The Dodge and the Apple Tree

The events that lead to my daddy’s death came to me at four am just about a week ago. I was asked the previous week-end by a friend about the death of my daddy. He was only forty-eight when he died. Forty-eight; I have made it almost two years longer. Today I feel that I may not last too many more years. I can see my tomb rock now, “I told ya’ll I was not well.” That is really how I feel. I am really beginning to realize how short life is. Youth to me now is the perfect gift. I have struggled time and time again with the  depression that I blame on the adults that raised me. Not all of them had a huge negative part in my seemingly unhappy state of mind. I did from most of them learn that tomorrow is going to be another day and it would be better.

My grandmother amazed me how she could put a child in Corum Cemetery one day and start picking twenty acres of cotton the next. The words she used still come to my mind often. We’ve got to go on kids. With that she would rush us out the field, barn or whatever farm chore was to be done. Resting or grieving was something that was not much of an event on the hill we lived on. I still wonder if Mama would have been more upset had Grandmother let her, after all her husband had just died. My brother and I were teen-agers at the time my daddy died. The only thing we did do was take time about going out with our friends. During the time directly after Daddy died we were to one of us stay home with Mama and Grandmother. This was my idea. I think that I thought it was just the right thing to do; or maybe I was growing up and more concerned about Mama than I realized. With the fear of looking always the good guy, since this is my story, I am going to say I was taken advantage of in this situation. My first mistake was ever letting my little brother know anything I had done my grandmother would not approve of; all it had to be was a kiss from a boy and my little brother black mailed me to no end. That is what he did on Saturday night even if it was his turn to stay home. The words were like a magic wand, “I’ll tell grandmother about so and so.” He might as well just snap his fingers to get his way.

Daddy died December 5, 1978. This was a typical date for someone in our family to die. The holidays were when most of the tragic things happened on our little hill. It was that year that I was faced with a double whammy. Grandmother learned that if you belonged to the Local Laborers Union there was hospital insurance. Imagine that, Daddy had health insurance and did not even know it. I had always had sore throats that had really lessened as I got older. As a small child it was much more frequent. This was the chance to have my tonsils and adenoids removed and it get paid for. So one week after Daddy passed I was in the hospital because it was going to get paid for by the insurance that Grandmother had discovered. I have never had pain like that before. Wondering still was it really needed to be done; or if it was just a way to use something we never knew we had.

Daddy was sick all the week before with what he was saying was the flu. I now look back that I told my friends and family that he really was sick this time. It was not just a getting off of a drunk sick, “my daddy is really sick.” The morning he died I was still in bed when he came down the hallway. My bed was in the door directly at the end of the hall. I saw him hit one side of the hall and the opposite side as the seizure hit him. This made a cut on his lip and forehead as he was not just falling, but shaking from the effect the seizure was having on him. These seizures had started over a year before. He had actually been taken by ambulance to the hospital the first time he had one. He had been taken is the key here; if he had been coherent wild horses would not have put him in the ambulance. This was the case the day he and Mama hit the apple tree with the blue dodge car. Mama had not driven since I was a baby. She had stopped driving way before we left the north. She had not driven and the location of a gas paddle and break must have been the reason that she stomped her foot on the gas paddle instead of the brakes of the blue Dodge that Daddy was driving at this time. The accident happened within seeing distance of our house. The two of them were heading to Rogersville to the bootleggers. It was during the day so my brother and I were in school. It was early fall the year before Daddy’s death. He had already taken that trip to ECM. The seizures came without warning, but this was something that he really was not concerned about for he still drove; still drove to get the thing that was causing him to have them. Less than a minute was as long as this trip lasted. Down the hill over the cross roads, just passed Bethlehem Methodist Church, and up the hill was when the seizure started. Mama saw that he was shaking so hard that he was going to wreak the car. She was always terrified of everything. I can imagine the panic in her, because she really was scared of everything that could be a tad harmful to her body. I know from what she said that she tried to stop the car when it left the road. Stopping was not what happened at all. At the bank that they jumped the explanation of how they hit the tree so hard was evident. The car has spun up the bank. Instead of Mama’s foot hitting the brake she had landed her foot on the gas paddle. She had squeezed the gas as hard as she could just thinking; she was stomping on the brakes. That is why the impact to the apple tree was so hard. The car landed in the yard on Opel and next to Opel’s was the home of her sisters; Ofie and Cofie. This was a sure way to get all three ladies out of their houses in the middle of the day. Mama had a huge cut on her head that made it for sure to the ladies that they must call the Lexington Rescue Squad. The Rescue Squad came; by this time Daddy had came out of the seizure and was at himself enough to be himself and refuse going to the hospital. Since he was in the driver’s seat the steering wheel had dug into his chest. The bruises were so black and were from his neck to his stomach. He complained and took Anacin constantly for the pain. He even had me to wrap his ribs with old scrap material that Grandmother had collected. The medical attention that he received at home was not sufficient for a chest injury of this kind. The last year and couple of months that he lived were full of what he called a cold; chest congestion and pain. The seizures became more frequent on top of the pain he was constantly trying to relieve by taking Doanes pills for his pain. He had himself believe that these little back pills helped pain anywhere better. The fall that year brought on another cold. He had the flu that was accompanied by regular seizures. The last week of his life he laid on that couch day and night; not drunk lay on the couch. He had not taken care of himself and Sunday morning was going to be the end of him. He really did not realize that he had nothing more than the flu. The blow to his chest was I am sure what sped up the slowness of the way he was surely killing himself. That morning Grandmother and I both knew that the seizure was worse and that when he came to from that the pain was unbearable in his chest. This was one time that he did not sway Grandmother from calling the Lexington Rescue. It was 11:00 on Sunday morning less than ten minutes from Lexington, but by time they got their Uncle Luke had already came out to tell me my daddy was dead. Uncle Luke was always there, but he may have been there just because of my sick daddy.

Daddy’s death is something that I don’t think of very often. I think of my daddy often, but not the actual events that lead up to that Sunday morning in December. Being asked about it brought this story back to me. I have not thought of the car hitting the apple tree in years and years. The incident came to me at four in the morning surprisingly to me what ever made me think of that then.

The Axe

Four months seems to be a time frame that the most memorable times in my life were spent. As a fifth grader four months seemed like much longer. Four months was the amount of time we spent at Grandma and Grandpa's after the banker put all of Mama and Daddy's stuff out in the snow. That day I came home from first grade and saw Mama standing in the yard surrounded by the stove; I remember the stove the most. Maybe because the stove is where I stood so often to be warm in the house without heat. The stove eye is where I had laid my reader from first grade. The one that had Sally on the cover. The shape of the stove eye could not be hidden from my first grade teacher. It could not be hidden from the bratty little kids in the class either. What happened to your book? I never answered. I have always had a great gift of fibbing, not answering and ignoring anything I did not want to face.

Four months was the time spent with Daddy's brother and his family after Grandmother's house burnt. I had this crazy notion that I should stay with my Daddy's sister just like my Grandmother did. That is one of the things that still makes me have the conplex notion that I am not good enough or as good as others. Daddy's sister had girls, I should have got to stay with my girl cousins. I wished to stay in the brick better house without the fighting that was an everyday thing with Daddy and his brother. The whole four months were full of fighting. The simple thing would have been for Daddy to refuse to stay where we were not wanted. That was the main cause for many of the fights.
We had dried beans and cornbread for most of the meals during the four months we were there. The fights were often after supper. That was the time that both brothers were home from loafing most of the day while we were at school. There were times they were at work, but not as often as the just roaming the roads. The work that they did was for their brother-in-law; that was who I wanted to stay with during this time. I wanted this in my mind, but knew that my aunt was not about to put up with Daddy's drinking and Mama's mental state. At that time she was dubbed crazy before she really went crazy. I know she was not crazy because she had worked the four months we stayed at her mom and dads. She saved the money for us to come to Alabama.
I often over heard the adults talking about Joe Abe getting a place of his own during this time. Grandmother and Grandaddy moved into the new little brick house in March. It broke my heart what I heard from Grandmother's mouth, "this will give Joe a chance to find them a place of their own." Yet another time that I felt as though I was not good enough to live in the new house. Grandmother had came to get us at the bus station to live with her and now she did not want us in her new house. We instead were still at the old not painted house that Daddy's brother rented from Steve Garner. Steve was a second cousin to my Grandaddy and just as evil as Grandaddy was.
The fighting only got worse as the weeks went by. One of the worst was the cut that Uncle Keith put in between Daddy's eyes. This was another one of those after supper fights that spilled all the pinto beans from supper onto the kitchen floor. My aunt had went to great pain to come up with the money to buy the beans only for Daddy and Uncle Keith to knock them into the floor. The butcher knife was an old hickory and very sharp. It was easy for him to grab and swing it across Daddy's forehead. The wound was deep to the bone and took forever to heal. The whiskey he consumed daily must have made it harder for it to heal. The cut within days started to rot around the cut spot.
During the day fighting they did I missed, except on Saturday afternoons. Finally on one spring Saturday afternoon the fighting was to what was going to turn tragic. Well, it did not turn tragic, but could have. The uncanny thing about it was that terrible thing that could have happened got me where I wanted to be. To this day there are many times that I really believe fate is on my side. I say fate really knowing that God has watched over me for me to not have it so terrible.
The porch of that old non-painted house went all the way across the front. There were two front screen doors, one into the kitchen and one into the livingroom. The fight had started in the livingroom, because Daddy was just sitting on the couch doing nothing. Uncle Keith had the notion that they should go to Grandmother's new house and move a sand pile left from where the concrete was mixed to lay the bricks on the house. Daddy was not in the mood to do anything anyone wanted him to do, he was on the couch for a drinking afternoon.
His brother was hell bent on getting Daddy off the couch, in the car and moving the sand pile. He walked past the couch and snatched him onto the floor instead of pulling him up Daddy hit the floor. He got up out of the floor and went out the screen door, off the porch and by the pole that held the porch up he grabbed the first thing he saw to use as a weapon. That day it was not a broom, garden hoe or stick, it was an axe. Uncle Keith came out the front door after Daddy. We the four of use kids had made it outside to watch the fight. I was standing behind Daddy as he stood hiding the axe behind his back. Aunt Nell was not there when the fight started, but pulled up to see what Daddy was holding behind his back. She did not get out of the car. She backed out and went to get Grandmother. The trip to the new house was five or so minutes away. Fifteen minutes at most. Aunt Nell came back with Grandmother. She pulled the car right up to the fight. Grandmother got out of the car begging Daddy to put the axe down. He only stood there with that evil drunk look that I remember seeing so many times. He was grinning as she pleaded with him to drop the axe. This was one time that after Uncle Keith realized that Daddy had an axe he did not move towards him to fight back. He just stood on the porch hoping the women would talk Daddy into putting down the axe.
He finally did and what got him to put it down was Grandmother telling him that the only way this fighting was going to stop, before someone got hurt really bad was for Daddy to come back and live with her. When she told him to put the axe down and get us and all of are clothes, he did finally put down the axe.
Mama had hid in the kitchen during the whole axe deal. I ran in and told her that Grandmother said we could come to the new house. The fight with the axe was the fight that ended the crazy four months we lived with Daddy's not so kind brother.

Kinds of Drunks

Evan Williams Poster

My grandmother had a name for men that drank and still went to work. They were drame drinkers. This is a word that she possible made up. The definition of this word in the not Webster Dictionary but the Nell Dictionary; would be someone that drinks at night but still gets up and goes to work. Dictionaries have more than one explaination of words so I will put another; someone who can drink all day and still work. Those would be the ones that drank in the cotton patch. Today it would be men that own their own businesses. These have other not so industrious people that work for them. Their basic day consists of going from job to job checking on the people that work for them. These are men that have uncanny luck to not get pulled over by the law. The reason they don't get stopped could be they are known by the law as owners of a business. Drink everyday and still do not fall to rock bottom as Daddy and Uncle Keith did.
Their drinking was of this nature. They worked long enough to make enough money to lay drunk for weeks at a time. The longest I remember Daddy staying sober was one month. I was very proud of this and baked him a cake to celebrate. He was not much on eating anything sweet. He did like plain cake with peaches poured over it. That is the celebritory cake that I baked for him that anniversary of being sober for a month. He came into the kitchen as I stood in at the counter in the kitchen finishing the plain cake. I had used a Duncan Hines Cake mix for the cake. He walked up behind me and I smelled it; I guess he was celebrating, also.
Sober for a month meant that he had saved enough money to get ahead alittle. He had possibly made enough maybe to rent us a house and leave my grandmother's. In my mind that would be not so good anyway. The thought of living in a house with Mama and Daddy as caregivers scared me beyond anything. I knew that when were still lived in Michigan that we were hungrey and cold most of the time. Grandmother had feed us and kept us warm. The beds were never left wet. This really was not a worry this time either that I should sweat. The month of sober just meant he would hit the couch once more. The couch with the gold plastic that my grandmother had covered over and over. The couch with sheet metal under the end that Daddy rested his head on while he lay there for a couple of weeks. The cushion of the couch was were the bottle was hidden. He lay there and would reach under the cushion to retrieve the bottle. He did not eat; only drank for the weeks he was on that couch. Going outside to the trunk of the car every day or so to retrieve the stash of whiskey that he had bought with the money he made. When he ran out of whiskey and money the coming off the drunk would start. His face would have white scales on it. He would be hungrey; beginning the ordering around of Mama to fix him something to eat. Mama could not cook making the anger he had from being out of money for whiskey worse.
He sat at the same chair at every meal. It was from that seat that he yelled at how and what she was fixing wrong. She in a freaked out manner would try to get it right. This on one occasion lead him to hit her in between the eyes with a glass filled with iced tea. The cut was not all that bad, but still I think of how bad that must have hurt.
In those days drinking and driving was not as harsh according to law as it is now. We drove the drunks around many times as children anyway. As kids we always wanted to drive anyway so away we would go. It did not matter to me that when I left it may be a day or two before we returned home. Daddy was not so bad; he wanted to drink at home. He could put the bottle under the couch cushion and not be bothered.

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Uncle Keith was different. He liked being out and about the first leg of his pulling a drunk. On one occasion I really thought that I was never ever going to get to go back to grandmothers. It was a big mistake that day to be selfish enough to just want to get to drive. If not for us stopping at Aunt Faye's for him to raise a little hell with her I may have had to sleep in the car.
Aunt Faye's husband drank, but not often. He was one that could drink and stop when his wife made him. His drinking binges were few and far between. He did create some drama a couple of times with his drinking. He was just a normal social drinker, I guess. The dictionary of Nell did not have one for normal drinking. The people she tagged as drame drinkers were her brother-in-law and a neighbor Preacher Courm. Preacher was not really a preacher. They just called him that, because he like to dress up when he was young and fresh out of the Navy. Uncle Luke was a drame drinker to her because he took a drink anytime one was offered, but that was about it. Drunks of all kinds. Men of all kinds are to me what makes the drunk. Some can drink and some can't.

Kicked not Shaken (Click to see Link)

Anger was a real part of my growing up. Neglect or just not paying attention to the responsibilities of having raising babies. Shaking me when I was a baby; I don't know if that happened. Mama did throw thinks as as when we were older; four or five. She lost her temper before my grandmother took us in, I know. Maybe it was the drinking that made everyone so mad. My daddy did not actually beat us; it was more a really good whooping. His anger was focused toward my mother most of the time. She was an easy target because of her mental condition, I guess.

Being kicked very hard with a work boot is the most terrible pain I have ever endured. It was always right at the anal area that the kick landed. I guess my dad and uncle knew that or it just happened to land on that part of the body. Daddy I think did it out of shear loss of control. I can't imagine anything I could have done bad enough to be kicked that hard.

Mama on the other had did not whip us that I can recall. She did throw things at me on occasion. The great abuser that has left me unsure of anything that I am in life was my grandfather. He did not live very long after we moved from upnorth. He to me should be in a special Hell. I read the story that Shoalanda published byTiffany Potts Evans today and the thoughts of People in Hell came back to me once again. Really could God put even small sinners in the same place as them. "There's a special Hell for people like that." I have said it many times.
That makes me wonder too, when we die do we find out who really didn't like us. What if you secretly hated someone? Would they know what you thought when we get to heaven? No, because all is going to be perfect in Heaven. I just answered my own question.

I have not always done the most angelic things in my life, but I know that God watches me. I know that God takes care of me above all; above just watching.
I wonder if he was watching the times in the barn and under that tree. I wonder did he see when grandmother left me alone. I wonder did he take care of me so much because of the pain and scars. I owe making it thus far to God. I just really hope that he took care of the sin that man committed. I did not die, but I am a little not so well inside.
Ok, we did not have guns at Grandmother's house. Hunting was something that really was not done by the men there. As the grandson's reached their teen years getting a gun for Christmas was not out of the question. The gun that shot out the back storm door was either a Christmas gift of my cousins or was purchased at one of the times Uncle Keith was working and saving money. Probably the later, because he is the one that shot the gun.
Uncle Keith had great problem with us living in the house with Grandmother. His main personality was selfishness and jeolousy. He really did not appear to like anyone of us. He always wanted to fight with someone. My daddy was his favorite target to pick a fight with. He may have chose Daddy because he was really not into confrontation. Well he did not confront anyone he knew was going to rare back up on him. Uncle Keith would have times take the stand that he was sick and tired of Daddy using their mother as a meal ticket and a place for his wife and kids to live. This day he was really fed up with it. He was probably jeolous too. He and his wife and boys lived in his sister's farmhouse, so what was the difference, anyway. He had not purchased or rented his own home either. His sister's husband gave more to her brother's than anyone would to the two drunk-most-of-the-time-men.
Uncle Keith was none the better than Daddy except he did not live with his mother. He never thought about it that way. It was all about how Joe Abe took from Grandmother. Uncle Keith had been sober his usual couple of months, AA and all, but like each time he feel off the wagon once again. This day he rode the wagon to woop Daddy's ass. He came in the front door looking for a fight. The livingroom of the three bedroom little brick house was very small. There was the couch that Daddy laid on for weeks. Two end tables under the front window. On one end was the wood heater and on the other end was a chair, radio and round table. The round table top was not connected to the legs. It had a table cloth hiding the real appearance of the table. All of the pieces of furniture that were in the living room that day were flipped and knocked around during the fight. This fight was so much more than just a fist fight, the two middle aged men were rolling around like cowboys in a saloon. The fight had gotten so intense that my grandmother had rushed us to the barn to get away from it. This was not typical. We usually just went out in the yard. As we all stood in the shead that was built on the side of the barn I realized when I heard the gunshot that maybe Grandmother knew that Uncle Keith had the gun in his car. There we stood, my little brother, Mama and Grandmother in the cold addition to the barn. The shot had came out the backdoor of the kitchen. I could see that the door was open when the shot was fired. It still was hard not to think the worst. My first thought was Oh, my God, Uncle Keith has shot Daddy. I ran as fast as I could from the barn to the house. Screaming just those words. When I got to the back of the house Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table grinning and Uncle Keith was holding the door open for Daddy to shoot the gun threw. The both of them had quit fighting and were just messing around shooting the gun. They are playing around and we are hiding from them. This is something I am sure they both thought would be funny, scare two kids, Grandmother and Mama to death.