Make Me An Instrument of Your Peace

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love,

Where there is injury, pardon

Where there is doubt, faith,

Where there is despair, hope,

Where there is darkness, light,

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much

seek to be consoled as to console,

not so much to be understood as to understand,

not so much to be loved, as to love;

for it is in giving that we receive,

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

                               it is in dying that we awake to eternal life.-                                                                                                                           -- St. Francis of Assisi

The Seat Under the Telephone

The wine Daddy started to drink, that was so cheap, was drank while he sat in that same spot. I say he sat, he basically slumped in a chair. The chair was a chrome legged kitchen chair, with yellow and green plastic cushions. The table was to his right. This is where he sat unshaven, wearing a white undershirt and his socks. I remember his socks the most, because he caught them on fire trying to light that monster of a heater we had. He caught the sock on fire and I was to doctor the foot for what seemed like forever.
The ordeal of getting to a place that we could borrow cream to put on it was yet another worry that my five year old mind was plaqued with. Worry is something I never have not known. Just like the being cold and wet thing. I still feel the cold and wet of the nights and days of my first seven years of life. Just like I still see my daddy's socks, because he had caught them on fire. The telephone, the heater, and the socks.
The telephone did not ring often. The times that I remember Daddy on the phone were the times terrible news was on the other end. The terrible news about the fire in Alabama was for sure the worst phone memory. Daddy was drunk, but still he was heartbroken. The one brother that had made him proud was gone. His wife and son were still alive, but in grave condition. The next times that the phone rang it was the news of their deaths. Then were the calls from Grandmother making it possible for Daddy to come to Alabama for the funerals. Daddy had no money and Grandmother had to over the phone arrange for him to get money and get there. All this in the seat under the telephone.

Forgiveness

The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. ~Mahatma Gandhi

The family members that did well take great pride in the family name. Often when we talk say that it is the blood; that makes them so strong and prosperous. Our family gene pool held many things that can make you excel in many ways. There was ego, passion, pride, good looks and the desire to have money. These things can be used for the betterment or the down fall of any person. What outsiders saw many times was the obvious. Sometime it was a drunken fit for the whole Corum Hollow to hear. Sometime it was a car ran in the ditch. Then there were a couple of fires. On a better note there was a good cotton crop, the church services we attended, how nice we looked in clothes that were handmade, and the help lent out to the struggling farmers surrounding our home.

Once more the perfect crime can be comitted if you don't tell a soul. The men in our family did not often hide the fact that they drank. It was just not widely known what they did at home as they drank. The community I am sure spoke more bad of them than good. It was a time when drinking was even done in the work place. There were many a deal made over a glass of whiskey. The deals my daddy and them made were made sipping from a bottle of moonshine. Moonshine of the late 1960's was nasty at times. It was made many times in old car radiators. The Jackson's that made some of what Daddy and them drank were so dirty from collecting scrap metal that the black never washed off of them. That is if they even ever tried to wash it off. There was a bottle that Daddy showed me one day that instead of being a clear liquid, as wildcat was supposed to be, was grey. In the bottle there was a slime floating around. Daddy told me he never thought he would, but this was one bottle of whiskey that he was going to pour out. This made me for sure that he wasn't drinking for the taste to begin with. He was drinking for the effect that it had on him. The Jackson's wildcat whiskey would have been drank by my daddy if they had not left the slimey stuff floating around in it. There was always a thing that if you drank beer, the drinking was not a problem. I remember when we were still in Michigan that Daddy only drank beer at first. Then it was whiskey. Jim Beam most if the time. Then it was wine. He became a wino. Wino because it was very cheap, especially the sugary wines, just a dollar or so a bottle.

One of my daddy's things to say was if you asked him as question, he would ask if you were writting a book? My answer finally became, yes. His response to this was well, leave that page out. He probably never read the first book. He had all of a ninth grade education. The whole family seemed to have went to the nineth grade. Sixteen must have been the age quitting was accepted. My grandmother did not go that far, but she had a GED. She had even tried to go on and become a school teacher. I am sure she would have been the best teacher ever. I know this from all she taught me. She wasn't Garner, but sure did adapt well to the Garner way of life. The one person she admired most was her mother-in-law. She was a Barnett before marrying Mayorn Garner. Then again the hard working good women were not Garner's after all; they just became what the not so hardworking Garner men expected to become. Keeping on keeping on was normal. Men died, we had funerals and then it was the day after when we all went back to working on the job that had to be done. My grandmother got up the morning after we buried someone and told us, "get up kids we've got to go on."
It can honestly be said that there were never, and will never be men that defined drunk in a manner of these men. There was always an occasion for them to drink. Funerals were no exception.
The statement I have heard and repeated many times; the perfect crime can be committed if you do not tell a soul. Affairs can be gotten away with only if neither involved tell no one. All that went on in my home was one of those situations. As long as the outside world did not know of the meaness there, it was ok. The men were expected to have affairs. That is basically impossible for women, they have to tell at least one friend that they want to impress. Most of the time again back to my experience with people everyone has a disloyal bone in their body and will tell someone else. I do have secrets of my dear friends that I would never tell anyone. I would not tell mainly for fear of hurting someone I loved. I would also not tell fearing they would turn on me one day.
I did when my grandmother was older try to tell her. I wanted to hurt her. She had made this big deal out of six dollars in change. I had gone to the grocery store for her and did not give her change back. I got back to my house and my brother called. Grandmother had called him to tell him I had kept her money. I still want to cry when I think of him scolding me for taking her money. He was always a big defender of hers. She had petted him from the very beginning. She had a thing that men were to be waited on. His love for her still is deep, so deep that he never did see her faults. The grandchildren that have not given in to drug dependency or alcoholism still sing the praises of all she did for us. She made us what we are today. Whatever part of her that is in our genes can be that we watched the good; I am probably the only one with her blood that acknowledges she was not perfect. I am ashamed that when she was old I wanted to hurt her. A regret that bothers me often. She did do more for me than any of the others.
Her will to survive was enough to justify many of her beliefs. "You do what you got to do." was something she said often. It also a phrase that I have used many times. I have totally figured out what being abused makes you become. You become a person that no matter what you accomplish, happiness is something that is very hard for you to feel. I am blessed with a perfect job, wonderful children, many friends, and a realationship that works well. With all that is good in my life, there is still that nagging in my soul; A sadness that no matter how hard I try creeps up way too often. The stories I tell of the people that molded me are not all to blame, because I hand picked the one's that gave me the best advice.

Boxes

I have always made the best of each situation. It can be done. There is always the sky. It does not matter what is going on around you the sky is there for a great escape. From the sky there is the sun to give us warm days, adding wind to a warm sunny day just adds extra surprise. Even the rainy, stormy days escaping to notice the feel of the air can take away much pain. When I realized that my heart was so broken that I could not find happiness from the air around me is when I knew it was within me to discover the easy way back. Simple and free are the best gifts God gave us. Then there is snow, beautiful white snow. The air feels a certain way on a cold and snowy day. I have always been someone that could find something to make me feel better in the worst of times. Being a child may have made it easier to find a happy place.
I have mentioned walking home from school for lunch before. This is something I did even when the snow was up to my knees. Kindergarten is somewhat of a blur to me, but there are parts that I remember vividly. The teacher was old; she played an old organ to us sometimes. She reminded me of Granny of the Beverly Hillbillies. While we were up north I attended the school closest to Morley Street; where we lived before the fat banker came. The school name was Pageant. It had to be really close for me to walk to school at five years old. I had white boots with fake fur around the top. The boots I remember well because they were a treasure in a box given to us by some charity organization. Just like the ice skates the boots were one of my favorite memories of digging in those boxes that appeared at our house.
The boxes appearing made up for the fact that Santa did not come one year that I remember. The next door neighbor informed that Santa had brought her toys on Christmas Eve that year. I was so smart that at five she was wrong and I was right. Santa must have come on Christmas Night; I wasn’t sure, I must have forgotten was what I convinced myself into believing. Christmas Night I was sure that was when I would get my toys. On Christmas Night he didn’t bring anything, I was sure it was my fault. It was true if you are bad Santa will not come.
It was still freezing cold the day the box came with a pair of ice-skates in it. I grabbed ice-skates from the box like they had been placed under a Christmas tree by Santa. I had never had ice-skates. Making sure they fit was not important to me or Mama. That may have been why they wobbled so on my feet. Could have been why I hit the ground so fast. I had never skated and I was too young to realize that falling was something that would happen when I chose a frozen mud puddle just outside the house to skate for the first time. Somehow I made it down the steps onto the puddle without falling.

Once on the frozen mud puddle my feet went every which way. I hit on my knees and elbows skinning myself on every spot that the hard frozen puddle touched me. I still remember how bad that hurt. I was freezing cold, because getting a coat was not an issue as I had a new pair of ice-skates. The cold the sting of the cuts and the pain of the lick I took was awful. Getting back into the house was even worse. The trip down the stairs was a much happier trip. Climbing the three or four steps was much harder without the thrill of getting to skate. Then the pain added to the realization that skating on a mud puddle was not such a great idea after all.

Reason's Still

Of all the people I have known well there is not a single person that I can honestly say has not done something immoral at one time or another. Looking back the people I loved the most; I knew the most about. Be it just saying something mean to or about someone; there really is not a perfect person. Lets not talk about perfect then. How about just a good person. To me a good person, really deep in side has that heart that at the time you need them the most will give back to you. It may not be things; It may not be money. Being kind to you when you need it is probably the best thing anyone could give you. Give yourself to someone you have abused or mistreated and forgiveness may come your way.

Mama never changed the sheets on the bed when I wet it. That is why if I think of Detroit or hear it I think of being cold. I moved from one spot to another each night trying to find the dryest spot. It was still cold from the spot that got me wet to begin with. I should have just crawled in the floor. I don't think there was water in the floor of the bedroom. There was always water in the bathroom floor. I say this remembering at this moment the worst of times. There was a time in that house on Morley, before Daddy lost his job that everything was better.  Again was she lazy? Really what is so bad about being lazy? Not being lazy I think comes with living. When I was young I had the energy it took to get out of doing things. As we live and learn it is easier to just do something than to try to work your way out of it.
Many years later Mama did anything I asked her to do and I asked her to do alot. She was here because she had no place else to go. She gave back to me and I wonder if the reason she did everything I asked her was to make up for some of that stuff she didn't do.

Reason's?

People in general are lazy. There were many people that found work in the Detroit area in the 1960's. Daddy was one of them. He really did mean to have a better life. Meaning well and doing well seems is harder than it seemed. The boys that visited did not find jobs and stay. They were the boys that in later years would work for us pulling the big weeds out of cotton that was too mature to plow. On hot summer days instead of a water break, it was a wildcat whiskey break. My cousins and I thought one day it would be funny to put the whiskey in Mamas water glass and trick her into drinking it. Come to find out nobody, but us thought it was a bit funny. My grandmother thought it was mean. The hired help it belong to thought it was wasting his wildcat and Mama spit it everywhere. Even Daddy was mad and it took alot for him to even take time to notice what we were doing.
There was still something these boys that was not all that great. Everyone has a side that is a tad evil. It is what you do with the good in you that overcomes the bad seeds. I recall a mean grin that my daddy, his brother, their daddy had. When you are around anyone often enough you really see more than the real world knows. Taking things out on family seems to be more normal than not. Talking mean to the one's you love the most. I have heard this all my life, and still wonder, why?

There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found while journeying east and west-the only folks we really wound are those we love the best. We flatter those we scarcely know; we please the fleeting guest, and deal full to many a thoughtless blow to those who love us best.’~~~Wheeler Wilcox

Could this be be how abuse happens? Lazy comes to mind because, these people that hurt the one's they love the most won't make the effort to leave the house and be mean to someone else. Men that choose their daughters and grandchildren to molest are too lazy to get, maybe their wife or a slutty neighbor. No, the neighbor is out of the question because, they could say no and she would tell then everyone would really know that they grinned that mean grin and meant it. The people around us were really convienced that the perfect crime could be committed if you did not tell anyone and made sure the person you did it to didn't tell.

1960 Something

People in general are moody. Everyone has good days and bad days. The days for Mama were not all that great I am sure. Just being around someone drinking is enough to make a good natured person have a few fits. Women tend to have them. When Aunt Faye ran her new Continential Lincoln into Uncle Andy's car it was just a funny story that was told over the years. Mama was marked crazy from the beginning. Crazy for stress that would bring the most sane person to a breaking point.

I listened to her when the men that drank with Daddy were getting on her nerves. This made me want to do something to help her. I even chased one bum out of one of Daddy's abandoned cars in the yard. This guy slept there often. Daddy I am sure had given him permission. Mama could not stand the thoughts of him letting just anyone stay with us. It was bad enough that every stray from Alabama bringing the whiskey and keeping Daddy from going to work everyday. The times he spent drinking did gradually cause him to loose his very good job.

Loosing it is something that she was bound to do and do often. It did eventually come to a complete breakdown. The doctors at ECM's 400 ward seemed to think she needed mental health treatment. The day she went she had been whipped with a garden hose. It was in the hottest part of the summer. She had been picked on all morning by Daddy, Grandmother and Uncle Keith, because she was not picking up enough of the potatoes that had been dug that morning.

The Sixites With Visitors

The day that she was supposed to have neglected me; letting me play in the dirt, while she sat under the tree drinking beer was a story told over and over. Why this was such a retold story makes me wonder if anyone is really all good. My aunt that took care of me on that visit in my eyes was a wonderful lady. It didn’t take much to win the love of a toddler. It never has ceased to amaze me how people as a rule see the bad in most everyone; before they find the good. Mama was surrounded by a bunch always looking for something wrong with what she did or said. She was more than likely someone to be envious of.
 Kick Ass CD
She was very pretty when I was a child. She was always a little too nice to men. We went to the doctor way more than necessary, because he was good looking. She took us regularly until there was no money to pay the doctor with. The southern boys that came to visit were not worth the effort for her. She really hated seeing them coming. Their visits consisted of drinking and bringing any women they could find to bring to our house. She did join in the festivities at times. She could play the piano by hear or she thought she could. I remember her banging, but really don’t remember if it was really bad; I am almost sure it wasn’t really good.
Mama wanted to make friends with the bar girls, so she joined in. It was usually late or early morning before the gang arrived at our house on Morley. The White boys were regular tourists to Michigan. Their good looks made it easy for them to pick-up girls from the bars on Ford Road. In they would come; it was hard for me not to notice if they put their hands up the young women’s blouses. This memory is one that stuck in my nosey little brain.

I have no reason to ever care a hill of beans about these guys. I seen them as bad, because Mama usually got upset with Daddy when they came and after they left. It has really not taken a whole lot for me to love, forgive and find the good in most people. I could also see the bad, but it would not take much for me to forget that; the art of forgiving will get you a very long way.  The trick I also learned at an early age. This was to tune out anything or anyone that I really did not what to hear. This has made me a poor listener today.

I had to have been like a sponge, soaking up all the grown-up business that I could. Always knowing how bad adults could be was probably why I have worried all my life. The good I gathered from them was because I found it in them myself.  I forgave and tried to forget as much as possible. Blocking bad experiences from my mind is something I wasn’t lucky enough to do.

(Note to Self) Giving, I should always remember is not just money or things.

Beautiful story...

RED MARBLES...
I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes. I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation
between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me..'Hello Barry, how are you today?'
'H'lo , Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good.''They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?'Fine Gittin' stronger alla' time.''Good Anything I can help you with?''No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.''Would you like to take some home?' asked Mr. Miller.'No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with.'
'Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?''All I got's my prize marble here.''Is that right? Let me see it' said Miller..'Here 'tis.. She's a dandy.''I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and
I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?' the store owner asked.'Not zackley but almost..''Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble'.. Mr. Miller told the boy.'Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.'Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile she said, 'There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.'I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado , but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr.. Miller had died..They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her, and moved on to the casket.Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket..'Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim 'traded' them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size......they came to pay their debt.''We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,' she confided, 'but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.'With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind
deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath....

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~

• A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself...
• An unexpected phone call from an old friend...
• Green stoplights on your way to work..
• .The fastest line at the grocery store..
• .A good sing-along song on the radio...

Still the Sixties

"You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you."~~Walt Disney
She always called the false tooth a plug tooth. When she was old and lost some of her teeth naturally that tooth still hung in there. The man that had knocked out the tooth was from

Czechoslovakia. This means he was almost a Pollock according to her. Pollock’s were supposed to be dumb, but she described him as having a bad temper. Drinking made him even meaner. His name was Joe, same as her next husband. This was a fact that she mentioned many times in her life experiences. She was beautiful and dressed better than any of her friends or family.
She had gotten a job at Kreskies (Yankee for K-Mart). She lived with her parents in Wayne and used her salary to buy things for herself. Her dad loved her so he wanted her to have everything she wanted. Part of her being marked crazy by my dad’s family may have been; she was spoiled by her father. He had a nurturing character. He did the same thing to his wife. He made life as simple for my Grandma as he could. She was weak and nervous, also. With Grandpa Carte’s understanding she did not suffer the harassment Mama would in the following years.
She was not perfect; no one is. She lived in a far from perfect environment. Going with the flow was not really an option for her. She had the kindness within her that she didn’t show often. There were too many around her forcing her to take up for herself. She could not win. The visitors from Alabama were drinking. They used Joe’s Apartment as a place to vacation. Keith and his wife came on a regular basis. Uncle Keith would tell Grandmother that he was looking for work in the north. All he did was stay with his brother and rally all night, most of the time.
I was just barely walking on one visit. Mama must have just rolled with the punches of each visitor. She drank as many younger women did in the early sixties. Aunt Nell was fresh from leaving a child for a new man. She lived with guilt of leaving the child, along with uncertainty of how this post-affair marriage would work out. She had a small baby boy to take care of in a city she knew nothing about. In the mist of drunks she took the responsibility of taking care of me and her little boy. Mama sat back and let her, because she would. She sat underneath the tree hiding from Aunt Nell and her attitude. The attitude was that of a great mother. She was trying to prove she was good. Mama just was not willing to prove anything. She just hid under that tree letting someone else do it. Drinking let her escape from what she should be doing.

Wayne 1960's

  "If it falls your lot to be a street sweeper, sweep streets like Michelangelo painted pictures, like Shakespeare wrote poetry, like Beethoven composed music..." - Martin Luther King Jr.

****

The job that Joe landed was the beginning of a life that his family was quick to share with everyone. He was close to thirty and had lost a great deal of his productive years spent mending the arm he broke in a car accident. The scar and pain would always be a reminder. The job at the steel mill meant more money than he had ever been used to.

He had now a purpose to carry on. He was still the southerner in a big city. He would always have the desire to find out what the city had to offer. With his good looks finding beautiful women was not a problem. He quickly became popular among the women that he came in contact with. He would have many opportunities to have what most men wanted. Humble and kind as he was it was easy for him to be fooled and taken advantage of by women looking for the securities that they all wanted.

Beautiful, fun and worldly divorced women were what he found the most exciting. She was the daughter of a Ford Motor employee. Her father had moved the family her from Nallen, West Virginia. This was one of many things he had in common with his newly found hook-up. She had been introduced to him by mutual friends and quickly found that the attraction was something both of them longed for. She had been married to a foreigner that beat her regularly. He came from a culture that accepted the power of man over women. It was his temper along with his upbringing that made her the target of his punches. Her front tooth was false as a result of his temper.

September 1960, Up North

In September 1960 the place to go was north. Southerners were going to visit, to live and to work.

It was common for men to come from the south to look for work. That is what Joe Abe had done. He left the south to find work. He was not the first in his family to have done so, but was lucky enough have landed a better job than most. Joe had been in a car accident as a teen that damaged his arm to the point that the service would not take him during war time. He thought himself less than his younger brother that served in Korea. My grandmother was always pleased that one of her boys did not have to go. The middle son that died years later in a house fire was convinced that when he went he was not coming back. He was terrified. My grandmother was just as pitiful as him, because she was very proud of her middle son. The youngest son went and never batted an eye. He was always at war with someone anytime he was anywhere.

My Granddaddy’s brother had moved up north and did not find work in industry. He and his wife did take advantage of the migration of men from the south. Boarding was something that was common in the south, because of the farm workers. This was nothing new to Toot and Red. The boarding house became a productive business for them. There were so many of the southern boys that knew them that would much rather stay with someone they knew. They had settled in Cleveland, Ohio. Just about everyone that lived in Alabama had someone that moved to find work in one of northern states. This was a perfect stop along the way to carouse with their uncle in the Yankee bars. Meeting Yankee women was easy, because they all loved the hard working- slow talking southern boys. The venture of the boarding house was much easier for Uncle Red than Aunt Una. She was the cook, maid and manager of the boarding house. She also had the added stress of her husband enjoying the visits from the southern travelers.
My grandmother had even boarded men working for them that had nowhere to stay. She mentioned one of them often, Rink Morgan. “I even kept Rink Morgan.” Is what she would say when she was talking of all the hard work she had always done. He stayed with Grandmother and Granddaddy for the peaks of gathering or planting seasons. He was given food, shelter and a very small wage during planting. He was paid according to the price of the day for picking cotton. This was paid by the pound. When I picked as a child it was three cents for first picking and five cent a pound for second picking. First picking was more because the cotton was fuller at first. Second was just what happened to open following the first picking. Grandmother always was curious about Rink when he was not staying with them. She had quizzed him enough to know he worked in railroad yards during the coldest part of winter, when there was nothing to do on the farms. I am sure having someone live with you makes a lasting impression that you never forget that person.
For all the relatives that were traveling there would be lots of business just from the passersby that were heading even further north. It was nothing to detour by way of Cleveland to stay a night or two. Many of them that were passing thru had no intention of staying or even looking for a serious change in their way of life. It was more like a vacation for them. The trips many times were made just for these young men to be going. It was common for them to get their parents to loan them the money to go looking for work. Their parents would always be willing if it meant that the boys were going to get a job making good wages.

Getting to the residences of the transplanted southerners was the most important task at hand. Then they would be ready for the entertainment that was waiting in a different place. Joe had moved to Wayne, a suburb of Detroit. He wanted to work for one of the automotive companies. The job he landed first was the one he decided to take. He was serious about finding a good paying job and had no problem with staying. This was in the steel mill in Plymouth, Michigan. He was sure that this was the best choice for him. He got an apartment over a garage, worked every day and made many friends to hang out with after work. He was great looking and spoke kindly to everyone he met. He had the great southern charm and resembled Ricky of  the I Love Lucy Show.

Why is it so hard to just, get along?

Anyone can carry his burden, however hard, until nightfall. Anyone can do his work, however hard, for one day. Anyone can live sweetly, patiently, lovingly, purely, till the sun goes down. And this is all life really means.
                                     ~Robert Louis Stevenson
Struggle for Intimacy (Adult Children of Alcoholics series)The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

RecoveryI thought went, “it is easier to forgive than forget,” I discovered many others, but could not find it one quoted in those exact words. I can forgive and still love that person. Not being able to forget makes me cry when I think of being hurt by others. I will never ever mention it again to them. I let it go for their sake. I keep it in my heart to still creep up on me when I least expect the pain to come back. The four months we spent with Aunt Nell and Uncle Keith will always be part of me. The parts that hurt me the most are how I was always made to feel I did not belong. I was not part of any family. I did not want to be part of mine; the one that was Mama, Daddy, my brother and me. I wanted to be included with Aunt Nell's. There was always the recentment of what a sacrifice everyone made for Daddy's family. For this I have forgiven, but have never forgot. Not forgetting I think makes me a better person. I never fussed or brought up what I thought they had wronged me with. Well, once I tried. Try was all I did I could not make myself ask the question I wanted to ask. I tried to get my grandmother to admit being wrong. She just couldn't.

Below is the Quote that some people think means,

"it is easier to forgive than to forget."
I can forgive, but I cannot forget, is only another way of saying, I will not forgive. Forgiveness ought to be like a cancelled note - torn in two, and burned up, so that it never can be shown against one.
                              ~Henry Ward Beecher

My New Home

The time that passed while we were living at Aunt Nell and Uncle Keiths was from day to day a struggle for all of us. My grandmother was at her daughters recovering from her gall bladder surgery. She was heart broken over the loss of her home and time for me was not an issue to her. She had made it very clear that we were to not move back in the new house with them. Daddy was to look for us a place of our own. He did not look. The building of the house was slowing taking place. It was placed on a concrete slab, because this is what Aunt Faye's husband done for a living. He had a business that poured concrete. To me they were rich.
My Aunt Nell was a pretty women that had fell in love with my daddy's brother while married to someone else. She had left her daughter and now was trying to make that mistake up by being a super mom to the two boys she now had with my Uncle Keith. My little brother fought for her attention. He would have fits that were much like a dog with rabies if she did more for her boys that she did for him. His feelings toward Aunt Nell were much the same as mine for my grandmother at this time. He had seen her as his savior in all the disfunction that was surrounding us. She was dark haired, slim and had the most beautiful blue eyes. She in her whole adult life was attractive to men. She was a good person basically, but a few times in her live she made some poor judgements, because of men wanting her. She had thought the man she was married to was a useless drunk. He really was a cousin, not first or second to Daddy and Uncle Keith. My grandmother was ashamed of this because Ruby and Roy, Aunt Nell's ex-in-laws did not speak to Grandmother for years.
All of the talk that was taking place over the new house and that we were not going to live there was cutting me like a knife. I felt so that they were throwing us away. We were going to be put into a house once again where we would not have good food to eat or heat. It was obvious that Daddy was not going to do better. The whole amount of time we stayed with his brother was a constant fight. Uncle Keith constantly made fun of Daddy for not having anywhere to go. Which this was just what he wanted. He loved to make fun and low-rate other people. This made him feel better about what a real nothing asshole he was.
He was always quick with an insult to anyone one. This was his personality even when he was not drinking. Here I am a skinny eight year old in a house of mean Uncle Keith. The boys; my brother and cousins following the adults lead in low rating me. Crying was something that will become something I start and never stop. There was no bathroom in the old rental house. Bathing was not done often, but when I remember taking a bath it was in the big double sink in the kitchen. One day I was in the sink bathing when Uncle Keith came into the kitchen. There were no doors from the back of the house into the kitchen. The front door onto the porch was directly in front of the sink that I was bathing in. Uncle Keith came into the kitchen and told me to be sure to wash my ass. He was never did anything other than mouth off unappropriate remarks. He also thought it was funny if you accidentally saw him naked. The grin he got was one of shear delight in he had made me uncomfortable.
The kitchen of the old house was the setting for many of the crazy things these two drunk brothers did. We ate pinto beans and cornbread every night for supper. Potatoes if there were some still left in the crib at grandmother's barn. They were the men and men were more important no matter how useless they were. They were always first to eat no matter what. We as the four children ate what was left. By time we got to the table the two of them had already talked to one another long enough to be mad at each other. It was Daddy letting Uncle Keith tell him how sorry he was, what a stupid wife he had and what he should be doing to fix his miserable life. Daddy would take it for long as a drunk or hung over man could. I am sure he was not in the best of moods most of the time. Whiskey done that to him.
By time us kids were finishing up eating the physical part of the dinner conversation had almost began. We were always rushed out into the yard by my Aunt Nell. From the front of the house with two front doors the sound of plates breaking, bodies falling and cussing was what the four of us kids and Mama and Aunt Nell would listen to. The fights most of the time did not last long and there was not that much blood. The worst was bloody noses and bruises except for the time Uncle Keith grabbed a butcher knife. Killing Daddy may not have been why he got the knife, but then I wondered many times if either of them would get that mad or crazy drunk. Taking a knife to your brother could have ended worse than it did. He took the knife somehow and slashed Daddy across the forehead, right between his eyes. This was the bloodiest the kitchen ever was after there nightly after dinner fights. The cut on Daddy's head was deep, but he did not get stitches. He let it heal on it's own which took forever. It was so terrible that after a few days it appeared his forehead was rotting. It was bruised and infected.
Eventually he went to Dr. Ledbetter in Rogersville and he gave him something for infection. Going to the doctor was something that Daddy could not afford, since he needed his money for whiskey. He worked for his sisters husband just long enough to get whiskey money. Which probably was good for me, because he was not saving to find us somewhere to live. It would take a fight that was out of control for Grandmother to let us come to the new house.

After the Old House Burnt

The burning of the old house put me in another time in my life that was eventful. The night the house burnt I was taken to my aunts. Her daughters were spending the night with the dad's brother's children. I had my dear aunt all to myself. She treated me in a manner that I never remember anyone treating me ever. She tucked me in her girls beds and sat beside me as I was going to sleep. Telling me that all was going to be alright. She treated me as a daughter, that night. She in later years would even more so. She was like my grandmother and mama dealing with the men of our family. Her brother's were a great worry for her as well as her dad. She worked hard to keep her husband in line. She put extra effort into keeping her daughters away from the drinking men. It always bugged me, because she would not let them spend the night with me at grandmothers. I did get to stay with them alot though.

Insecure was something I had already started even then. Jeolous, and feeling not as good as my cousins was a feeling that I have never not known. It started then, because my grandmother was in the hospital during the fire. She had to be told with great caution. This was something that was going to hurt her deeply. She had worked hard for all she had in the house. She had also lost her son and his entire family in a fire two years prior to this. She still morned over the death of her son, his wife and their twelve year old son. The fact that his wife had died last and they did not get any Uncle Bill's money made it even worse. My granddaddy cursed his daughter-in-laws family all night long many nights. My grandmother was constantly reminded of the fire, because of the money they did not get.

The chore of telling my grandmother was finally taken care of and she was to be in the hospital another week. The discussion then shifted to where they were going to stay when she was released from the hospital. The only thing that could be was that Grandmother and Granddaddy stay with there daughter. The fate that was put on me was heartbreaking to me. I had to live in a house without my grandmother. I was put with my mama and daddy, not my grandmother. I was supposed to take this and not worry that I may be cold, hungry and wet once again. We were to stay with Uncle Keith and Aunt Nell. This was my daddy's brother that was close to his dad when it came to his personality when drinking. He spent many nights ranting all night long about the unfairnesses he had suffered in his life. He shifted to the Korean war most to the time. Bomb Fucked this or that was one of his regular 'isms. This man gave selfishness a profound definition. Thus the beginning of a four month stay that was going to be full of fist fights and chaos.

In the short four months there we will have spent the night in a ditch. Daddy and his brother will leave us at the burnt house with no way home, because they have ran in yet another ditch. My little brother will have numerous mad fits. My aunt will endure all of this in a marriage she left her first husband and child for.

The Burning of the Old House

The family members that did well take great pride in the family name. Often when we talk say that it is the blood; that makes them so strong and prosperous. Our family gene pool held many things that can make you excel in many ways. There was ego, passion, pride, good looks and the desire to have money. These things can be used for the betterment or the down fall of any person. What outsiders saw many times was the obvious. Sometime it was a drunken fit for the whole Corum Hollow to hear. Sometime it was a car ran in the ditch. Then there were a couple of fires. On a better note there was a good cotton crop, the church services we attended, how nice we looked in clothes that were handmade, and the help lent out to the struggling farmers surrounding our home.
One of the major fires was when Grandmother’s house burnt while she was in the hospital. The trip to the hospital was devastating for me more than anyone. It meant that I was to be left with, Granddaddy, Daddy and Mama to watch after my little brother and me. The worst part was I could not go with her to the hospital. She always made me feel like an idiot because I did not want her to leave me. I never could understand that. I know she should have been happy for me to want her with me so much. Maybe it was that I was an easy target for her. My brother stayed out of sight most of the time. He was probably smart in doing so.
She left for the hospital leaving with Daddy and Granddaddy both drunk. It was November, but not cold at all. It was more of just a cool fall day in general. Daddy was in his take care of things mode that day. I was in desperate need of shoes for school. The trip to Rogersville was not far and would not take long. The selection of children’s shoes was limited and I had a pair picked out almost immediately. They were dark brown, kind of spotted with lighter brown. They resembled what a pilgrim would wear. Daddy was at this time driving a white Plymouth; we all were in the front seat, Mama, me in the middle and Daddy driving.
Topping the hill just past the Phillips house was a point that from the house you could always see someone coming our way or if you were heading towards the house you could look to the left and see in the distance the white farm house as well as Corum’s Chapel Baptist Church. We had barley topped the hill when Daddy saw the smoke. He got a look of panic on his face and started driving really fast. I could see the biggest/blackest smoke imaginable as we topped the hill. The speed that he drove made us get to the house in just seconds.
When we got there fire trucks were already trying to put the fire out with no success. The neighbors were all lined up and down the road watching as the house was burning. One neighbor that lived a little farther than you would actually call a neighbor told Daddy that he needed to go in the house and get his dad. Daddy asked him was he in there, Preston Dean said yeah he was out here but ran back in to get something. Daddy ran to the front of the house just as Granddaddy was coming off the porch. He grabbed him and through him to the ground. Just as he let him go he was running back into the house. This man was drunk, crazy and selfish. This persona rolled into one made him no matter what have get a snuff can that had seven-thousand dollars in it out of that burning house.

He had these beady little eyes that were evil blue colored and as he was stumbling to the house he really looked scary. He was small and often had skid marks on the back of his pants from not wiping or wet farts one. He would sit on this light blue chair and when he got up there would be brown left from his bottom. I look at pictures of him now and can’t imagine anything as evil as this man. The pictures are even of him as a younger man, but I still have an image of him burnt in my mind as the dirty old man he was. He had this thing he did with his pointer finger. It was as if you summoning someone to come to you. The way he did it was more as he was fingering someone sexually. He sat with snuff dripping from the corner of his mouth with a want me? Look moving that pointer finger. The thought of it to this day gives me chills. I am almost sure he done it to any female around. He thought my grandmother would not believe anyone that told her he did such things. My grandmother believed, but just ignored.

After all the wrestling Daddy did to keep him out of the house at last the house began to fall in as it fell the attempt the crazy, drunk man was making finally stopped. The house burned all the way to the ground leaving them with nothing. The seven thousand dollars that he had tried to go in the burning house to get was not even in the house. Grandmother had hid it in the well house, before she went to the hospital. She knew that the whole time she was gone he would be drunk and there would be men over drinking with him. She hid the money out of the house; with the irony that this was the money that would be used to build the house back. This was 1970 and that amount of money with some added would build the three bedroom brick house that she and her husband both died in back.

Letting Go

Forgiveness is something that comes easy for me. Forgetting is harder. I remembered the quote, it is easier to forgive than forget. In searching for the quote I thought went, "it is easier to forgive than forget, I thought went, I discovered many others, but could not find it one quoted in those exact words. I can forgive and still love that person. Not being able to forget makes me cry when I think of being hurt by others. I will never ever mention it again to them. I let it go for their sake. I keep it in my heart to still creep up on me when I least expect the pain to come back.
*I can forgive, but I cannot forget, is only another way of saying, I will not forgive. Forgiveness ought to be like a cancelled note - torn in two, and burned up, so that it never can be shown against one. ~Henry Ward Beecher    So if I still let it hurt me I really have not foregiven anyone
*Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. ~Mark Twain  Yes, that's what makes me feel better I have given to another person. It at the time makes me feel better to tell them, "its alright."
*Once a woman has forgiven her man; she must not reheat his sins for breakfast. ~Marlene Dietrich   I never bring the wrong the person did me back up again. No matter how bad I want to.
 *It’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission. ~Grace Hopper    Done that! Said that!
*The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. ~Mahatma Gandhi   Yeah, I am the bigger person. Oh, that's my ego, wanting me to be bigger/better than them. It is a payback, maybe.

*To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you. ~Lewis B. Smedes   I am the one that feels the sadness and madness emotions by not forgetting it-----Get over it. Let it go there is the solution.*Forgiveness is a funny thing. It warms the heart and cools the sting. ~William Arthur Ward   Feeling good, about something; that's what we all want to do.(Warm fuzzy feeling)

Quote of the Day

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”~~~Winnie the Pooh

 I was only two when JFK was assassinated. It may be hard to believe, but I do remember seeing it on television.  I remember walking in front of the television seeing the footage of the car.The living room and television are still a dim memory to me. The state of the room is also etched somewhat in my mind. At that time Daddy was still working at the Steel Mill in Plymouth Michigan. For the day that was a good job. My grandmother talked often about what a good job he once had. He was a foreman according to her. At that time the household income must have made it easier for him to keep things around the house on Morley fixed. In later years it seemed to become cluttered outside with junk cars. There was a pile of wood that my grandmother complained about each time she came on her mission to help her son’s family.The junk cars housed bums that Daddy would let sleep in them many nights. This made my mama so mad. I always wanted to help, and one morning I attempted to chase one of them away with a broom. He left. I know now that a grown man was not afraid of a little skinny girl. He was not going to run because of me. It may be part of my imagination that I ran him off. My mama always told that I did. I was seven when we left there. Is it possible that a child younger than seven could scare a vagabond out of a parked car, he was sleeping I was beating on the car with a broom. Yes, it is possible if he did not know what was going on, for him to get up and run. He ran down the street which seemed like miles and miles to me.
As a small child the back yard seemed big to me; it really wasn’t. As many people do get ideas of adding on or building something he had done this; the pile of wood was proof of him having some goals for us, there. My daddy is not the only man I have seen this in and it may not be a real bad thing. The whole picture of how we ended up with Grandmother till we were grown is a good thing really. After we got here I never ever wanted to leave. I didn’t want Daddy to get us a place of our own. I knew I was better off with Grandmother.
Grandmother came to visit on a mission, because she knew her son’s family needed help. He was off up there with two kids and a wife. The wife she sure was the cause for it all. It was her messiness of the house and why her son drank so much. “A woman can throw as much out the back door with a spoon as a man can shovel in at the front door, you know.”---one of the things she said often.
The back yard as small as it really was holds a great memory of Daddy; he really was deep down a humble man. Kites were one thing he loved. It seems we did this often in my mind, but really I think I have made the onetime be many more times. Mama and my little brother were in the yard that day. We had a swing set in the corner of the yard. Mama was pushing Kenny in the swing. In the field behind our lot Daddy and I were flying the kite. He had gotten it so high that it was nearly out of sight. Even then it was not high enough for him. We went to the store and bought more string so it would go even higher. Weather we ever reeled it back in I don’t remember. I just know that he was as much a kid that day as I was. When he made the effort to be my daddy he made me feel like a very special little girl.
The things we did then were typical and normal. When it changed or if it changed much I don’t know for sure. There was always a time that someone he was drinking some. It just got worst as time went on. The visitors we had from down here did not help him much. The time was when many men were going up north to work. Some of them that came to our house pretended they were looking for jobs. This is what they told their parents or wives when they wanted to get away for a while. It turned into a holiday instead of finding work. That is how my daddy ended up there. He met my mama there. She was not even from up north. Her dad came to the north to work at Ford. They were from West Virginia. More hillbillies than Daddy even. Still she was labeled a Yankee.
My mama was terribly depressed after my little brother was born. I have come to this conclusion based on the reason there are no baby pictures of him to be found. The youngest picture that I know of is his first grade picture after we left Wayne, Michigan.
When he was still in diapers Mama and Grandpa took us to the Detroit zoo. Mama had a terrible time with him, because he had a stomach virus of sorts. The day must have been something she had thought would make her feel more like a together mother. Grandpa and Grandma insisted that morning that my brother would be fine. I know they must have wanted Mama to be a good mother to us. Her mother was somewhat like mama. She however, had Grandpa to take care of her. Daddy was not as a giving man. He did not pay attention or realize that he could have helped her. It takes one really strong person to make up for what two working together can’t accomplish.
**********

There were times that Daddy flew in and wanted Mama to take more interest in taking care of the house and us. On picture day he wanted me to have a decent dress to wear. The dress was pink silky material with a round collar and black velvet bow tied in the middle of the collar. He came home from work one day determined to make her iron my dress so that I would look good in my school picture the next day. As always I was right in the middle of the events of the day. Daddy got Mama to heat the iron for the pressing of the dress. I followed in as she thought that the iron was ready to start. How it happened was somewhere between a fight and an accident. He was forever trying to make her do things the right way. She was forever trying to just do things. In the line of fire the ironing board fell and the iron hit my arm. My arm had the print of the iron on it. The burn was bad enough that she took me to the doctor. Going to the doctor at one time was something she did all the time. She took us too, much Daddy said. By this time we weren’t taken very much, because of the cost. Went went to the doctor often at one point. I think as we became poor the doctor visits stopped. Mama was the type that would take us to the doctor for very minor things. She was not worried about what anything cost at one point. Her dad had worked for Ford and Daddy's job was good until he lost it. There are really times that I think we could of had a good childhood even up north. For someone as good as I know Daddy really was. He was a good humble man, because my grandmother said so.

Family Pride

When I talk of our family I mean not just my grandparents. I want the sweet wonderful great aunts to be where I came from. Their son's and daughters that thought of us often and knew my grandmother had her hands full.The family members that did well take great pride in the family name. Thing is the egos in our family have always been huge. It really didn't  matter, everyone of them were proud of their name.
When addiction is mentioned or protrayed to me; what I saw growing up was far worse than the average drunk. Today although I may not be exposed to the bars or heavy drinkers; I see nothing as bad as it was growing up.Often when we talk we say that it is the blood;  makes them so strong and prosperous or as I do because of blood don't drink often, because I could begin to like it. This makes me worry more when my girls drink socially. It is highly possible that they are more prone to addiction.
     Back to the generation born in the late eighteen hundreds my grandfather and his son's took the cake. Mayorn and Nancy, my great-grandparents had nine children. Two sons and the rest were girls.One son Red was a somewhat of a drinker and mean but not to the extent that his brother Abe was. Abe being my daddy's father. This was the branch of the tree that was soaked with wildcat whiskey. My grandfather's  sisters children that is where my family pride comes from; although not perfect, but good to me.
     Our family gene pool held many things that can make you excel in many ways. There was ego, passion, pride, good looks and the desire to have money. These things can be used for the betterment or the down fall of any person. What outsiders saw many times was the obvious. Sometime it was a drunken fit for the whole Corum Hollow to hear. Sometime it was a car ran in the ditch. Then there were a couple of fires. Oh yeah, and there were affairs. On a better note there was a good cotton crop, the church services we attended, how nice we looked in clothes that were handmade, and the help lent out to the struggling farmers surrounding our home.

     I realize that reading my stories, some of you may get the impression that some people I was surrounded by were bad very bad people. It is easy to judge others, especially if their actions are mainly motivated by selfishness and addiction. We do come into the world as infants with a desire to be fed and held. This is the beginning of the human characteristic; putting self first. As we grow, live and learn thank goodness that most of us, realize that putting others first makes you feel good. Even the worst of the worst had their moments of giving me something that I could carry with me and use in a positive way. Watching them screw everything up, may have even been a good thing for me. I find humor in many of the things they did; although at the time it wasn’t all that funny.
     I want to explain each of these events and the people in a way that it is understood how I gathered wisdom from each of them. How people even when they seem terrible can make you forget the bad that they did by trying to make it right or look right. I repeat this often and here it is again, better than my words can express.......It is funny to me how many are quick to say they don’t care what others think seem to be the ones that try harder to impress people.


“There’s one sad truth in life I’ve found while journeying east and west-the only folks we really wound are those we love the best. We flatter those we scarcely know; we please the fleeting guest, and deal full to many a thoughtless blow to those who love us best.’~~~Wheeler Wilcox

Our Employee's

One particular lady was Emogene she was a very skinny lady. Her face was thin and she wore glassses that covered her whole face. She smoked alot and you could tell it in her face. She looked older than she was. It could have been Dick her husband that made you look so old. She was picking cotton for us and he was just  drinking. They had so many boy children that I can't remember them all. They were just called the Howard boys. Some of them were slow, meaning they could not learn things as fast as most boys. May have been that they were not taught much from their dad and Emogene was always working for some farmer in the community. I still recall how bad the house smelled they lived in. It smelled like boys and motor oil. These were males that messed with cars so much that they were black from it and it wouldn't wash off. All you could see that wasn't black from car grease were the whites of their eyes. The oil may have washed off but I dought they tried really hard. There was one named Eddy even with the black all over him you could tell he was Eddy Howard, because he had a huge head. He was the one for many years after he was an adult that had the nerve or the stupidity to flag for illegal drag racing on Highway 99 north of Anderson. He did it more for the acceptance of his peers than any other reason, I would think.
They always messed with old Dodge cars. There were Roadrunners, Chargers, Darts, and even a Corenet 440. My daddy got the Corenet he had from them. I am still partial to them old Chryslers today. My daddy always had more of the Dodge cars than any other make. He prefered them, but if he was in a bind for a car,a cheap one the kind really did not matter. This being the case when he bought the Catilina with the money he made his one cotton growing venture he made on his own. The Pontiac was green and long. He gave six-hundred dollars for it. The crop that Mama, Grandmother, my brother and I harvested made six-hundred dollars for him a way to go get whiskey. That's another story within it's self.
The house they lived in was where 99 ended, north of Anderson. The house was next to The Howard Glass Cafe. This location holds many certain memories. Howard Glass used the cafe for basically anything in the food area he thought would help his business. There was a meat counter where you could buy bologna and have it sliced. He also ground sauage. This was the place we went to have our sausage ground. The location was north of Anderson. North of the cafe' slash meat store was Tennessee. Alabama-Tennessee Stateline was the location of the beer joints. My daddy did not drink beer often. At the stateline only beer was supposed to be sold. The thing was the owner of the beer joint was a bootlegger. It was really not a secret who the bootleggers were. They all had the same last name or were related to someone with that last name. In the Whitehead Community there were the Estep's, Patrick's, Wiggington's and Parker. I left Parker plural, because I only knew of the one Parker bootlegger. The bootleggers of yester year had children that went on to be drug dealers. Those were near my age and are either dead or in jail now. A trip to the bootleggers was just like any visit to a good buddies house. They really tried to appear to be normal abiding citizens. There were many times I actually had fun while daddy was talking to them. There was an older Estep man that lived almost to the end of the Nugent Hollow road. There were two by the same name that lived on that road. One day when we were there he went to the barn and got the cutest little pony for me to see. When he got it in the yard, I wanted to ride it of course. I rode the little pony for as long as Daddy was willing to stay. Seems like everyone of those days would sell anything if they could. Daddy got me to get off the pony by telling me he might buy it for me. He had had to get money from Grandmother for the whiskey so buying a pony would not be easy for him. I still believed he might. I did have faith in what he said. He had not opened the bottle yet, so he was his sweet humble self. The talk of the pony later went to Grandmother saying that Jeff my cousin had gotten Keither-Ray to get him one; that ponies are mean and dangerous. That is something I learned that to this day I can act an expert on the temperment of ponies.
The bootleggers grandson worked for us a couple of times he was a red headed boy that was friends with my boy cousin that was my same age. He helped plow some after we were older.

The cotton patches we had brought a host of characters out for a day of making some whiskey money too. The White's were an famous bunch of drinkers also. Danny White was married to the daughter of one of Daddy's bootleggers. The Whites were very good looking men. There mother was my third grade teacher. Her son's had followed in there father's footsteps as far as drinking went. Well, there was one of the three that I never knew of drinking. They even came to our house up- north bringing nothing but their drinking selves. Danny was one that pulled the big weeds after the cottton was too big to hoe. This was July and hot. He pulled with a sweat from the drunk from the night before. To help the sweat and sick he drank and worked. He drank wildcat whiskey in July in a freaking cotton field, go figure.