I turned down many beers in my time. Ten years later, when I went to Vietnam, almost everyone drank beer. On the whole Tuy Hoa, (Tooee Wah) Air Base where I was at, there were only three people that didn't drink. One was the chaplain, another guy a few hooch's from mine and myself. Once in 1970, the guys on Tuy Hoa dragged me to the club and said they were going to get me drunk.

"Well, you'll have to knock me out first because I'm not going to drink it on my own."

I went with them, occasionally, and drank a Coke just to be friendly, then went back to the hooch. On this occasion, they took up a collection of money in a hat to give me just to take one swallow. Everyone knew I didn't drink but figured if the money was enough, I'd at least take a swallow. After passing the hat, one guy counted the money. It was over fifty dollars. Just for one swallow. I told everyone, "I appreciate your friendship but I won't take a swallow of beer."

I told them this very story of my first "beer" mixture.

"I get sick just smelling the beer, and no telling what would happen to me if I drank it." They all said, "you're crazy to turn down over fifty dollars for one swallow of beer."

Then, they wanted to raise it to seventy five dollars.

I stopped them and said, "I've lived twenty one years without actual beer in my body and, now, it's a pride thing. I decided long ago I'd never put beer in my body and never have, and, I'm not about to start now. I don't care how much money you offer me, I won't take a swallow."

I didn't then, and never have. Throughout my life, I had many friends offer me beer and I just politely turned it down choosing a soda instead. A few times some of the people picked up on the fact that I didn't drink beer and asked me about not drinking. Usually, I just said I didn't like beer and that ended it. Every now and then, I had to tell this story for them to understand.

I watched all four of my older brothers get addicted to beer and I think it messed up their lives. I've often thought how their lives would have been different if Mama had treated them, like me.

Did Mama treat me wrong? Maybe so. Maybe not. But, I only thought so at the time. Did Mama care about me more than them? Who knows? Over the years, I've always been thankful Mama did what she did. Looking back, I don't think I needed such an extreme example, but I've long ago forgiven her, and to this day, thank her for caring so much about me.

Chapter 37. Going to Church

Going to church was another fun time for us kids. Usually only the kids up to about sixteen years old went to church. Sometimes, a couple of the others might go, but not regular like us little kids. I think Mama and Daddy sent us to church so they could have a little peace and quiet around the house. They never went with us. Sometimes, Daddy took us in the truck. When he did, we were all dusty, and brushed each other off if you rode in the back.

Calvary Baptist Church was about two miles from the house and sometimes if Daddy had to go somewhere or something else came up, we had to walk. We usually asked early Sunday morning if he was going to take us or not. If not, we had to get ready early enough to make the walk. Usually, if the weather was bad, he took us. In the summertime though, we had to walk a lot. Occasionally, someone going our way stopped and picked us up. Getting home wasn't so bad. We usually rode with someone going our way. Sometimes, we were split up in a few vehicles to keep from walking home. Every now and then, Daddy was waiting to take us home, especially in bad weather.

Us little kids liked going to church. I was eleven and it was 1959. Church gave us more time to play with other kids and I really liked singing in church. I don't know if I sang in tune or not, but people always said they liked my singing. I always thought they were just being polite that I was singing so loud. I liked to sing loud and had most of the regular songs memorized. I really got into the singing. It reminded me of singing in the first grade.

Every now and then, our Sunday School class got up front in church and sang. It was a fun time and I really liked all the stories. I liked to act out the stories and us kids harassed the teacher to let us act them out. Usually, we didn't have time before we went back into the sanctuary.

Another thing we liked was the food. Seemed like every month, the church had a lunch for everyone. Us kids got to eat something different and they always had Kool Aid or some type of soda, which was very unusual for us. We liked playing with the other kids while the "grown ups" talked about whatever. They usually weren't in a hurry to leave and us kids always had fifteen to twenty minutes to play before everyone left.

I remember nodding off to sleep many times because of having to sit still for the sermon. Usually someone dug their fingers into you or pushed you back upright when you fell against them. Sometimes us kids wrote notes back and forth to each other while looking up at the preacher every so often like we were paying attention. It might look like we were taking notes of the sermon. I don't think we ever fooled anyone. Usually if we weren't nodding off, we were up to something, like sending notes.

I never knew why the bigger kids didn't like to go to church or why Mama never made them go. Seems like she always made us little kids go. It was never a problem for me since I liked going anyway. We had our Sunday clothes that we wore to church. Usually, I had three shirts and a couple pair of pants that I always wore. I didn't wear them to school unless we had pictures or something special. We had to be careful not to get grass stains on the pants since they seemed hard to get out.

Once, for a while, Buster (Vernon) got really interested in church. I never understood why. Maybe it was the girls. He was much older than me and seemed to always listen to the sermons. He nodded his head appropriately when the preacher was talking. The church usually had a few Bibles in the pews that he used to follow along. Sometimes, me too.

After attending a few Sundays, I remember the preacher coming out to the big oak tree on the south side of the church to talk to Buster. That was interesting, and I wanted to listen in on what was being said. We all knelt down under the tree as the preacher talked to him. He asked Buster about what he believed and why he was coming to church. They talked about thirty minutes discussing things in the Bible and what was going to happen to people that didn't accept Jesus as their Savior. I heard all those things before in the sermons and during our Sunday School classes. Buster didn't seem to have all the right answers and the preacher seemed to be pressing him hard for a decision. Finally, Buster said he wasn't ready yet. The preacher wanted to say a prayer, so we all gathered around and he prayed. Then, we all had to get back home. There was only a few cars left in the parking lot, but the preacher asked them to give us a ride home.

That talk with Buster got me to thinking too. Probably, a couple weeks later, I started asking a lot of questions myself about what would happen to me if I died. Our Sunday School teacher tried to explain everything to me, but seems like I couldn't understand for a while. I told her I was worried about not going to Heaven and I wanted to find out what I had to do to go there. She explained the plan of Salvation to me and asked me if I was ready to accept Jesus into my life. I told her I was and then we prayed. I felt better knowing I was going to Heaven and having Jesus in my life.

The teacher told the preacher and it was announced in church. When the preacher gave the alter call at the end of the sermon, I had to go up front. It was sort of an internal struggle to step out from the pew when the sermon was over. But I didn't care, if this is what it took to get to Heaven, I was willing to do it. The teacher said I should get baptized. That's what I understood at the time, but during the next few Sundays, with my questions about Jesus, I realized that accepting Jesus as my Savior was the key, not getting baptized. However, I thought it was my duty to be baptized to show that I was serious about accepting Jesus into my life. I thought it was interesting that everyone came by and shook my hand. The preacher said it would be a couple weeks before I could get baptized. I was looking forward to that too.

It was summer time and the church didn't have a Baptismal. Just as before, the preacher arranged a date and we went to Clear Lake near Rhymes, La. to be baptized. I don't remember the date, but it was in summer and the water was fairly warm. There were several of us to be baptized. The preacher waded off in the water with most of the church members standing around on the bank. He called the first person in the water and asked them a few questions and baptized them. Finally, he got to me, but the water was too deep for me to wade out to him without being up to my eyes. I waded out to about my chest and told the preacher to come towards me or I'd have to swim to him. Everyone laughed a little and the preacher moved closer toward me. He asked me if I understood what he was going to do and if I knew what it was for. I told him what had been explained to me and he was satisfied and then baptized me.

I wasn't the last one, but there were only a couple people left. After everyone was baptized, the grown ups busted out some sandwiches and soda on the tailgates of trucks while us kids just swam around for a little while. Finally, we quit swimming and went to the bank where a few towels were hanging and dried off some. They had a few vehicles parked a little way from the rest of the crowd that everyone went behind and changed out of their wet clothes. After changing, I went back to the food truck and ate a couple sandwiches and drank some soda. After a short, sort-of mini sermon, we all loaded up in the vehicles and headed home.

No one at home seemed very excited about me being baptized, but I had more desire to go to church now. I seemed to like the sermons more and paid more attention to what the preacher said. It was a challenge to find the verses in the Bible before the preacher started reading them.

I never liked the wording of the King James Version of the Bible and liked it when the preacher explained what the verses actually said. Eventually, as I got older, I still didn't like that version of the Bible, but got to where I could actually understand most of what the Bible was talking about.

I stayed pretty active in church helping out every way I could. I got in to the habit of going into each pew when church was over and putting all the music books and Bibles back into the slots behind the pews. I stayed pretty active in church until I was probably sixteen. Then, seemed like I was just like my other brothers and sisters, it got to where I wasn't as interested in going to church. I still went more than the others my age and older, but wasn't as interested. The church didn't have anything for teenagers to do and no organized teenage program. That was probably why there were very few teens in church.

I got out of going to church pretty much until I went to Vietnam, when I got back into going again for a while. It was much later in life that I really got involved in church and it's purpose.

Chapter 38. The Neighbor's Hog

I guess when you're about eleven years old, everything someone else wants to do, seems like more fun than you're presently having. Or, maybe it was that I was tired of doing the normal things around the house. Besides, if you weren't working in the fields, or doing your chores, your time was spent figuring out how to have fun. We never worked on Sunday, and usually I went to church on Sunday morning and most of the time on Sunday night. But, the time in between was the problem.

If I wasn't fighting with my sisters, or other brothers, and getting a whipping for doing so, I had to figure out what I could do without getting in trouble. Maybe that's why I hung around Boy (Velton) so much. He was the oldest boy at home then and being about seventeen at the time, it made me feel bigger to hang around him. However, I didn't trust him very much. He got me in trouble a couple times before resulting in a good whipping each time. Usually though, if we were away from the house, I was pretty safe.

We lived sort of in the middle of a cotton field behind Holmes Bronson's house in 1959. Up the road about a quarter mile from the Bronson house, at the edge of the cotton field, was another gravel road that went to Ann Smith's house. Her house was further off the main gravel road than our house and sort of behind us. She had a gravel road to her house and the school bus turned around there. She only walked out into her front yard to get on the bus. She was a couple years younger than me and had dark red hair and lots of freckles on her face. I thought she was sort of snobby, and being either the only child, or maybe just two kids in her family, she always had good, clean, clothes. We got along good enough, mostly, by not talking to each other that much. I didn't like her that much because she always had something new she was showing off. She talked to me only to tell me about something new she had or was going to get. I don't know if she like me or not, but if so, she liked me more than I liked her. So, we didn't talk to each other often and usually only when she wanted to show off something.

The Smiths had a little farm-like place but only raised hogs and had maybe ten to fifteen peach trees a short distance in front of the house. Usually, I was the only kid that went there often when the peaches were ripe. Mr. Smith gave us a bushel, or two, of peaches if we helped him pick them. Sometimes, little Don went with me to pick the peaches. He was small and could climb to the top branches for peaches without breaking the limbs. We picked the peaches for other people coming to buy some. Usually, we had them sitting in bushel baskets on the porch. When someone drove up, they just bought from those on the porch. It didn't take very long to pick the peaches. Mr. Smith wanted me to only pick those that were just about ripe. He didn't have that many trees, so he wanted them to ripen good and be almost ripe when sold. Seems we spent more time checking the peaches than picking them. Several days, for a few weeks, he had me come to his house and walk with him in the trees carrying a basket. I scrambled up the trees picking the ones he wanted. This lasted only for a few weeks before all his peaches were picked.

Every now and then, he had me help feed the hogs. I didn't like that because most of the hogs were much bigger than me and out weighed me by a lot. I got shoved around and stepped on all the time. It seemed like Mr. Smith liked to watch me in the pen. He was always laughing at me and the hogs. I was glad when I got through messing with them. He kept good fences and rarely did any ever get out. Another thing I liked was the hill the pen was on. It was usually dry around the feeding trough but the hogs had a wallow over the little hill sort of away from the house. I'm sure Mr. Smith liked that too.

The hogs normally got out of the wallow to come to the feeding trough and got me as filthy as if I was in the wallow myself. Almost every time, before I left his house, I got his water hose and sprayed myself off. Seemed like the smell had to wear off, though. Generally without fail, Ann came out of the house and watched me hose myself off while she snickered at me. That never helped our friendship any, what little friendship we had. But, that wasn't very often and other than the peaches, I never went to their house except on the school bus since we were the next stop after her house going home.

It was one of those days when we were just sitting around the house in the afternoon. Boy and I decided to go to the creek to check on the fishing and squirrel hunting prospects. The creek was on the other side of the gravel road going to Ann Smith's house. There was about seventy five yards of woods before getting to the creek. We hunted the woods every so often. Always killed a few squirrels there, but it wasn't our normal hunting ground and we only went there occasionally. Most times, we walked up the gravel road to the bridge then went down to the creek and walked in the woods along it.

Boy had been in the woods that morning while I was at church and said he saw some wild hog tracks and where they rooted up all the dirt and leaves in several areas near the creek. Since we were just sitting around the house, Boy mentioned that to me. That got my attention, but I was pretty leery about Boy and the hog story. Finally, he got me excited enough to go check out the signs. I accused him of lying about the hogs and there better be some signs if I was going to walk all the way to the woods with him. He assured me that they were there and we might ought to take a gun with us just in case we saw some. I told him I wanted to see the signs first.

He left the gun at home and we started toward the woods. It was hot and as we walked, Boy continued to work me up about the wild hogs and how good the sausage would taste. Before you know it, I was looking at hog signs. Sure enough! There were signs of wild hogs all over the edge of the creek. They rooted all around a water hole and into the woods near it. We walked a good distance through the woods tracking the upturned dirt and tracks. I was really excited by then. Boy wanted to run back to the house to get the gun. We took off back to the house for the gun.

Reaching home, Mama found something for me to do and I was heartbroken that I couldn't go with Boy to hunt the hogs. I made a deal with Boy that he wouldn't shoot any hogs until I caught up with him. I'd quickly finish whatever Mama wanted me to do. I figured I could find him by following the rooted areas in the woods starting at the bridge and going southward along the creek. That settled, Boy left with the gun and I hurried to see what Mama wanted me to do. I don't remember just what it was, but it took me about thirty minutes and I worked as fast as I could, only thinking about the hogs we were going to get.

Just about the time I was finishing up, there was a loud 'Boom' in the woods about half way up the woods toward the Smith house. I cussed Boy under my breath knowing he didn't wait for me before shooting the hog. Mama heard the shot and looking that direction, asked me, "what's going on?"

I told her, "I think Boy probably shot a wild hog in the woods since we saw some signs earlier."

"There ain't no wild hogs around here anywhere."

I tried to convince her that there were all kind of signs in the woods, but all she could said was, "there's no wild hogs around here anywhere."

She seemed convinced that there weren't any wild hogs around here and that started me thinking. By now, I'd finished the task and was released by Mama to do whatever I wanted. I busted out the front door and ran toward the woods down the cotton patch turn-row. About that time, I saw Boy coming out of the woods semi-running toward the house.

It was exciting to see the look on his face and he was talking faster than normal. I felt the excitement he had as he told me about how he stalked the hog and shot it. He watched it a few minutes to be sure it was dead then came running for the house. Even in my excitement, I told him he was supposed to wait for me to catch up with him before he shot the hog. He gave me the story about it starting to move away and I didn't get there yet. I knew he was lying and just didn't wait on me. Either way, there was a dead hog in the woods and we had to do something about it.

While we were walking the turn row back to the house, Mr. Smith's car came down the gravel road and turned into Homes Bronson's house. We paid it no attention and cut across the cotton patch toward the house. Daddy wasn't home when we got there.

Boy told Mama. "I killed a wild hog in the woods and need a sharp knife to gut it and a couple other people to help drag it to the house. Daddy can skin it when he gets in."

Mama, as usual, questioned Boy a lot about the wild hog.

"Are you sure it was a wild hog, because there ain't any in this area, normally?"

"Of course, it's a wild hog because its never been there before. We keep a pretty close check on the creek pot holes for fish and checking on the squirrels. We know the hog signs are recent."

Even though Mama wasn't convinced the hog was wild, the fact that there was a "dead" one in the woods was real, and something had to be done about that.

Boy and I looked through the knifes in the kitchen and got the butcher knife and sharpened it. Meanwhile, we were telling everyone about the wild hog and how Boy killed it. We were already tasting the sausage and ham. We had the rest of the house worked up with excitement. We had everyone's attention as Boy told the story of the stalk and the kill. Finally, we got several volunteers to help drag it to the house, which was a pretty good distance. We finished sharpening the knifes and collected everyone to go get the hog.

Then, just before we left, Holmes Bronson drives up in the yard. He had Mr. Smith with him. They got out of the truck and started for the house. Mama went to the porch and Boy and I went with Mama to talk to Holmes. Before Holmes spoke up, Mr. Smith asked, "You boys seen one of my hogs lately?"

Boy and I looked at each other.

Mama said, "none of your hogs have been around our place, but if one does, we'll notify you and watch it until you get here."

Mr. Smith said, "I've got good fences and none of my hogs ever got out before, but one is missing now."

I got that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach again. I looked at Boy and could tell he was getting a little sick himself. Holmes spoke up then, breaking our sickness by asking, "Boy, have you or Victor seen his hog?"

I spoke up, maybe a little too quick.

"No, I haven't seen any of his hogs."

Boy just sort of repeated what Mama said that no hog had been around the house or we would've seen it. It must have been the fact that we were as white as a sheets that made Holmes ask, "are you sure you haven't seen the hog?"

I couldn't speak anymore since I was feeling so sick and my mouth was to dry to speak, but Boy managed a, "Naw, not around here!"

I sat down on the porch before I fell off. I could just imagine telling Daddy this story. I was amazed that Mama didn't mention the hog Boy just killed. Maybe she gave Boy the benefit of the doubt that it was a wild hog. I didn't.

Slowly, Holmes and Mr. Smith were mumbling something and turning around to go back to the truck.

Holmes said, "Well, I'll see ya'll later and if you see the hog, let me or Mr. Smith know."

Mama said, "Alright, we will."

As they left, Mama looked at both of us and I knew it was written on our faces that Boy just killed Mr. Smith's hog.

Mama asked Boy, "you sure it was a wild hog you just killed?"

Boy sort of grunted, "well it didn't act like a completely wild hog when I stepped out from behind the tree to shoot it. It didn't run off like I expected. It sort of looked at me and started walking slowly toward me."

I couldn't believe my ears.

I said, "That was your "wild" hog?"

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach was making me sick and I felt like I was going to throw up. Or, was it the thought of what Daddy was going to do to us when he got home that was making me sick? Boy was looking down at the floor mumbling something that didn't make any sense. Mama walked between us going in the house.

"Well, go get the hog and drag it to the house. I can tell if it's a wild hog or not."

All my previous excitement was replaced with fear now. Probably to the same extent, too. Before, we were very excited, and now, we were very scared. I felt a little better when I remembered that I wasn't with Boy when he shot the hog. Thank God, and Mama, for such a small miracle! But, I knew I was just about as guilty since I was mad before that I wasn't there with him.

Boy and I, and a couple other kids started trudging through the cotton patch to the woods. It must have looked like a funeral march. I know the feeling was the same. It might just as well been one, since I knew, Boy, at least, and me also, probably, were going to get killed anyway. We were about to reach the fence next to the Smith gravel road when we saw Daddy turn into our dirt road. We looked at each other and decided to go back to the house and tell Daddy to see what we should do next.

Daddy was sitting on the porch in a chair drinking his usual six ounce Coke when we arrived at the house. We figured Mama already told him the bottom line about the hog and our visit with Holmes and Mr. Smith. Daddy looked like he was studying something and sat still, listening to Boy tell him about finding the wild hog tracks in the woods. He only interrupted Boy's story to say there were no wild hogs in this area.

I started getting sick again, and all the excitement was gone from the story as Boy told Daddy what happened. I didn't like the part where Boy said he was waiting for me to catch up to him before he killed the hog, but it looked like the hog was about to get away when he shot it.

"How long since you shot it?"

"About forty five minutes ago."

"Did you tell Holmes Bronson yet?"

"No, sir."

Daddy finished drinking his share of the Coke and saved a couple swallows for little Don, which was his custom for all us kids.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. We could see Daddy thinking.

"Leave your knives here. You and Victor go to the edge of the woods where the hog is and wait for me on the gravel road. I'm going to get Holmes Bronson and Mr. Smith and meet you on the road. Then, ya'll can take us to the hog."

"Yes, sir."

Boy and I didn't talk much as we walked. We both sensed the doom awaiting us. I told Boy, "you didn't have to say you were waiting for me to catch up to you."

"Well, I was waiting for you, but you took too long."

"Yeah, and Daddy is going to kill us now, instead of just you."

Boy said nothing. It sure is interesting how quickly so much excitement can turn into so much dread. But, such was the case in such a large family and it seemed always centered on me. Boy and I pondered our fate as we watched the vehicles approach our location.

Holmes Bronson arrived first. We saw Daddy stop there a couple minutes then drive past us on the gravel road to get Mr. Smith. Only there a couple minutes, Daddy turned around in his yard and came our way followed, shortly, by Mr. Smith's vehicle. Boy and I saw everything from our location. Holmes didn't say anything when he arrived. He just leaned on the side of his truck waiting for Daddy and Mr. Smith. When everyone was there, Daddy said, "take us to the hog."

Boy led the way through the woods as I followed him, with Daddy, Mr. Smith, then Holmes trailing behind.

When we were maybe thirty yards from the hog, I guess, Mr. Smith was looking around as we walked, because he stated, "There it is...., Yep, that's my hog!"

I was feeling bad already, but now felt like I was getting sick again. As we approached the hog, Mr. Smith cussed a little about it being one of his best hogs. Of course it is, I thought, it always is, isn't it? But, I didn't say anything. Mr. Smith looked the hog over, while Boy and I stood back a little. There was a long silence while Mr. Smith looked over the hog. Finally, Daddy said, "I'll pay for the hog, just tell me how much."

Mr. Smith stated sort of harshly, "that won't bring my hog back!"

Boy and I took another step backwards. I knew I was fixing to throw up. I felt weakness in my legs. I sat down on the ground next to a tree before I fell down.

"No, it won't, but it's not too late to have the hog butchered if you want to. I'll pay for that also. I don't think Boy killed the hog knowing it was yours. He thought it was a wild hog. I'd appreciate it if you don't press charges on Boy."

Press charges? That was new! What was these charges? I never thought about that and knew Boy didn't either. Was that like going to jail or something, or going to prison for killing a hog? Were we killers now? Could I go to jail just for knowing about it? Where do they send eleven year old boys? My mind raced about the possibilities of these "charges." For sure, I was getting sick now.

"I ought to press charges to teach him a lesson."

Holmes Bronson looked at me and Boy and saw we were scared to death, and I was about to throw up. Then he said, "Mr. Smith, I don't think they meant to kill your hog on purpose."

Boy spoke up, "I thought it was a wild hog. I never thought about it being one of Mr. Smith's hogs because they never got out of the pen before."

That sounded good, but didn't make me feel much better. There was another silence— longer than the first. I knew our fate rested on who spoke next and I wasn't sure who it was going to be.

Then, Mr. Smith said, "Hell, I guess I won't press charges." Then looking at us, "but you boys ought to know there ain't no wild hogs around these parts." Then looking at Daddy, "Just pay for the butchering and see that this doesn't happen again and we'll be even."

I couldn't tell if Daddy was relieved or not. I certainly was. Holmes looked at us again and sort of smiled a little then said to both us,

"You boys got real lucky this time, this could have cost your Dad a lot of money, plus you two might have gone to jail for a while. You better see that nothing like this ever happens again."

Boy and I spoke about the same time, "Yes, sir, we won't!"

Daddy told us to, "grab the hog by the back legs and let's drag it to my truck."

I tried to help Boy, but the hog was too heavy for me. Daddy came around and grabbed one hind foot while Boy got the other. I got a front leg and Holmes grab the other front leg as we dragged the hog to Daddy's truck. It took all us to heft it into the back.

Daddy said, "I'll take it to town and have it butchered and bring the meat back when it's ready."

Mr. Smith stated a disgruntled, "okay."

We all busted up.

Daddy told me and Boy, "Ya'll go to the house and wait for me to get back."

We both knew what that meant. Holmes and Mr. Smith left, then so did Daddy with the hog.

The sense of relief I had a few minutes ago was replaced with the sense of doom. I started feeling sick just thinking about what Daddy was going to do to us. I didn't know how much more stress my body could take before breaking down into a full fledged throwing-up session. I think I'd felt better if I'd just gone ahead and got sick. These up and down emotions were wearing me out. Excitement, fear, doom, relief, fear, doom, and now pain was waiting for us when Daddy got back.

As we walked back, Boy and I were trying to figure out how much the butchering cost and how we could pay Daddy back for that. Maybe if we had an answer, we could avoid the whipping we were sure to get. For the life of both of us, we couldn't see how we could get enough money to pay him back. I guessed we could just work it off.

When we got home, Mama wanted the whole story, which we told everyone while waiting for Daddy's return. The look of doom was on everyone's face. The girls, who weren't involved at all, showed that on their faces too. Of course, it didn't help when Velma said,

"Just wait till Daddy gets back!"

Yeah, way to go Velma, I thought. I didn't need that comment right now, but wasn't surprised by it. Boy and I went to the porch and sat down, dreading every minute that passed. Knowing that every minute was one more closer to the pain that was sure to follow, I started blaming Boy for getting me another whipping. This one, I was pretty much innocent of.

Frustrated, I told him, "if you weren't so big, I'd whip you myself."

Boy didn't seemed concerned about the upcoming whipping. He seemed more relieved that he wasn't going to jail. He didn't mind the whipping it seemed. I was thinking that jail might be better than the whipping. I didn't think they whipped you in jail.

After another eternity, we saw Daddy's truck turn into our dirt road. As he came to the house, Boy and I jumped up and waited by the porch. Daddy drove the truck to a high spot of ground with the back end lower. This wasn't his usual stopping place. He got out looking at us.

"Get some water and wash the blood out of the back of the truck."

We jumped to it. We quickly scrambled to the pump and pumped some water in buckets and got some rags out of the tool shed. Daddy went in the house. The absence of the other kids around was the telling sign that doom was in the house. There were no sounds coming out of the house. We heard Mama and Daddy talking about something. We scrubbed the back of the truck and rinsed it good.

When we were taking the bucket back to the pump house, we saw Daddy come out of the house and head for the tool shed. This was bad. He kept the horse reins and a razor strap in the tool shed. Both were serious whipping tools. From the tool shed he called both of us. I felt the horse reins on my back as we walked slowly to the tool shed. I glanced at the house and saw a few faces peering out the windows. Not a sound was in the house.

As soon as Boy stepped in the tool shed, Daddy grabbed him by the arm and started hitting him with the horse reins. I started crying just watching. Daddy whipped him good from his calves to his shoulders. Boy was crying out but Daddy didn't say a word. Daddy sort of slung Boy to the back of the shed and grabbed me. He whipped me pretty good, but mostly on my back. After fifteen to twenty hits with the horse reins, he sort of slung me to the back of the shed too. He pointed his finger at both us and said,

"I better never catch you two doing something like this again or it'll be worse next time."

Between crying breaths, we both said, "No sir, we won't!"

Then, he put the reins back on a nail and walked out.

We stayed in the tool shed until dark. No one asked if I was going to church that night. Several of the girls went and took Man (Verlon) with them. Boy and I tried to justify what he did by stating that we didn't know it was Mr. Smiths hog and that we thought it was wild. Later when we went in to supper, nothing was said about the hog.

When I went in, Mama grabbed my arm and spun me around. She surprised me so much, I thought I was going to get another whipping from her. My mind raced again. How could I get in to so much trouble when I wasn't even with him? Why did I get a whipping at all? Sure, I probably would've been with him if Mama hadn't sent me doing something, but I couldn't understand why all this was happening to me when all I did was know about it.

As it turned out, Mama just wanted to look at my back. She pulled my shirt up and looked at it. I had a few bloody welts and she got a cold wet rag and wiped them off. I could tell she was mad at Daddy about something, but it was something all us kids knew to leave alone.

The rag felt good on my back. Mama mumbled something about blood on my shirt and told me to take it off. I took off my shirt and she washed the blood out of it in the pan. She squeezed out the water and told me to put it back on. Then, sort of pushed me toward the table and told me to eat. All this was odd since she didn't look at Boy's back and I could see some bloody lines on his shirt too. Neither of us said anything. We sat down and ate. Before long, the girls were back from church.

Finally, we were all off to bed and I heard from the tone of Mama's voice that she was still mad at Daddy about something. I couldn't make out the words, but I distinctly heard my name mentioned a couple times. Maybe Mama was mad that Daddy whipped me when I, basically, had nothing to do with this hog killing. But, I wasn't completely innocent. I'm sure if Mama hadn't distracted me, I'd been with Boy and deserved just what I got.

A few days later, Daddy went to town to get the meat for Mr. Smith. He took it to Mr. Smith's house covered up with a tarpaulin in the back of the truck. It was an anxious time for me and Boy because we were afraid he might get mad again and decide to whip us again. Looking across the cotton patch, we saw him and Mr. Smith taking the meat into the house. We saw when the truck was leaving Mr. Smith's house and Boy and I went to the pump and started pumping water for the house. We didn't want to be in the house when he got back.

We were watching very closely for any sign of Daddy being mad again. Daddy had a paper sack under his arm when he went in the house. We thought he'd bought something Mama needed. Daddy looked at us and said, "fold up the tarpaulin in the back of the truck."

We yelled, "Yes sir," and ran to the back of the truck.

We folded the tarp and put it in the tool shed and went back to the pump waiting for what might befall us next. Thankfully, nothing!

We filled the buckets and brought them in the house. Daddy was on the front porch drinking his six ounce Coke with Don between his legs giving him sips of Coke. We figured he wasn't mad at us anymore.

The sack Daddy had was some ham Mr. Smith gave Daddy. I guess, Mr. Smith must have thought about the fact that his hog was about as much to blame as we were. If his hog hadn't got out, it wouldn't have been killed. Plus, his hog had been out a couple days for it to do that much digging in the woods. Why did Mr. Smith not notice one of his "best" hogs was out, or the hole in the fence? I don't know how much it cost to have the hog butchered, but Daddy never made us pay anything and the subject was never mentioned again.

We did have some ham for a few days, but Boy and I ate very little of it for fear of setting off repercussions. It was very good meat, however, what little we did eat.

I stayed mad at Boy for several days. Eventually, I was back to figuring out something to do with my slack time.

Chapter 39. The Lifesaving Cow Track

It was late spring in 1959, and as usual, being almost eleven years old, I was looking for something to do. Buster (Vernon) was at home for some reason. Usually he was working somewhere else, or with Daddy. He seemed to drift in and out of the house at various times. This was one of the times he drifted to the house. Usually, Daddy put him to work doing something if not taking him to work with him somewhere. Since we didn't work on Sundays, we found ourselves sitting around the house with not much to do.

I knew something was up but didn't know what. Buster told Boy (Velton) to go with him to the woods to "look around." I overheard the comment and immediately asked if I could go too. I liked to hang around with the older boys, and I felt older when I was with them. No, was Buster's answer. I figured that already and rarely got my hopes up thinking I might be able to go with them. However, when Buster and Boy got together, it always seemed like trouble followed them and I wasn't too hurt by him saying no. I got in trouble many times with them leading the way. You'd think I'd learned by now. I didn't trust Boy that much and Buster even less. But, they were older brothers and it somehow made me "older" when I was with them.

They left the front porch and headed toward the woods across the cotton patch. I let them get about halfway across then, like a little puppy, started out behind them. When they crossed the fence was my problem. I knew as long as they were going across the cotton patch, they weren't likely to look back to see me following. But, when they crossed the fence, they'd no doubt glance back at the house and see me. The cotton wasn't tall enough to hide me yet. I had to take the chance that since I was over halfway to the fence, they'd let me tag along. It worked several times before and I guess it just depended on their mood whether I could tag along. Sure enough, when they crossed the fence, they saw me and yelled at me to go back to the house.

They took off running through the woods and, almost immediately, I lost them in the trees. Well, it didn't work this time I thought. There was no way I could run after them and find them in the woods. They were too far ahead of me. So, I went back to the house. I knew they'd be back around dark.

I went back home and found something else to do while waiting for their return. They knew the routine. I always asked where they went and what they were doing in the woods? Usually, "nothing" was their response. So, not long before dark I saw them coming back across the cotton patch. I ran to meet them about half way back. I started the usual questions. Where did you go? What did you do? Why were you gone so long? Can I go with you next time? It seemed like I was required to ask these questions but, I knew the answers already. They just kept walking toward the house and didn't say anything or look at me. This was normal. Then, something quite unusual! When I asked if I could go with them next time, Buster said, "maybe."

Wow, I was as good as gone with them now. The usual answer being "no," a "maybe" meant I could actually go with them, normally, under some kind of condition. I didn't like this game but played it many times before. What the "maybe" meant was, I had to do whatever trivial thing they wanted me to do before I could go with them. Plus, I was at their mercy as to when they went back. So, being sort of a slave for them, I had to do what they wanted until they decided to go back. Then, if I hadn't messed anything up, they "might" let me go with them.

It was sort of a bad way for me to get a chance to go with them. If they really didn't want me to go with them, even though I worked good as their slave, they just asked Mama if I could go with them and Mama always said no. So, I was forced to play this slave game and still didn't know if my efforts would pay off. I learned to tell them not to ask Mama, though. In the past, if they didn't want me to go, they asked Mama, then claimed they forgot I told them not to ask her. So, I still wasn't sure I could go with them next time, but was forced to play this slave game just to find out. But, "maybe" was better than "no."

While they were walking toward the house, I jumped the cotton rows and glanced up at them every few steps as I asked the questions. Then I noticed Boy had something in his mouth. I saw it poking his cheek out. I couldn't imagine what it might be. I asked and got the expected, "nothing."

Of course, I started the incessant, "come on, tell me what's in your mouth."

Looking at Buster, I noticed he had something in his mouth too. Intrigue set in!

Maybe they had something hidden in the woods. Maybe they had something before they went to the woods. Both answers weren't likely. No one could have anything around the house without someone noticing it. There were too many eyes. Whatever they had, didn't come from the house. It was in the woods, whatever it was. I noticed they weren't chewing the item in their mouths, maybe a jaw breaker (hard candy ball). No, someone would've seen that before. Then I noticed the marble-like shapes in their front pockets. Bulging out both their front pockets were probably more of whatever they had in their mouths. Next, of course, the questions, "What's in your pockets?"

Answer, "nothing."

I knew sooner or later they'd reveal what they had. I jumped the rows until we got home.

Buster and Boy sat down on the front porch and since that drew their pants tighter, I saw some wet spots on their pockets. I mentioned that and they jumped up to give their pockets some slack. Boy chewed up his "nothing" while making a little face. Then, pulling a seed out of his mouth, he tossed it to the chickens near the house. Although the chickens beat me to the seed, I saw it long enough to know it was a plum seed. I told them I knew what they had and asked if could I have one. They didn't believe me until I told them they had plums.

I told them, "if Mama finds out, you'll get a dose of Castor Oil."

Of course, they knew if I told Mama they wouldn't give me any plumbs either. So the bargaining started. Boy pulled another from his pocket. It was real pretty red on one side, but fairly green on the other. I tasted the tartness just looking at it. My mouth was watering thinking about it's taste. Boy wiped it off a little and popped it in his mouth like a piece of candy. Buster chewed up his and pulled out a few from his pocket. He picked out a fairly ripe one, with some green on it also, and popped it in his mouth. I put some verbal leverage on them by suggesting, "I might tell Mama if you don't give me one."

They looked at each other and Buster told Boy to give me one. He reached in his pocket and pulled several out. He selected the greenest one of the few and gave it to me.

I checked it for worm holes and noticed it only had a small red spot on one side. I mentioned that it was still pretty green. Boy reached for it in my hand, but I was too quick for him. I popped it in my mouth. Immediately, I tasted the tartness. I bit into it just a little to squeeze out some of the juice. Wow, that was tart! It probably lasted fifteen to twenty minutes with me just barely crushing it with my teeth. Meanwhile, they reminded me that I couldn't tell Mama now for fear of the Castor Oil. Besides that, she might even whip us for having them.

I begged another ten minutes for another one. Finally, Boy dug out another. I told him I wanted one a little more ripe. He gave me one with just a touch more red on it, but I couldn't tell it was any more ripe. It was great, all three of us sitting back on the porch sucking that tart juice from the plums. I couldn't believe they were sharing with me, but knew the slave routine would soon follow. It came before I expected.

When I begged for, and got, a third one, Buster told me to go get him some water. Since I knew that was coming, I already had a plan. I said I would if I could go with them next time to the plum trees. As expected, Buster said, "maybe."

I got his water and noticed the girls knew I was slave trading one of them on the porch for something. I hurried back to the porch and told them the girls would probably be out soon since they saw me get a glass of water.

We quickly got rid of our seeds and was just sitting around when Vera and Velma came on the porch. Velma looked at Boy and asked, "what you got in your pockets?"

Of course, "nothing," plus, Buster got up and started walking around the house. Boy and I followed without a word. For fear of them telling Mama, Buster and Boy went to the tool shed and emptied their pockets. We all popped another plum in our mouths and went back to the porch. I knew the routine from there also. I was to be their "go get me another one" boy. That was alright with me since I could get myself one also. As we sat on the porch, Buster reminded us to be careful and not let anyone catch us with one in our mouths. Also, we better not eat anymore today or it might tear our stomachs up. Besides, we needed to save them for tomorrow.

We were pretty discrete in hiding them from everyone else. We didn't let anyone see them in our mouths. Once Velma caught me with one poking my cheek out, but I told her it was my favorite marble I kept in my mouth. I got the required reminder that it could choke me and I better take it out. I ignored her and she didn't say anything else. We sneaked back outside after dark and each got another one before bed. I reminded Buster they were to take me back with them to the woods the next time they went. He said, "maybe, but we might need to wait a few more days until they ripened a little more."

It made sense to wait and he still didn't say no. Besides, we still had a good stash of them in the tool shed for the next day or two.

You'd think that knowing there are plums in the tool shed and wanting them to last, you could leave them alone on purpose. It never happens that way. I guess the fear of the girls watching us go in and out of the tool shed eventually meant, either the plums, or us, would get discovered. Either way, the plums barely lasted through the next day. Then, we had none until we went back for more. After two days, and only one day without plums, I started asking Buster if he thought we ought to go get some more?

He said, "we might, but they wouldn't be ripened much in just two days."

That made sense, so I stopped asking for a couple days. Then, approaching the weekend, I got concerned they might get ripe real fast and birds, 'coons, 'possums, and whatever else eats plums might get them all. I tried to express my concern to Buster and Boy, to no avail. They figured I just wanted to find the tree so I could sneak off by myself and get all I wanted. They wanted the slave trade to continue and I was getting tired of doing every little thing they wanted.

Finally, the weekend came and I knew the plums must surely be plenty ripe now after one whole week. I started bothering Buster that the worms may be getting the plums since a few that Boy gave me, had a few sting marks on them. I also tried the story that the birds may be eating them by now. I guess Buster knew my ploys and didn't seemed concerned.

He only said, "there's plenty of plums and all wouldn't be gone. Plus, they won't be ripened that much anyway."

I didn't believe him and started working on Boy. Finally, Sunday afternoon we were getting antsy and started looking for a good time to sneak away from the house. Boy finally said he was going to get some plums. Since he knew where to go, Buster decided it was time also.

Buster asked, "did you ask Mama if you could go with us?"

I wasn't sure what to say. I couldn't ask Mama, I knew she would say no.

"Mama don't have to know and if I'm gone, someone would tell her I was with you and Boy." I figured that would be all right. Then, added, "you shouldn't ask her either."

Of course, I couldn't make them let me go, and was at the critical point where if he decided not to take me now, there was really little I could do. I reminded him, "you said I could go a week ago."

"I remember saying maybe."

I was getting desperate now and figured they were trying to find some way for me not to go.

"You know, I been doing everything you and Boy wanted for a week now and if you don't take me, I might just go tell Mama."

They knew that would put a stop to any of us going.

Finally, he said, "alright, you can go but you can't bring anyone else to the plum trees."

"Okay, I won't."

We looked around a little and when it seemed no one was looking, which was impossible, we took off. We moved pretty fast away from the house. I jumped the cotton rows trying to stay up with them. We knew we had to get at least half way across the cotton patch to be safely beyond the hollering distance from the house. If Mama happened to see us, she might have one of the girls yell at us to come back. We made it across the patch and when we crossed the fence, I glanced back at the house. We saw the younger kids in the yard, but no older ones. We got away. We quickly ran in the woods and knew we were safe then.

We walked about ten minutes. I think we went in a circle before heading to the plum bushes. I spent a lot of time in the woods squirrel hunting and knew them pretty well. I think Buster was trying to get me lost so I wouldn't be able to find the plums again. But when we went across a dry ravine close to the cows, I knew where we were. I didn't say anything so as not to let on that I knew where we were. However, we crossed another fence and that was new territory for me. I knew the fence was there, but I never needed to cross it. There was only a small strip of woods before another pasture and I could see if there were any squirrels on the strip of trees. We went across the pasture to the far edge and just in the woods were the plum bushes. I knew I could get back here if I needed to.

As we approached the plums, I saw the bushes and ran to them. They looked like a Christmas tree. Red, green, and orange colored plums were all over the several bushes. There were a lot on the ground too. They looked more ripe than the ones on the tree. I started picking them up by the handfuls. Then, I noticed why they were so ripe. Worms! I think every one of them on the ground had a worm hole. That side of the plum was mushy but the other side was usually just turning ripe. I selected several that had worms with one side good. I wiped the good side off and bit into it. Wow, it tasted great! I had my hands full and were eating them about as fast as I could. I bit into one every now and then to find a worm in the good side also. It was real mushy, usually, and that kept me from eating the worms. Buster and Boy were doing the same thing. None of us picked one off the bushes yet.

I don't know how many I ate, but finally Buster said, "if we eat too many, it'll tear up our stomachs. Also, they'll give us a belly ache and we all know Mama's remedy for that."

Caster Oil. Just thinking about that almost made me throw up. So, we started checking those out on the bushes. Most were about half ripe and many still about as green as those from last week. We carefully picked out the most ripe plums and started filling our pockets to take home. In the process of filling our pockets, we each kept one in our mouths. These were almost as tart as those last week but, occasionally, you tasted the sweet pulp of one getting ripe.

I climbed the bushes to get the riper plums near the top. Buster and Boy just jumped a little to reach most any they wanted. Near the top of one bush were several that looked really ripe. I had to get them. I climbed to the top and laid out on the limb to reach them. Buster and Boy saw what I was going for and wanted me to get them some. At first, I started to tell them to get their own. They were taller than me and they wouldn't do that for me, I was sure. However, before I said anything, I guess Boy already figured I might not get them any, so he added, "We can't get on the limbs like you without breaking the limbs or the bush."

That made sense to me so I said, "Okay."

I got them several handfuls as I scrambled around in the bushes. The plums near the top were, in fact, sweeter. I popped one after the other in my mouth. Buster warned me again about eating too many at one time. So, I decided to just fill my pockets and slow down eating them.

Finally, we had our pockets full and I was getting out of the plum bush. The bushes weren't very thick and I had to be careful not to break the limbs. With a plum in my mouth, I wanted to get that last one near the top of the bush. It took a couple minutes, but I finally got it. Buster and Boy already started walking back toward the house. On my way down the limb, I snagged my pants on a little knot on a limb. That caused me to swing around a little and I crushed some of the plums in my pocket. I glanced down to see the wet spots appearing bigger on my pocket. I jerked my weight off my pocket but that caused me to fall out of the bush.

I landed on my back with a good thud. The sound caused Buster and Boy to look back at me. Since the bush wasn't that tall, I didn't fall far enough to get hurt. As I hit the ground, I felt the wormy plums on the ground smashing. I felt the wet spots on my back and legs. Although both were looking at me, Boy said, "You better quit clowning around and catch up."

I wasn't hurt, but was a little mad that I had the wet spots all over my back and pants. I was concerned about how I'd explain this at home. I figured Buster or Boy had a solution. I got up as carefully as I could without crushing any more plums and started running toward them. Then, I realized I swallowed the plum I had in my mouth.

At first, panic hit me. I felt the plum slowly going down my throat and in my chest. I started running to Buster and Boy and sort of moaning while I ran. They sensed, or probably saw, the fright on my face. As I got near them, Buster asked, "What did you do? You didn't break your arm or something, did you?"

All I said was, "it's going down my chest!"

Buster said, "Oh no! You didn't swallow a plum seed did you?"

That didn't sound very comforting. I looked at him and nodded my head.

Then he said, "Damn, boy, don't you know that will kill you?"

"You're lying!"

Buster looked at Boy and said, "tell him those seeds will kill him."

"If it ain't ripe yet, it'll kill you."

I was getting even more concerned. I didn't know if I could trust them or not. Then Buster started looking around like he wanted to find something in the distance. He asked, "where are the cows?"

I couldn't stand it anymore. I blurted out,

"Why are you worried about the cows when I'm dying here?"

Then Buster asked, "Is your chest hurting? Is the plum still going down and hurting?"

"Yes!"I blurted out with a worried face.

"Where is it now?"

I pointed to a spot about the middle of my chest.

"Fixing to go into your stomach. How green was the plum?"

I jerked several out of my pocket and picked one out that looked about like the one I had in my mouth. Buster looked hard at it turning it all around.

"That's too green! You're not going to make it."

Immediately, I started talking, "Look again, it's not that green! It's pretty ripe! Why will a seed kill me? How much time do I have? Won't the Castor Oil take care of it? I bet Mama will know what to do."

"Shut up! and I'll explain."

Then he started, "you see, it's the chemicals in the seed that kills you. What makes a plum get ripe on a tree is, the tree provides water so the seed will produce the flesh of the plum. As the sun warms the seeds in spring, it starts to release it's chemicals and with the sun, a plum starts to form. It's the unripe chemicals that makes the plum so sour. As the air temperature warms, more chemical is released by the seed. The plum gets bigger and the sun starts changing the chemical to make the plum ripe. The plum changes color and taste as the chemical is changed into plum flesh. The more ripe the plum, the less chemical in the seed and the bigger, and sweeter, and redder, the plum is because the chemical is being changed."

I knew Buster was no doctor or chemist, but what he said made sense to me. Besides, he was older and knew a lot more stuff than I did.

He continued, "the chemical won't hurt you if you swallow it from a ripe plum because you only get what was in the plum and not the rest in the seed. Enough of the chemical from ripe plums is what gives you a belly ache and tears your stomach up, but it won't kill you. But, if you swallow the seed from a green plum, it keeps releasing the chemical and you get too much in your body and it kills you."

Wow, so that's how all this stuff works, I thought. Everything just made so much sense now. I knew that plums were sweeter when ripe and they changed color, plus, I knew that eating too many green ones gave you a belly ache and tore your stomach up. I didn't know how until now. He must be telling the truth, it all made complete sense to me.

Then I said, "Wait a minute! I never heard of anyone dying from eating a green plum seed before."

"Of course not! If doctors told everyone that's what killed people, they'd stop eating plums and other things with seeds. That would mess up all the fruit farmers and our economy. Besides, people aren't supposed to eat the seed anyway, especially green ones."

"I've swallowed watermelon seeds before and I didn't die from them."

"They're too small, don't have enough chemicals, besides you usually eat watermelons when they're ripe, not green."

Wow, he was right again! I could still feel the plum right in the middle of my chest. I had a little pain like I couldn't completely swallow it. I really started worrying about dying. Boy looked a little sad too. My mind was racing with thoughts. I was too young to die. I didn't want to die. I thought about running to Mama to see if she could help me.

"I think I'll run to Mama and see if she can help me."

Buster was ready for that too. He said, "all she'll do is give you Castor Oil. That might stop my belly ache for a while, but it won't stop the seed releasing the chemical. Besides, she'll whip you first anyway for eating them."

I thought of the solution. "I'll just make myself throw up. That will get the seed out of my stomach."

"It's too late! The acids in your stomach probably already ate the shell off the seed and the chemicals are already in your stomach and probably in you blood too."

Man, he was right again. I read about acids in you stomach before. Then, he named a few names and ask if I knew them?

"No!"

"They were little boys that died from plum seeds."

I was really worried now.

"Why does it only affect little boys?"

"It'll do that to any little person, boy or girl. Adults and bigger people live because of their size. Sort of like when a snake bites a puppy. It might die, but a grown dog will live."

Wow, that made sense again! I saw that happen to dogs too. I was getting desperate now.

"So you say I'm going to die?"

"Not immediately, it takes a little while for it to go through your body, but it'll kill you."

"How long do you think it'll take?"

"Anywhere from one day to a week, without treatment."

"Without treatment? What treatment? I thought you said I was going to die! Now, you said treatment! Why didn't you say that from the start?"

I saw a glimmer of hope from the certain death that was upon me. Buster and Boy turned and started walking toward the house. I grabbed Buster's arm and asked, "What treatment?"

"You wouldn't want the cure. None of the other boys that died wanted the cure."

I almost shouted, "Wait! I want the cure! I don't want to die! What is it? Tell me!"

He started walking again and said, "No, you won't want the cure either."

I couldn't believer he didn't want to tell me the cure.

"Look, I'm dying here! I want the cure! What is it?"

He kept walking and looking around as we headed back to the house. I looked at Boy. He seemed unconcerned about me dying. I asked him, "do you know the cure? Will you tell me?"

"You don't want the cure, you'll probably die."

My mind was full of thoughts. What was I going to do, not knowing if I was going to be alive from one day to the next? I started getting mad at both of them for not telling me. I wanted to run to Mama, but sounded like there was nothing she could do. Then, I thought she'll tell me what the cure is, at least. Then I'd decide for myself if I wanted it or not. I told Buster, "I'll run to Mama, she'll know the cure if ya'll do."

I just started to run when Buster said, "I'll tell you the cure, but don't tell Mama."

"Why?"

"She'll try everything in the house first, but nothing will do any good. Actually, it may do harm by diluting the effects of the cure."

"Well, tell me!"

We were at the ravine by then, and Buster was looking all around.

"What are you looking for?"

"The cows."

"What's that got to do with my cure?"

"The other boys died because they didn't believe the cure would work and either didn't try it, or waited too late."

I couldn't stand it any longer.

"What's the cure?" I demanded.

"You have to drink water from a cow track!"

"What? You're lying!"

"All right, go ahead and die! I knew you wouldn't believe me?"

I asked Boy if that was the cure he knew about? Of course, he said yes. I called Buster a liar again and said I was running to Mama. He said, "I can explain how the cure works. I've heard it lots of times from doctors on the radio explaining how it could have saved the boys lives."

Well, he was right about the plum seed and how it worked. Surely he wouldn't lie about something that might save my life. I was caught between dying and trusting him to tell me the truth. The choice was clear, but I wanted to hear the explanation and find out why Mama couldn't cure me.

"All right" I said, "You know what the water is in a cow track? It's cow pee! And you're crazy if you think I'm going to drink cow pee! And now you're telling me that's the cure? I'm telling you right now, I don't believe you, but I want you to explain it to me."

Buster started, "you know what happens when a person gets a snakebite? The doctors give them anti-venom for the snake bite."

"Yes! I know that, so what?"

"Do you know where the anti-venom comes from?"

"No! Why should I?"

"It's made by injecting horses with snake poison and letting them develop anti-venom in their blood. Then, they take some of the horse's blood and clean it up and extract the anti-venom and give it to people. That's why it's called "equine" anti-venom. Equine means horses and cows. On the radio they just say horse anti-venom."

Huh, oh! this was starting to make sense again. I heard of that on the radio many times. I didn't know the process, but had studied about snake bites in health class in school and knew that horses had something to do with the snake bite cure.

"How do cows help, why not horses?"

"Plum chemical isn't like snake poison. The cow pee has a chemical in it that makes the anti-chemical for plums. Some boys either didn't want to try the pee or they couldn't get enough from a cow track before it went into the ground to save their lives."

"Why not just catch it before it gets to the ground?"

"It mixes instantly with chemicals in the ground to make the anti-chemical for plums. Cow pee by itself won't do it. Sort of like mixing chocolate in milk. It mixes quickly and changes the taste of the milk."

Man, I couldn't believe he was making sense again. Now I know why he had been looking all around. For the cows! Maybe he was trying to save my life. My mind was reeling trying to figure out what was wrong with his story and this cure, but I couldn't see anything wrong with the explanation. Then thought, "So why can't I tell Mama?"

"She'll give you everything in the house which will only dilute the acids in you stomach and waste time. With all the stuff she'll give you, it'll lessen the strength of the cow pee and, then, it may not be strong enough to save you life."

"Well, if that's the cure, why don't they put that on the radio?"

"It would panic everyone! Just like telling them about the plum seeds killing them. Besides, usually the parents wind up taking the kid to the doctor anyway. Then, when the doctor tells the parents, they don't believe him. So, the cure never gets spread around. The boy dies and the parents never know if it would've saved the boys life or not."

"All right, why don't the boys who live tell everyone what the cure is?"

"Embarrassed! The boy, and the parents! Who wants to tell the world their boy drank cow pee to save his life? They'd be laughed out of town and no one would believe them anyway. You never hear about anyone cured that way, but it probably happens every day. And this time of year, there's no telling how many kids die because of plums, and the doctors call it something else."

Wow, I hate it when he makes so much sense. I stood there trying to spot flaws in his explanation again. Him and Boy were looking for the cows. I looked at Buster and asked,

"Are you sure this is the only way, and that it works?"

"It's the only way that works in this part of the country. No one in these parts has tried to develop another cure as long as this one works. I'm sure doctors are trying to develop a better cure, but this is the only one there is now. And even if they develop a better cure, they won't mention cow pee. You better start looking for those cows."

I stood there a few seconds longer trying to think my way out of this problem. Maybe he was right. I really wanted to run to Mama but I knew she'd do just what he said. Starting with Castor Oil first! Okay, I decided.

"Alright, I'll try the cow track if it'll save my life." I still felt the slight pain of the plum in my chest and that bothered me. "How am I going to get water from a cow track and how much?"

"Well, the only way is to watch the cows and be as close as possible to them when one pees. You have to run up to it and drink as much as possible before it goes into the ground. One or two good swallows will be enough if you don't have much other water or liquids in your stomach."

I started walking all around the woods looking for the cows. They hung around the shade of the ravine a lot. I saw them there many times.

Buster said, "Well, now that you know what to do, we might as well leave. We can't help you anymore, anyway. We'll know if you drank the cure or not by whether you die or not."

"I'm going to drink some because I don't want to die."

They started for the house and I started for the woods to find the cows.

I found them not far from a little pond with water. I got sort of close to them and they got a little skittish seeing me stalk around in the woods looking at them. When I moved out in the open between trees once, they took off running a little. Man, I didn't want that. I had to stay close to them to get the pee. So, I started walking slowly toward them sort of not looking at them. I finally just sat down in the open so they'd see I wasn't a threat. I sat there for about an hour and finally they seemed to accept me being around. I followed them all the way back to the pond again.

One cow walked out in the water, got a drink, and started peeing. I ran at her to make her stop and get out on the bank. That scared them all and they took off running. That was a big mistake. They wouldn't let me get very close to them now without running away.

Now what do I do? I followed them around about two more hours, but they wouldn't let me get as close as I did before. They finally wandered over near the ravine. I was about thirty to forty yards away and couldn't get much closer without spooking them again. Finally, another cow started peeing in the ravine. I let the cow pee until I thought she must be almost through before I started running. I ran full blast at her. They saw me coming and took off running. The cows ran away pretty spooked but I ran to the track.

Too late! The cow peed a lot, but was standing in a sandy spot in the ravine. The pee was quickly absorbed by the sand. I had a big wet spot, but no pee. Besides that, now the cows were really spooked. I started thinking how someone could die just trying to save their life. This was going to be harder than I thought. The pain in my chest had subsided but I was still plenty worried about the seed.

It was getting late and I figured I wasn't going to get very close to the cows now. I decided to go home and hoped I wouldn't die before morning. Even though I had a pocket full of plums, I didn't eat any more. I didn't want any more chemical in me to help out the seed. I went home and put my plums with the stash Buster and Boy had in the tool shed. I told them what happened. Buster just shook his head and said, "you better try harder tomorrow if you lived that long."

"Could I eat food?"

"That's no problem, just go easy on the liquids until you get the cure."

I ate lightly and went to bed that night thinking about the dilemma I was in. I woke up every now and then just to make sure I wasn't dead. I didn't get much sleep that night.

The next day, I was up early and went to watch the cows again. Velma asked, "what you doing in the woods all day?"

"Just checking out the squirrels."

I was glad the cows seemed to have forgotten me overnight. I was able to get back pretty close again. If I got too close, they seemed a little scared and seemed to watch me a lot. I decided to start humming. I watched Gunsmoke and Rawhide a lot on TV and the cowboys always sang, played the guitar, or harmonica, to quiet the cows. I was desperate and had to stay close.

To my surprise, it seemed to work. I don't know what the cows thought about me hanging around, but they seemed more relaxed. They wandered around all over the pasture and some in the woods eating grass. When they headed for the pond I got worried. I had to keep most of them out of the water and try not to spook them. I couldn't believe how long they could go without peeing. A few waded in the water but most stayed on the bank. They drank a lot of water and I was sure one would pee soon.

One did pee in the pond again. But, I didn't make the same mistake. I let that one go because I knew one of those on the bank had to pee soon and I didn't want to spook them. They seemed to accept me somewhat and I was able to get very close to them. It was getting early afternoon and still no luck with the cows. I was getting hungry but hated to leave them. One just had to pee soon. Later, I was so hungry I had to leave and get some food. I figured if I didn't show up for something to eat, that might create suspicion and I didn't want that.

I left the cows and ran home to eat. Buster and Boy asked, "how do you feel?"

"I feel okay."

Buster wanted to know, "did your stomach hurt over night?"

"Yeah, a little, why?"

"That's all the chemicals being released from the seed. Boy, do you think he looks a little pale? Do you see those light rings under his eyes?"

"Yeah, and that's not a good sign, either."

Buster said, "you need to hurry up and get the cure. I don't know how much longer you'll live."

I ran to the mirror and couldn't tell anything had changed about my appearance. I saw Vear coming and asked her, "Do I look pale or have rings under my eyes?"

She glanced at me and said, "yeah, looks like you're fixing to die!"

That really frightened me for a few seconds. Then I figured she was just joking.

"Quit playing and be serious, look at me."

She took another quick look at me and said, "you look normal to me. Why?"

"I was just wondering because I'd been feeling a little bad lately."

I left her to get some food. I ate quickly and took just a sip of water although I was getting pretty thirsty. Then, I took off for the cows again. I figured they probably all peed while I was gone since they hadn't gone before I left. I got right up to them again with my humming. I figured one of them had to go soon. As they ambled toward the ravine, I went before them and sort of kept them away from the sandy area. I felt good that the longer I waited the more likely one had to pee.

All of a sudden, behind me up on the top of the little hill leading to the ravine, I heard the sound of one peeing. I started to run up to it, but stopped before I had a chance to scare it. I had to let her finish so there was plenty of pee. I saw the cow was on a fairly solid piece of ground, but saw her foot mashing in the dirt just a little. I thought this was my chance. When the pee started running down the hill, I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran for the cow about the time she finished.

She spooked a little and ran away. I jumped down to the track and used my hands to stop the flow away from the track. I slammed my mouth in the track and started drinking in my life-saving cure. It was going into the ground pretty fast and it was very warm. It tasted awful and I noticed I was sucking up some of the dirt and some muddy water with the pee. I got two good swallows and a little more before it soaked into the ground. I had grit all in my mouth. The cows were standing around just looking at me. No telling what they must have thought. I didn't care. I felt good about getting enough to save my life.

I stood up, wiped my mouth, and almost instantly felt better. I started walking slowly back to the house. I could almost feel the anti-chemicals at work in my stomach. Then, I felt like I was going to throw up. I didn't want to do that either. I didn't know if it was because of the pee or the anti-chemicals at work in me that made me want to throw up. I got a little scared and swallowed hard a few times to keep from throwing up. I didn't want the anti-chemicals to leave my stomach before they cured me. I didn't know how long that would take. That might happen if I threw up. Buster didn't tell me about that. I started breathing deep which seemed to help. After several minutes, it seemed to subside and I didn't have the urge to throw up anymore.

I walked back to the house a new person. I spit a lot to get the grit out of my mouth. I saw Buster and Boy on the porch. When I got there, I saw they had a plum in their mouths. I guess they could tell by the smile on my face that I succeed. They smiled back at me and Buster said, "I see you got the cure because you look better already. Plus, you got a mud ring around your mouth."

I wiped the dirt off my mouth and Buster and Boy were laughing a little. I guess they were just happy for me.

I asked Buster, "how long does it take for the anti-chemicals to do their job?"

"Oh, they probably already cured you by now."

"I'm glad, I need a good drink of water."

"You can drink all you want to now."

I got a good drink of water and went to the tool shed for a plum. When I joined them on the porch again, they were still laughing a little and wanted to hear my story of how I got the cure. I told them and they just laughed a lot. Buster assured me I got enough to save my life.

I was sure glad I wasn't going to die now. I was extra careful about not swallowing any more seeds, too. We sneaked the plums from the tool shed the rest of the day. The next day, I guess, we got a little careless and didn't notice the girls were watching us. Sure enough, Velma waited until we were on the porch talking about hunting when she went to the tool shed and found our stash. Of course, she told Mama. Mama busted out the door to the porch holding the bottle of Castor Oil and a table spoon with the girls following.

She looked right at me and asked what I had in my mouth.

I said, "Uh!..... Uh!"

My mind raced. I couldn't think of anything to say, and didn't want to tell her it was a plum. My eyes were frozen on the bottle of Castor Oil. I guess the sight of the bottle stopped my mind from working too

Mama said, "Spit it out!"

I spit the half eaten plum on the porch.

Velma yelled, "See there, I told you it was plums."

Buster took off running around the house. Boy started, but Mama yelled, "get back here."

I was still frozen, like a stone statue. Mama said, "Stand up. You know them things will make you sick and tear up your stomach. It's a wonder they haven't killed you already."

All this time she was pouring the Castor Oil. She grabbed my chin and squeezed a little. I opened my mouth and in went the spoon. She shut my mouth and said, "swallow it."

I could barely swallow it but forced the motor-oil-tasting stuff down my throat. I was getting a little sick feeling and felt like I wanted to throw up. She said, "you better not throw up!"

She grabbed Boy's chin and did the same thing to him.

I moved to get off the porch in case I threw up while Boy was getting his. Mama looked at me and said, "get back over here" as she poured another table spoon of the oil.

"Mama, I've had plenty already."

"You're smaller, you need more."

That didn't make sense. Looked like Boy needed more than me, he was bigger. Of course, I couldn't say anything. She grabbed my chin again for the second spoonful. I could barely get it down. I wanted to throw up bad.

"You better keep it down or you'll get some more."

I swallowed hard to keep it down. Somehow I did, and noticed she didn't give Boy any more.

"I ought to whip both of you right now, but I figure you'll get tore up stomachs anyway. If I hear about ya'll eating any more plums, I'll give you a whipping then a double dose of the oil. Velma and Vera, go get the plums and feed them to the chickens."

They got our stash of plums while Boy and I were fighting to keep the oil down. I asked, "what about Buster?"

"I don't care about him. He can take care of himself."

I thought we got off pretty lucky without a whipping, which was Mama's usual punishment. I believed her though, and knew full well she'd whip us the next time we were caught eating plums.

It always took several days for the Caster Oil to get out of my system. I belched it and got sick all over again. I could barely eat or drink anything without the taste coming back. I left the plums alone for several weeks. Then, Boy and I went back and ate some that were real ripe. Man, they were good! We didn't take any home though.

I was very glad to be alive and not get a whipping for eating them. I'm living proof that the cure worked and now I know what to do for any other little kids that swallow a plum seed. But, I wondered how long it'd be before there was a better cure?

SECTION V: THE START HOUSE

Chapter 40. The Start Houseplace

I don't remember much about the Start, Louisiana house. We left the Holmes Bronson house and moved back to Start. We were only there a few months. Just a couple years ago, we lived at the Cokomo house and went to Start school. I don't know the economic reason that caused us to move back there. We moved in the summer between school years. I recently turned eleven years old and it was 1959.

I don't even remember the house. I do remember we caught the school bus right in front of the house. Anytime we moved, it wasn't a big deal. We didn't have a whole lot of stuff to move, and had plenty of hands to do it. So, moving wasn't much of a problem. For us kids, it was an adventure. A place to learn and see different things.

For me, moving was always exciting. New places, faces, and things to see, and do. Seemed like we only just got there before school started. First, we had to get registered in the Start school again. Velma was the oldest kid going to school and took us around to the different teachers the first day. She dropped us off and gave the teachers the information. Before the bus came we were all grilled about memorizing the number of the bus so we could get back on the right one. Velma wrote the number in ink on our arms. We weren't likely to wash it off throughout the day.

I can still see the shape of the school in my mind. It was designed flat-roofed in a modified "U" shape. The legs of the "U" were long and it had a center leg sort of making an "E" shape. Windows were on the outside legs which was built sort of in between sparse trees. There wasn't as much play area as Mangham where we came from.

Although there was nothing I could put my finger on, it seemed like the teachers didn't like us much. They weren't as friendly as the Mangham teachers. I don't remember having any problems with my teachers, but remember we didn't get along as well. Maybe it was just us being new and I didn't know them that well. Us kids talked about it a few times, but could never figure out what the problem was, if there was one.

The only thing that left a bad memory for me was on the school bus. It was summer and we, like all kids, got pretty dusty and dirty playing on the school yard. So, most afternoons on the bus coming home, we were dirty. I was barefooted and had dirty feet. I'm sure I was dirty on my neck and arms as well. Usually, I tried to go to the bathroom and wash up before I got on the bus. Since we had to leave right after school, sometimes I didn't have time to wash up. It didn't seem to bother us as much as other people. The other kids were dusty and sweaty, too.

One day, just before we got off the bus, some older kids gave me a bar of soap and told me, "you all need to use it."

It was funny to the older kids on the bus, but not to us. That day, Velma wasn't on the bus. Boy, I looked at them and wished she was. She was their size, and I knew, personally, ten times meaner. She'd have tore into them. But, she wasn't there and I didn't know what to do other than take the soap. That made several at the house mad. Velma wanted to know who did it. I told her. She knew them. She went to school the next day and on the bus, she threw the soap at the boy that gave it to me. He didn't get up. I guess he saw the fire in her eyes and heard the brimstone in her voice.

"If you ever do that again, I'll shove that soap down your throat! All kids get dirty playing on the school yard and don't have time to wash up before getting on the bus, otherwise, we are just as clean as anyone else."

We never had any other problems.

Chapter 41. The School Yard Fight

On 26 June, 1959, Ingemar Johansson, the Swedish born boxer, knocked out Floyd Patterson to become boxing heavyweight champion of the world. Daddy and I watched that match on TV. The announcers gave a short background about him. He was the fifth heavyweight champion born outside the United States. In the 1959 match, he defeated Floyd Patterson by TKO (Technical Knock Out) in the third round, after flooring Patterson seven times in that round, to win the World Heavyweight Championship. He entered the ring in Yankee Stadium that day as a five to one underdog. Daddy and I were against him. We watched Patterson fight before and figured it wouldn't be much of a match with Patterson winning handily.

Johansson spent the first two rounds of the encounter retreating and flicking a light left jab at the champion, Patterson. In the third round, Johansson threw a wide left hook that Patterson blocked with his right hand. When he moved his right hand away from its protective, peek-a-boo, position in front of his chin, Johansson drilled him with a short powerful right hand. Patterson went down, arose on unsteady legs, and was out on his feet. Johansson followed up his advantage and sent Patterson down six more times in the round before the bout was stopped by referee Ruby Goldstein. Daddy and I were shocked. Probably, as much as Patterson.

Later, the two signed for a rematch on June 20, 1960. In that match, Patterson knocked Johansson out in the fifth round with a leaping left hook to become the first man to recover the world's undisputed heavyweight title. The punch caught Johansson's chin and he hit the canvas with a thud, out cold before he landed flat on his back. With blood trickling from his mouth, his glazed eyes staring up at the ring lights, with his left foot twitching, the Swede was counted out.

After the count, Patterson showed his concern for Johansson by cradling his motionless opponent, and promising him a second rematch. Johansson lay flat on his back on the canvas for five minutes before he was placed on a stool brought into the ring. He was still dazed and unsteady fifteen minutes after the knockout as he was helped out of the ring.

That was the Patterson we remembered. As it turned out, Patterson and Johansson fought once more on March 13, 1961. Patterson eventually knocked him out in round six, retaining his heavyweight title.

Daddy and I watched boxing matches as far back as 1955 when Sea Hunt, staring Lloyd Bridges, started coming on TV just after the fights. I liked that show and wanted to watch it. I had to watch the fights, which, at first, I wasn't interested in, hoping that Daddy's favorite boxer won. Invariably, if Daddy's guy won, he let me watch Sea Hunt. If his guy lost, sometimes, he told me no. Over time, I got more interested in watching the fights and Daddy and I analyzed their fighting styles, verbally jousting about what they did right and wrong.

Since we recently moved to Start, I was the "new" kid at school and, as usual, everyone looked at me, but no one talked to me. I guessed my other family members got the same treatment. When we talked about it later, they did. For me, this happened for a few days, but by then, I picked out who I might be friends with. I also knew the bully on the school yard. His name was Gus. After a few days, Gus came up to me and pushed me around a little with his friends. Being new, I didn't want to make trouble for them, or me. I let him push me around some while making threats. I wasn't afraid of him, but didn't want any trouble. I just turned eleven, it was 1959.

I wrestled and fought with either Boy (Velton), Buster (Vernon), or Velma almost daily. They were all bigger than Gus. Many times during our play at home, Boy got on his knees and from Vear (Vera) down, we attacked him. He threw us off him like swatting flies. We thudded when we hit the ground and attacked again. It was a little rough for us kids, but I liked it. I was wiry and pretty tough for my size. I was used to the rough play with Boy and even though Gus was bigger than me, I wasn't afraid of him. I let him try to scare me and figured he'd leave me alone after that. Vear saw what was happening and reminded me that Mama would whip us for fighting at school. I told her I didn't do anything.

My plan didn't work. Every day Gus came around and wanted to push me around a little. I always asked him, "why you bothering me?"

"Because I want to."

I figured if I didn't pose a threat to him, he'd eventually leave me alone. I don't know if it was that I never seemed scared of him, or he was just a mean person, but he kept coming back every day to push me around a little. I let this go on for a couple weeks while I was trying to make friends with a few boys. It seemed that about the time I made a friend, Gus came along and scared them away from me. The third week, I found out he was threatening my few, new friends, and still pushing me around. One day I got mad and pushed him back.

That surprised him and he wanted to get rough. I was ready. I had to stop him. When he tried to grab me around the head, I grabbed his arm and slung him around while tripping him. He landed hard and rolled a little. That made him mad and now he wanted to fight. The kids all around us started yelling, "Fight!" "Fight!"

Kids, instantly, gathered near us from all over the school yard. Gus came at me swinging. I ducked his swing and rammed my head in his stomach while sticking one of my feet behind his foot and pushing him backwards, tripping him. He fell hard, again. I jumped to stand over him and told him, "you better stop and leave me alone before one of us gets hurt, or in trouble with the teacher."

Gus seemed surprised that I was not only fighting back, but doing pretty good.

Gus kicked my legs trying to trip me while he was getting up. His kick didn't hurt me and I moved out of the way. He ran at me again and caught me around my neck. I knew what to do about that, too. Boy did that hundreds of times. I pushed off with both my legs and got Gus running forward a few steps, then I brought one of my feet in front of him, tripping him, again. With his forward momentum, plus him falling, I popped my head out from his grasp. He fell on his chest pretty hard and just barely had enough time to keep his face from hitting the ground. He flipped on his back and, immediately, I was standing over him looking down telling him, "leave me alone or I'm going to get mad."

All of a sudden, I felt this hand on the back of my neck. It felt like Boy's hand. I started to jerk away and defend myself but saw it was the PE (Physical Education) teacher. Gus got up and the teacher grabbed his arm and had us both standing next to him. He looked at me and asked,

"Aren't you the new kid in school?"

"Yeah, but Gus has been bothering me since I got here and I just wanted him to leave me alone!"

The teacher said, "So you boys want to fight this out to settle it, huh?"

I said, "No, I don't want to fight! I just want him to leave me alone."

I knew if it got back to Mama, I'd get a whipping at home.

Gus said, "Yeah, I want to fight him, let's go settle this right now."

I looked back at the teacher and said, "I don't want to fight."

The teacher said, "We don't fight at this school."

He started dragging me and Gus back toward the school and told everyone else to get out of there. As we walked, the teacher said,

"At this school, if boys want to fight, we let them!"

Wow, that shocked me! I couldn't imagine that was true. I never heard of that before and didn't know if I liked it or not. I could just think of the pros and cons for it.

I said, "I don't what to fight."

Gus said, "Yeah, I want to fight him! Let's go settle it right now."

I still couldn't believe what I was hearing. I said to the teacher, "but, I thought you said earlier that people didn't fight at this school, and now you said you let them fight!"

The teacher said, "We don't fight, we box! When two boys like you two are caught fighting on the school grounds, we let them box until things are worked out."

Man, this was different!

I said, "I don't know how to box!"

The teacher said, "That's your problem! But, that's how we settle things at this school."

Gus said, "Yeah, I'm ready to box him. Let's do it now!"

I could tell Gus had done this before. He was way to eager to box. I didn't know how to box, but had seen hundreds of matches on TV. Daddy loved to watch it. Every time a boxing match was on, he watched it. I guess his enthusiasm was contagious, because I always watched it with him. Almost always during the match, he explained the good shots, and what didn't work, or what the boxer should do. I guess over so many matches, I learned what should, or shouldn't, be done. Daddy and I matched skills about the good or bad points during the matches. I guess I learned a lot just watching, but had never boxed before.

I was scared of the possibility of boxing and surprised this was acceptable at school. Many times when Gus pushed me around, he got in a boxing stance and bounced around a little, taunting me to fight him. I recognized the boxing antics, immediately, but wasn't interested. Now, I knew where he got his training. I guess he had boxed enough with the kids on the school yard that he had to pick on new kids to get any one to fight him. This meant he probably knew how to box.

I told the teacher, "I don't want to box either."

He said, "I'll let it go this time, but if I catch you again, you'll settle your differences in the boxing ring."

Gus called me a chicken but I didn't care. The teacher let us go and said, "remember, the next time!"

I walked away from them. Gus said, "I'll get you later."

I walked back toward my few friends. Immediately, one of them asked, "are you going to box Gus?"

It was obvious they knew the policy. I said, "I don't want to box him."

Another boy said, "Wow, you really showed up Gus a while ago. No one ever messes with him, or they wind up boxing him."

"I just wanted him to leave us alone."

Vear showed up and reminded me, "if Mama hears about this you'll get a whipping."

"Well, you better not tell Mama. Besides, Gus started it."

Sure enough, the next day, Gus was bothering us again. He grabbed one of my friends and pushed him down. That made me mad. I grabbed Gus and shoved him while tripping him. He fell on his back. I pinned his arms down and said, "that's enough, if you don't leave us alone I'm going to hurt you."

Gus said, "Yeah, Yeah, I'll get you, chicken."

I let him get up thinking he'd leave us alone. He didn't. Immediately, he took a swing at me from his boxing stance. I ducked his punch and slung him to the ground again. By the time he got up, the teacher was coming toward us.

Gus said, "Alright, now we fight my way."

The teacher walked up and reminded us what he said yesterday.

"At lunch, I want both of you in the gym. Be there, or I'm coming to get you."

Gus said he'd be there and left laughing. Vear was standing in the little crowd watching. I walked over to her and said, "you better not tell Mama. Besides, I didn't start it this time either."

I stayed pretty worried watching the clock tick three times faster than normal, seems like. In no time, it was fixing to be lunch break and I had no choice about the boxing match. When the lunch bell rang, I slowly headed for the gym agonizing about what was fixing to happen. Gus was already there. He was in a tee shirt and the teacher was tying his gloves on. As I walked in shyly, I felt like I'd been set up. Gus had several of his friends missing lunch just to watch him beat me up. My only one best friend was there too.

The teacher pointed to some gloves on the ring by the corner and said, "put those on and get in the ring."

I figured it was too late to try to talk my way out of it. I didn't have a tee shirt on, so I kept my shirt on. I grabbed the gloves and put them on. The teacher grabbed the strings and started tying them while Gus bounced around punching the air. I noticed Gus even had a mouth guard. Boy, what have I done now, I thought? He's going to kill me! His friends were cheering him on as he punched the air. The teacher was tying my last glove on and said, "no biting, kicking, or stomping. No hitting below the belt."

My mind flashed back to the hundreds of times I heard this before the TV matches. I glanced at my friend. He smiled at me, but had a worried look on his face.

The teacher dragged us to the middle of the ring and said, "two minute matches and it better be clean. I'll let you know when it's time to quit!"

There was no bell, the teacher just backed up and yelled, "Box!"

Immediately, Gus jumped back bouncing around. I jumped back and put up my hands like on TV, but wasn't bouncing. I, immediately, saw flaws in Gus' stance, and his gloves were too far apart, and not up high enough. He was sort of flatfooted in his bounce. That was bad, too. All the fights I'd analyzed with Daddy started flashing back.

Then, Gus started jabbing. Leaving himself open on the right. Jab not fast enough. Off balance when he jabbed. Not covering up after a jab. Gloves not high enough. Gloves not covering his face. Then, Gus threw a round-house punch at me. I couldn't believe it! He telegraphed it so bad, I saw it coming before he threw it. He was off balance. I was out of his reach. He swung too hard. He didn't cover up after the swing.

It was as if I was analyzing a fight on TV again. But, this was real and he wanted to hurt me. I snapped out of my analysis mode and just backed out of the way. Gus almost fell down. I couldn't believe this! Gus didn't know how to box! He's just a lot of talk! He was making one mistake after another! I read everything he tried to do like a book. He was awkward and not very fast. The teacher yelled at me to box while Gus bounced back jabbing at me. I jumped in fast and hit Gus in the face right between his gloves.

It surprised him and made him mad. He telegraphed another round-house swing. Sure enough, he left his mid section open and didn't protect his right side. I ducked his swing and hit him hard in the stomach. He was bending over when I attacked his right side. I hit him on the side of his head and punched him hard in the side. He fell to the floor holding his stomach. I jumped back out of the way. Gus's friends were silent. The teacher looked frozen too. I glanced at my friend. He gave me a thumbs up with a big smile. The worry was off his face, and now, out of my mind too.

The teacher stopped the fight and picked Gus up. He asked if he was all right. Gus got up taking some deep breaths.

I started thinking I might like this boxing. This was easy. I waited a few seconds leaning on the ropes while the teacher talked to Gus. Then, the teacher backed away and yelled, "Box!"

Gus didn't run toward me this time. He sort of bounced around in the same spot and I saw he wasn't as confident now. I walked toward him and jabbed him right in the face again between his gloves. I jumped back just in time to miss his right cross, but his left upper cut caught me in the stomach and almost knocked the wind out of me. I thought I might change my mind about boxing. But, that made me mad.

I flew into him hitting him everywhere, like I was fighting Boy. I was so fast, he covered the spot I just hit while I was going for another spot. He started just flailing his arms at me. There was no boxing to that! I backed up a second and hit him hard in the stomach again, and as he doubled over, I hit him with a right upper cut, hard. I saw his head snap up as he fell to the floor. Immediately, I was on top of him beating him in the head. I guess both of us forgot about boxing for a few seconds. The teacher grabbed me and slung me off him. Gus was gasping for air. I saw tears in his eyes.

The teacher said, "That's enough. The fight is over."

My friend quickly jumped over to me and untied my gloves. He was beaming with his smile.

He said, "I guess you showed Gus, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess! Maybe now he'll leave us alone."

The teacher helped Gus up and started taking his gloves off. I noticed Gus had wiped his tears off. When we had our gloves off, the teacher told us, "now shake hands and ya'll better not fight anymore or it's the principle's office next time."

Gus and I walked to the middle of the ring and shook hands. I told Gus, "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Well, I guess I had it coming," then smiled a little.

I smiled back and we left the gym. Gus' friends went with him not saying anything. My friend said, "it too late to eat now."

"I'm not hungry now, anyway."

By the time school was out, the news had spread like a fire. Everyone was saying, "the new kid beat up Gus in the ring." People were looking at me with friendly faces now. I had several of my distant friends come up to me and say they heard about the fight. They all seemed amazed that I beat Gus. I tried to not make such a big deal of it because I was afraid Mama would hear about it. Getting on the bus, I caught Vear and Vinnie and told them not to tell Mama, but was afraid of Velma. If she heard, I knew she'd tell Mama. I didn't say anything and she didn't act like she knew. Seemed like I was okay for now.

At supper time, I was pretty hungry. Velma spilled out the fight information.

Looking at me, "I heard you were fighting at school!"

Mama looked at me.

"Naw, we was just pushing each other around a little until the teacher stopped us."

I glanced at Vear and Vinnie. I squinted my eyes a little. They knew what I wanted without me saying anything.

Mama said, "You better not be fighting at school."

"Ah, I wouldn't call it fighting! I've wrestled with Boy worse than that, many times."

Mama said, "You better just remember what I said!"

"Yes, ma'am."

I glanced at Velma. She had a smile on her face. I stuck my tongue out at her.

The next day at school, from the time I got off the bus, I had people all around me being friendly. I didn't know if they were afraid I'd take over for Gus, or what. I sensed they weren't sincere. My few close friends were a lot more relaxed being around me though. At recess, we saw Gus coming toward us. I stood up to face him ready to fight back if needed. Gus walked up and said, "Hi."

"Gus, I don't want any more trouble."

"I don't want any trouble, either, I just thought we might be friends."

"We can be if you don't try to bully my friends anymore."

"Okay, want to shake on it?"

"Sure," sticking out my hand.

From that point on we were friends. We hung around together and I stopped Gus from bullying people and no one ever bothered us again.

We didn't stay in Start school very long. For some reason, I didn't seem to get along with the teachers very good. I think all us kids in school were glad when we moved again. I hated to leave my school yard friends. Gus and I became pretty good friends. He asked me once how I learned to box so well. I told him me and Daddy liked to watch the fights and I guess I learned it from the TV.

It was during the school year that we moved next time, which meant I had to start over making friends. But, that's life, always starting over, and changing. Besides, Daddy and I was getting interested in a new light heavyweight boxer named Cassius Clay who already won four Golden Gloves in Kentucky and was scheduled for the Olympics in 1960. He was a big talker, but a good boxer. There was talk about him changing his name to Muhammad Ali for some reason. We started watching him every time he was televised.

###

About The Author

Victor Cox is an aspiring writer. After growing up in northern Louisiana, he was drafted into Military service and chose the Air Force as a career. Married at the time, his son was born when he was in Vietnam. His son was eight months old the first day Victor saw him in person. Victor and his family moved to many stateside locations in the Air Force, and one tour in Germany. Victor retired from the Air Force after twenty eight years of service. His military service encompassed being an aircraft maintainer, a flying Crew Chief, aircraft maintenance instructor, and a manager. He is a retired Chief Master Sergeant (E9). After completing a tour in Vietnam, he pursued his educational opportunities. After such a precarious start in High School, he earned three Associate of Science Degrees and a Bachelor of Science Degree. He graduated valedictorian from Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. He regrets telling people he was the only one in his family to graduate High School and go to college. He has one son and three grandsons. He presently resides in Powderly, Texas.

Connect With The Author

Email Victor Cox at mailto:vcox@ipa.net

Feedback welcome. Let me know what you think about my book. Tell me what you liked and didn't like. Thanks in advance.

Other Books By Victor Cox

Check out his other books at Smashwords.com. Download free at Smashwords.com Victor's Creek Fishing, Survival. Use this URL: http://smashwords.com/b/296133 This mostly true account of him surviving a night fishing trip in a creek will entertain and scare you. His artful rendition of escaping several near-death fabricated "boogers" are sure to delight those looking for heart-throbbing suspense and unbelievable mysteries.

Victor's second book in this series is Sixteen Vs; Book Two; The Mid Teen Years. Use this URL: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/359679#URL359679 Hardly before Victor can get settled down at their new location, a house fire causes a serious blow to his family. Forced to split up for a while, he gains valuable character insight watching his polio- crippled Uncle work. He is dismayed with another sibling quitting school. He vows to stop the trend. School yard games and adventures around his house provide excitement and danger. His many life lessons and 'first time' events create humor, challenge, and memories. The second location starts with potential danger and transitions to learning a life skill that will serve his family just a couple years later. Victor's many fishing adventures are not what you would expect and lead to many suspenseful situations. Those situations seem typical for him as he narrowly escapes death from some pranksters that leave scars on his mind and body.

The third book in Victor's Sixteen Vs legacy memoir series is, Sixteen Vs, Book Three; The Adolescent Years. Use this URL:  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/366684#URL366684 This segment of Victor's life at a new location starts off in pain. But, hardly before the pain is gone, his life lessons turn deadly as he narrowly escapes being stomped to death or killed with a gun. Things settle down a bit as he goes through several learning lessons that make a lasting impression on him. Then, he is wrapped up in heartbreak, shame, and guilt as circumstances out of his control force him to quit school, something he vowed not to do. He finishes this segment of life talking about family before surviving a couple more life-threatening situations. Most everyone can remember their first car, but rarely have issues like his.

Victor's fourth book in his legacy memoir series is, Sixteen Vs; Book Four, The Young Adult Years Use thisURL: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/410625#URL410625 Immediately after moving to his last "at home" location, Victor spends the first summer away from home. Hard work leads to some hilarious and dangerous situations. His initial "puppy love"exposure to girlfriends result in failure due to misguided manipulation. Consequently, trouble follows him home temporarily. Then, he utilizes shop skills to improve his household into more modern times. Not only is schoolwork more challenging, so is school sports. His semi-success in track and basketball met with a disappointing, and surprising, football end. Assisting household animals leads to some funny and unusual educational events with a "smelly"outcome. Next, he narrowly escapes being killed and getting expelled when he is involved in a Chemistry room mishap. Only coincidence, or a "higher authority," prevented almost blowing up one end of the school. But, that was only the first deadly potential incident. Getting an apartment leads to more freedom, but came with more problems.

His next exposure to girls results in unusual starts, heartbreaks, outstanding memories, and awkward situations. After suffering through a few more life lessons and bad decisions, he meets the person he eventually marries. With such an unusual start, it's amazing they ever married. But, his success in graduating High School was dampened by several job changes before marriage. Also, the joy expected in marriage was clouded by sickness and the Vietnam War, which prompted his military draft.

Coming soon is Victor's fifth book in his Sixteen Vs legacy memoir series, Sixteen Vs, Book Five, Surviving Vietnam. It's not your typical military rendition of fighting in Vietnam. Although it has some blood and broken bones, they didn't come from fighting the enemy. This book takes you through Victor's Basic Training,—boot camp—Technical Training, to Vietnam, and back home. It's filled with many anxious and exciting moments. Victor navigates the stress of Basic Training along with several Training Instructor quirks. A brief reprieve in the Air Force Drum and Bugle Corps before Technical Training provides several unusual memories. After a, basically, uneventful technical training, he falls victim to government paperwork bureaucracy which denies him the right to delay his trip to Vietnam until after his son is born. Plus, combat training prior to Vietnam departure adds surprises to his memory bank. While trying to stay alive from enemy attacks, he narrowly escapes severe racial tension outbreaks. One of his friends didn't—twice. His martial arts training leads to broken bones while a scuba diving excursion almost cost his life. A welcome break in the war is a dream trip to Thailand that fills his mind and camera with memories. Repeated episodes with jelly fish stings, over a ten month period, while snorkel diving collecting unique specimens of shells ultimately results in heartbreak. Even trying to leave Vietnam, he falls victim to prejudice and has to make difficult decisions. Through several life-threatening situations, this fast paced, action packed book will keep you glued to the pages to find out how he survived... Vietnam.
