tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86256526672520989312024-02-08T12:50:47.786-08:00Jann's JewelsOriginal poetry and reflections.Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-338878017172804202013-04-25T16:45:00.001-07:002013-04-25T16:45:47.273-07:00Midland, The Tall City, 1952 - 1953<div style="text-align: left;">
<em>This started out as my mother's story, written from my memories, some research and a lot of making stuff up. When I reached age 12 in the story, my inner adolescent simply took it over, and Mother became a minor character. Sorry. I do hope to get back to having Willie Mae as the central character at some point. If you're at all interested in my year as a high school sophomore, read on for the continuation of "Mother's Story", which was interrupted by "Suzy's Guitar" last month. </em></div>
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John and Eva Gray picked Fay and me up at camp on a Saturday in July, 1952. They broke the news that my family had moved to Midland. I felt shocked. Someone had agreed to buy our house in Odessa before I left, but I didn’t realize the move would happen so soon.<br /> When we arrived at the Grays’ home, Mother came from Midland to get me. She declined Eva’s offer of iced tea. “Thank you, but I have so much to do, we should get back.”<br /> Realizing I wouldn’t be at church with them on Sunday, I hugged the Grays before we left, feeling close to tears.<br /> In the car, I asked, “Can we drive out to our old house so I can say goodbye?” I felt a little foolish, but desperate to see the place once more.<br /> Mother sighed. I was sure she was going to say no.<br /> “Please, Mom.” My voice broke.<br /> She sighed again, and turned the car toward our old neighborhood. I was glad no one had moved into the house. Mother and Kyle waited in the car while I walked around, running my fingers through the scratchy juniper shrubs in front, touching each of the five Chinese elms along Edison Street in our side yard. They were just little sticks when Daddy planted them. Now they shaded the west side of the house in the hot summertime. When I got to the backyard, I ducked into the center of the weeping willow branches and hugged my best-loved tree, hidden from sight in my old refuge.<br />* * *<br /> In Midland, Mother turned into a modest driveway at 1307 W. Washington St. “Welcome to our new home, Honey. I’m so glad you’re finally here to help me get settled.”<br /> I looked through the windshield at a wall that had obviously replaced a garage door, one window facing the driveway. The siding didn’t quite match along the edges. I got my suitcase and bedroll out of the back seat. My little brother followed.<br /> “My school is only three blocks that way. I got a new bike I can ride there when I start fifth grade.” Kyle pointed west on Third Street.<br /> I turned from looking at the tall buildings that loomed a few blocks to the east in downtown Midland. Kyle took my suitcase from me, and I gave him a one-armed hug as we walked to the door. Glad that he was happy with the move, I wasn’t sure of my own feelings.<br /> Mother opened the screen door for me as I climbed two concrete steps to a central porch, flanked by tall skinny evergreen trees. “Come see your new room. I hope you like the furniture I picked for you.”<br /> Excited, I entered the small living room, separated by an open archway from the dining room behind it. Our old familiar furniture welcomed me.<br /> “Your room is to the left of the dining room, toward the front of the house, Joe Mike’s is the room in back.”<br /> I walked over a floor furnace in the hall, went left at the open bathroom door and entered the first room of my own. <br /> “Oh, Mom,” I called, “the furniture is beautiful.” Putting my suitcase on the bed, I pirouetted, catching my reflection in the large mirror above the new dresser, then opened and closed the six large empty drawers. I sat with a bounce on the full-sized bed, running my hand over the headboard that matched the dresser. Double windows a few feet from the foot of the bed faced the street. My small cedar chest was under the side windows next to our neighbor’s driveway. Scrambling across the bed to open the door of the closet in the corner, I wondered what happened to the fancy old wardrobe that had held my clothes. A stack of cardboard boxes greeted me.<br /> Mother came in. “Your clothes are still packed. I decided not to buy new curtains and a bedspread until you got home so you could pick them out.”<br /> I walked around the bed and threw my arms around her. “It’s so nice to have my own room. I want brown organdy crisscross curtains, with a ruffled bedspread to match. They’ll look nice with the yellow walls, don‘t you think? I can show them to you in the Sears catalogue.” <br /> Mother nodded and beckoned for me to follow her back to the hallway. “Come see the rest of the house. Here’s the bathroom. I’m so glad to have a bathtub. And look, cabinets for towels and toiletries.”<br /> I thought I’d miss having a shower, but Mother obviously liked this house better than our old one, with its stingy storage space. I kept quiet about the shower.<br /> Past the bathroom, another door opened into Joe Mike’s room. His new furniture was dark wood. I was a little jealous that his bed had a bookcase headboard, but I didn’t say anything.<br /> “Where’s Joe Mike?”<br /> “He’s working at the warehouse with your dad, saving money to buy a car, since he’ll be going to Odessa Junior College when school starts.”<br /> Mother led me across the dining room to the kitchen, which was even smaller than the one in Odessa. Our old stove and refrigerator were there. I found a glass in the cupboard and ran water from the tap, taking a drink.<br /> “Ooh, chlorine,” I wrinkled my nose.<br /> “I know. It smells and tastes bad, but we’re on city water here. It’s softer than our well water was. Be careful not to use as much shampoo, or you’ll have a hard time rinsing out all the lather.” <br /> I walked toward the door leading to the backyard, but Mother motioned me to follow her through another door that led to the biggest room in the house, the converted garage. “Daddy and Kyle and I will sleep in here.”<br /> I went down two steps into the room that held two double beds, their headboards against the wall that had replaced the garage door. Mother and Daddy’s familiar chest of drawers was against the wall to the right. My old wardrobe stood near Kyle’s bed on the opposite side. Mother showed me her favorite feature, a large closet with sliding doors. The concrete floor was painted in black and white squares to resemble tiles. An exterior door led to the side yard. A new automatic washing machine sat near the kitchen door..<br /> “Oh, Mom, a washing machine. No more going to the Helpy-Selfy.” I laughed.<br /> Hearing my chuckle, Mom looked relieved. She studied my face. “I hope you like the house, Honey. Joe Mike says we should’ve bought a bigger, nicer one.”<br /> “It’s fine, Mom. I’ll love having my own room, but I’m going to miss my friends.” I made a sad face.<br /> “I know. I’m going to miss mine, too.” She looked truly sorrowful for a moment, then brightened. “The people at church here are friendly, and there are a number of girls about your age.” <br /> I went back to the kitchen and out the door into the backyard. It was smaller than the two large lots we had in Odessa. There were no trees at all, just patchy grass and a clothesline. Too bad we couldn’t have moved the weeping willow tree.<br />* * *<br /> The next day was Wednesday. Mother, Kyle, Joe Mike and I went to church that evening. The building was much larger and finer that ours in Odessa. There, our pews were built by a local carpenter, the wooden floors were uncovered and whirring fans hanging from the low ceiling augmented the evaporative cooler in a back window. In Midland, we entered an air conditioned sanctuary from the heat. Space rose high above us to open beams, making me feel small. The coolness was reinforced by the teal of the carpet and matching draperies at the back of the pulpit. Indirect lighting shone above large windows on each side. The window glass looked like swirling turquoise water with white bubbles flowing through it. <br /> As we entered, the minister, Brother Kennamer, met us at the door. After introductions were made, he directed us to our Bible classes. Mother followed him in to the adult class. My brothers and I walked around the building. We left Kyle at the door marked “Grade 5”. Joe Mike reminded me that he was a college student, but would go to the high school class with me. <br /> “Mr. Day got me a place to stay with a family in Odessa, so when school starts, I’ll be moving there.” Though his voice sounded proud, he looked a bit scared.<br /> Before we entered the classroom, I took a deep breath. Six girls sat in the second of three rows of chairs. They looked up from the cluster they made as they leaned together, talking. They smiled and murmured greetings as they eyed Joe Mike appreciatively. The man who sat alone in the front row, stood and introduced himself as Brother Hejl.<br /> We laughed. “We have the same last name.” Joe shook the man’s proffered hand.<br /> “Probably not. My name is spelled H -e- j- l. It’s Czech.” I noticed that he spoke with an accent. He turned and shook my hand. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed it until it turned pink under his fringe of graying brown hair. Dressed in a suit and tie despite the July heat, he had a formal but friendly manner. “Tell the class your names.”<br /> Feeling shy, I waited for my brother to speak. “I’m Joe Mike Hale and this is my sister, Jann.”<br /> The girls smiled and some waved as we sat behind them. After Brother Hejl started the class with a prayer, the door opened again and a boy came in and sat beside Joe Mike.<br /> After 40 minutes of a familiar discussion of New Testament passages, class was dismissed. <br /> The six girls surrounded me, large smiles on their faces. One with dark-hair and a pleasant face that went perfectly with her plump figure spoke first. “I’m Ruth Ann Kuykendall, but everyone calls me Kirk. Can you come over to my house tomorrow afternoon? We were talking about having a party to make brownies when you came in.” She wrote her phone number and address on a note pad, tore off the sheet and handed it to me.<br /> I looked at the address. “I don’t know if my mother can drive me. I’ll see.”<br /> The girl next to her spoke up, her brown eyes sparkling behind rhinestone-studded glasses that swooped up on the corners. “I’m Jo Ann. If you give me your address, my mom and I’ll pick you up.” She spoke in a decisive, take-charge manner, even though she was a full five inches shorter than everyone else in the group.<br /> “Thank you.” I borrowed a sheet of Kirk’s notepad, wrote my address and phone number and handed it to Jo Ann.<br /> She finished the introductions. “This is Evelyn Hejl, Ann Kennamer, Joan Roberts and Mary Jo Hejl.”<br /> Joe Mike, standing by the door where he’d been talking to the other boy, motioned with a jerk of his head that he was ready to leave.<br /> I answered with a motion for him to come meet the girls. “This is my brother, Joe Mike. Please repeat your names for him. My memory is hopeless.”<br /> Each girl shook Joe Mike’s hand and said her name, their smiles widening even further.<br /> Joe Mike responded with a smile, took my arm and turned toward the door.<br /> I waved at the girls, “See y’all tomorrow, I hope.”<br />* * *<br /> At the party the next day, I learned that Evelyn, Kirk, Joan and Ann were seniors, Jo Ann, a junior. I was the lone sophomore, but they welcomed me warmly into their group. Mary Jo wasn’t there. She was home from college for the summer, working in the office at her father’s Studebaker dealership. The party was fun, but I was in awe of how nice Kirk’s house was. I’d just have to get used to having rich friends if I was going to live in a higher-class town. At this disloyal thought, I felt my heart contract, and wished I was back in Odessa with my south-side friends. <br />* * *<br /> That Friday, we left home to go to a Cummings family reunion. As usual, Daddy didn’t go. Thursday night, I overheard Mother asking him to reconsider. “Please come with us, Joe. My family would love to see you.”<br /> He snorted. “Right. They look down on me and you know it. Last Christmas when I gave all the men a drink of whiskey, A.D. raised his glass and said, ‘It sure is nice to have a sorry brother-in-law.’” He drew out the word sorry with sarcastic emphasis. “I saw how red your face turned. I’ll spare you the embarrassment this time.”<br /> Daddy was home more since we moved to Midland, but I noticed more signs of his drinking. I wished he’d go with us but was also relieved that he wouldn’t. I felt excited at the prospect of seeing Grandmother and Granddaddy and the crowd of cousins, aunts and uncles that would surround them at Uncle Elma’s house in Canyon.<br /> Friday afternoon we headed north. Joe Mike did most of the driving. Two and a half hours after leaving home, we arrived at Aunt Ina Rae and Uncle J.D.’s in Lubbock, where we ate dinner and spent the night. I loved being there, because we always had fun. Kyle, 10, and J.Mac, 9, went out to play catch with a football. Joe Mike and I asked permission to play with the wire recorder, making speeches and singing songs, then rewinding the wire to play back our strange-sounding voices. In the kitchen, Mother and Ina Rae talked non-stop, laughing often as they made a fudge cake and potato salad to take to Canyon the next morning.<br /> As one of the younger of my grandparents’ 20 grandchildren, this was the first time I was included in an outing with the teenagers instead of staying with the adults and little children at the reunion. I was ecstatic about going to the museum at West Texas State College, where we looked at Native American artifacts from the nearby Palo Duro Canyon and a collection of early automobiles. Rue and I were the youngest, and the only girls, who squeezed into the car with our brothers, Tony and Joe Mike, and cousins Neil and Clancy. It was a day that felt “just right.” Cousins older than this group were already married. After the museum, we drove to the canyon to see for ourselves the land where the Comanche held out for so long against the Fourth Cavalry. It was a beautiful and wild place. Laughing at the boys as they sparred to be the funniest, I felt beautiful and wild myself.<br />* * *<br /> I was glad when school started and I could widen my circle of acquaintances. The school days began with me singing alto in the a cappella choir. As in Odessa Junior High, most of the kids from my church were in this class. Because we sang without instrumental accompaniment at church, we knew how to read music. Almost all of the new friends I made were in choir. I joined the Music Appreciation Club, where I could have more time with them after school one day a week. <br /> I liked Miss Perkins, my English teacher, who taught in a very structured, systematic way. I found I actually enjoyed diagramming sentences, though surely we could’ve studied a more compelling book than Silas Marner.<br /> This was Mr. Johnson’s first year as a biology teacher. He started class by saying, “I hate to alarm you, but I just read in Science that our sun is going to burn out in only a million years.”<br /> We got used to his corny sense of humor. The day we dissected an earthworm, my lab partner was a boy with the unlikely name of Snookie Roberts. We couldn’t find the brain, our main assignment. Kids all around us were raising their hands after they found the tiny white dot at one end of the worm. We thought maybe were looking at the wrong end, but we tried both and somehow missed it. Finally, I made a minute ball of notebook paper, put it in the mangled end of our poor worm and raised my hand.<br /> Mr. Johnson bent over to look at the mess through his thick glasses, straightened, gave me a brilliant smile. “Yes, that’s it,” After he turned to respond to someone else, I gave Snookie a thumbs up. My secret was safe with him.<br /> I don’t recall learning anything new in American history. I took a class in clothing design and joined the Future Homemakers of America. I liked the clothes Mother made me and wanted to have that skill. <br /> Still, a disastrous mistake occurred in scheduling my classes. As the year went on, I came to a daily fearful dread, a knot forming in my stomach as time for second year algebra class approached. I’d made an A in first year algebra but didn’t realize that I needed plane geometry as a prerequisite for second year algebra. I’ve never known why this placement happened, but it was great preparation for my later teaching career. It helped me empathize with students who felt lost in a subject matter. This was the only D I ever received, and I was relieved it wasn’t an F.<br /> It was an emotionally shaky year in other ways as well. On the Friday night of the football game between Midland and Odessa, I felt torn. The game was in Odessa, and some of my new friends were not even going. Midland was not the rabid football town that Odessa was. I wanted to go to the game but couldn’t stand the thought of being on the side opposing all my childhood friends. Still, I liked my new friends, and if I were going, I’d want to sit with them and cheer for my own school.<br /> I lay down in my room as I struggled with the feelings that flowed from these contradictory thoughts. Tears streamed from my eyes. Mother came in to tell me we were leaving to go to the game. My back was to her as she stood in the doorway. “I don’t want to go. I think I’m getting sick.”<br /> “Oh, no, Honey.” She put her hand on my forehead. “You do feel a little warm. Do you want me to stay with you?”<br /> “No, Mom. I’ll be okay by myself.” I’d never felt this kind of depression before. It did feel like an illness and I wanted to be alone so I could cry unseen and unheard.<br /> “Okay, Honey. If you’re sure. We’ll come right home after the game.” Mother turned, and I listened to her footfalls until she was out of the house, then let out a miserable wail.<br /> I crawled under the covers with my school clothes on, glad when the room turned dark, thinking of the bright stadium with friends cheering on both sides. Every imagined scene opened a fresh spring of tears. I was sure Odessa was beating Midland badly, and felt both happy and dejected about that.<br /> This one-night breakdown is my most vivid memory of regret and sadness over my family’s move to Midland.<br /> At fifteen, my first real romance blossomed. Bill Brown was several years older than I. We met at church the summer before my family moved. He bowled me over with his blond hair, soulful brown eyes and slow, shy smile. He was out of high school, had a job and drove his own car. I was delighted when he courted me, even after our move to Midland. A typical date was the night we went to see “From Here to Eternity“, then to a drive-in for soft drinks. We sat in his car in front of my house for an hour, still under the spell of the movie. Talking led to what we called smooching. I thoroughly enjoyed the fully-clothed groping Bill and I engaged in, and floated into the house in a kind of dream state. Neither the thought of giving up my virginity before marriage nor guilt over Bill’s frustration entered my mind.<br /> A war raged on the Korean Peninsula, and the draft age was lowered to eighteen and a half. Bill was conscripted and sent to Ft. Bliss in El Paso. His parents invited me to go with them on the day of his graduation from Basic Training. William Stout, a friend of the Brown family also went. On the long drive west, I sat in the back seat with him. Mrs. Brown sat next to her husband, who drove. She was a small woman, with dark hair, brown eyes and a sharp, pretty face. She reminded me of a mouse as her body tensed and she emitted small frantic sounds with every passing car.<br /> Bill was as happy to see us as one could be in his situation, not knowing whether or not he’d be fighting a war soon. I felt cherished by this small family. I suspected they hoped Bill and I would someday marry. After the graduation ceremony and a wonderful Mexican dinner, all of us had tears in our eyes as we told Bill goodbye.<br /> We got into the car to drive the 350 miles back to Midland. William Stout drove and Mr. and Mrs. Brown sat in the back. Though her husband soon went to sleep, Mrs. Brown perched on the edge of her seat, repeating her earlier performance, seeming to think she could prevent her worst fears by intensifying them.<br /> I leaned my head against the window and tried to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable. I welcomed Mr. Stout’s invitation: “You can lie down on the seat and put your head on my leg. It won’t interfere with my driving.”<br /> He was in his forties, on the other side of the line in my young mind that separated friends from adults, but he was a trusted adult. As I lay with my head on his leg, looking through the windshield at the brilliant stars of the west Texas sky, I was aware of the hard muscles moving his foot from the accelerator to the brake pedal and back, a mysterious introduction into sensuality.<br /> After that Bill and I had only a few dates on weekends. I was too young for him, with my heart set on going to Abilene Christian College. He wanted to settle down after his army service. The Korean conflict ended in July, so he finished his service in El Paso. We didn’t have a break-up. He just stopped calling, and by that time I was dating other boys I met in school. I ran into him and met his pretty wife at church in Odessa the summer after I graduated. My heart still melts when I think of his sleepy-looking brown eyes and shy smile.<br />* * * <br /> My dad had the best job he’d ever had, but his drinking got worse. One vivid, painful memory is of the company Christmas party in a private dining room at the Diamond Horseshoe Restaurant. Among Daddy’s employees was Mr. Bennett, an older man who’d worked for Daddy in Odessa and went with him to Midland.<br /> During the dinner, “Old Man Bennett”, as Daddy called him, dropped his dentures. He had to get down on all fours and crawl under the table to look for them. All the men were drunk by then and were merciless in their laughter at his expense.<br /> I was excruciatingly embarrassed and wondered why Mr. Bennett was so loyal to Daddy, who loved to tease him. That may be the night that I decided to go to summer school in order to graduate from high school a year early and leave home.<br /> In the spring, I was assigned to write a research paper for biology class. I chose the topic of alcoholism. I learned that the disease affects people from all classes of society. The one common characteristic that alcoholics had, my source wrote, was a highly sensitive emotional nature.<br /> I saw the tragedy of the disease through the screen of my love for my father. I avoided having friends come to my house when he was there or might come in. His eyes were often bloodshot, his voice too loud, his attempts to be friendly or funny, silly and humiliating. The pain of my love for him in this condition felt almost unbearable.<br />* * *<br /> One of my new choir friends, Margaret Gibson, lived near me. I loved to go to her house, which was filled with music, books and art. Miriam and Malcolm, her parents were friendly and good-humored. They had a Pekingese named Wee Sing and several cats. Thanks to her mom, Margaret and I got jobs at The Book Stall, in downtown Midland, where Miriam worked full time. Margaret and I started during Christmas break. We worked mostly in the back room, wrapping gifts.<br /> When school convened again, we helped with inventory after class. The terror I felt standing on a ladder, counting bright Mexican hand-blown glassware, not from fear of the height, but of breaking another glass, as I did on the first day. The owner, Mrs. Mancill, was patient and kept me on until I went to college. I loved having money of my own, but usually bought so many books with my employee’s discount that I didn’t have much left in my paycheck. Ever after that, I had a weakness for small bookstores that also carry stationery and gifts.<br /> Margaret and I went with her parents to try out for plays at the Midland Community Theater. Her dad, Malcolm, was a good singer and played the part of Sir Joseph, the First Lord of the Admiralty in H.M.S. Pinafore. Margaret and I sang in the chorus, as one his “sisters and his cousins and his aunts.”<br /> Community theater gave me a wider circle of acquaintance than church, school and my dad’s employees. One night I heard another cast member ask Malcolm what his job was.<br /> He laughed. “I’m a geologist. Isn’t everyone in Midland?”<br /> It struck me with a mild shock, that people took a good education and well-paid employment for granted. The Gibsons were a refined, light-hearted family. I felt lucky to be welcome in their home.<br />* * *. <br /> The choir’s spring musical, Down in the Valley, matched my mood. Even now, when I hear the title song, it brings to mind the sad lament of the Jennie, the heroine: <br /> Brack Weaver, my true love, they’ve taken away.<br /> And since he’s been taken, there’s no night or day.<br /> No joy ever tarries, no heart can be gay.<br /> Oh, my love of Brack Weaver will not pass away.<br /><br /> The sun in the morning, will rise in the sky.<br /> The laurels are green where the river runs by.<br /> The trees on the mountain are growing so high.<br /> But without my dear loved one, I’m sure I will die.</div>
Unlike Jennie, my melancholy didn’t result from losing my true love. It was that I didn’t feel at home in Midland. I didn’t know why and couldn’t express it at the time. I’d lived amid working-class, low-income people all my life. My dad, with his ninth grade education, had achieved more than most people would expect. He was part owner and manager of the Midland 66 Oil Company, the wholesale distributor for Phillips products. He seemed self-confident, but maybe he drank so much because, like me, he felt out of his element.<br /> I realized later that my feelings were similar to Mother’s at the same age, when her family moved from the farm near her one-room country school to the town ot Floydada. We both felt like fish out of water. Like her, I made friends who helped me cope.<br /> That sophomore spring, I dated a senior, Joe Cates. One day at the Book Stall, Margaret teased, “You’ve been out with Joe several times. You must like him.”<br /> “I like him all right. He’s a perfect gentleman, which is a good thing, because I don’t feel the slightest tingle when he gives me a goodnight peck at the door.”<br /> That night, after Joe and I had seen “The Greatest Show on Earth,” I enjoyed an elegant fruit plate at the Diamond Horseshoe Restaurant. He stopped talking about the movie and cleared his throat. “I probably should tell you that I nominated you to be the DeMolay Sweetheart. The vote is next week. I hope you get it.”<br /> I felt slightly alarmed. “What does that mean? What would I have to do?”<br /> “Nothing but go to the dance with me to receive your crown. The top vote-getter will be the Sweetheart, and the next four will be Duchesses in her court.”<br /> I’m sure Joe meant this as an honor, but I sincerely hoped it was the last I’d hear of it. How could he know that Church of Christ girls didn’t go to dances, and I didn’t know how to dance? Picking at my fruit, I murmured, “Thank you, Joe.”<br /> As it turned out, I was a Duchess. I was afraid Mother wouldn’t want me to go to the dance. I didn’t know how to get out of it, but she said, “I think it’s fine that you’re being recognized. I doubt you’ll fall from grace at a high school dance.”<br /> I was shocked to realize that I felt more strict about Church of Christ doctrine than my mother did. She took me shopping for a formal and we found one we both liked at Dunlap’s Department Store. Three layers of soft yellow tulle covered the long rayon taffeta skirt. Appliqué flowers edged the strapless top and a stole of tulle floated around my shoulders.<br /> Daddy came home early the day of the dance so he could see me in the dress. He repeated the same thing he said all my life when I got dressed up for special occasions. “You’ll be the prettiest girl there.”<br /> Joe picked me up in his father’s 1953 burgundy-colored Cadillac coupe. It had extensive chrome trim, including bullet-shaped extensions on the front and back bumpers. He was ecstatic to be driving it. The ride was like floating on a cloud.<br /> I carried a cascade of long-stemmed yellow roses in the coronation ceremony. Joe wore a white sport coat and a yellow rose boutonnière. As the honored couples processed into the country club ballroom, we paused under an archway woven with tiny lights, flowers and greenery, to be introduced. The effect of the luxurious setting and having hundreds of eyes on me was numbing.<br /> As the applause died, I heard a male voice say, “Mmmm…That’s what I like about the South.” I felt like an object on display, though not entirely displeased. At the end of the long evening, my face hurt from smiling without feeling happy as I shuffled across the dance floor.<br /> That was in late spring. Joe graduated and got an early start on college in summer school at Texas Tech. The goodnight kiss at the door after the dance ended our dating.<br />* * *<br /> Fifty-seven years later, my son Patrick, who has a shop manufacturing hot rod parts, called. “Mom, one of my customers remembers you from high school. His name is Joe Cates. He said to call him if you’d like.”<br /> The name seemed familiar, but I an image didn’t come to mind until I got out my old yearbook. On his picture he’d drawn dual carburetors like horns coming out of his head and had written, “Hot Rod.” The whole DeMolay Duchess fiasco came back to me. I called him and we had a pleasant chat. He lived in Bakersfield with his British wife of 45 years and was finally building his dream car.<br /> He put into words exactly what I was thinking. “Talk about arrested development. I still love hot rods.” <br />* * *<br /> Most of my friends were a year ahead of me. I decided to take Junior English and World History in summer school, earning enough credits to be a senior. My way toward Abilene Christian College became clearer.<br /> Besides going to school that summer, I started a new romance. One Sunday morning, as I turned to leave after the closing prayer at church, the woman sitting behind me touched my elbow. “I want you to meet my son Bob. Bob, this is Jann Hale, who helped me with my third grade class in vacation Bible school. I don’t know what I’d have done without her help.”<br /> “It was fun, Sister Peters.” I held out my hand to the tall young man beside her and caught my breath as I looked into his brown eyes. His brilliant smile flashed from a perfect tan. He took my cold hand into his warm one. I almost forgot to introduce him to my best friend, who stood beside me. “Do you know Jo Ann Bassham?”<br /> They said yes in unison and laughed as they shook hands. We all moved out into the aisle.<br /> Mrs. Peters and Jo Ann became involved in conversations with other people as we walked toward the door, Bob hung back to be next to me and leaned close to my ear. “Would you like to go to a movie with me Friday night? Roman Holiday is opening at the Texan.”<br /> “I’d love to, Bob. Your mom has my number.” He was just the right height for me to look up to.<br /> “Okay. I’ll call you to arrange the time.” He squeezed my elbow and hurried after his mother.<br /> “That was quick.” Jo Ann laughed at my flushed face as she caught up with me. “I don’t know which of you looked more smitten, you, Bob, or his mother.” <br /> After the movie and refreshments at a drive-in restaurant, Bob and I sat in his car in front of my house and got acquainted. He was home for a few weeks from Texas A. & M., where he had one year to go before finishing a pre-med major. He showed me his senior ring, set with a diamond, and was proud of playing French horn in the famous Aggie marching band. After graduation, he’d go to an osteopathic school in Missouri.<br /> “When I finish my medical training, I’ll go into practice with my father in Austin.”<br /> “Really? Your father lives in Austin?” I’d never had a friend whose parents were divorced. My voice betrayed my feeling of shock. “I thought your mother was a widow.”<br /> Bob laughed and patted my hand. “I don’t even remember when we all lived in the same house. They split when I was small, and I can’t imagine them together.”<br /> By the time Bob kissed me goodnight at the door, I was enamored.<br /> The busy summer weeks raced by. I went to school, worked at the Book Stall and dated Bob. By the time he left, I hated to say goodbye, and we promised to write to each other through the coming year.<br />* * *<br /> On the last day of summer classes, I walked home in the oppressive August heat and hurried to the kitchen for a drink of the iced tea that Mother always kept in the refrigerator. There was none. Sighing with exasperation, I took out a metal ice tray, pulled the lever on top, which moved the dividers between the cubes. Cracking the ice was strangely satisfying. I filled a tall glass with ice cubes and tap water. After just one sip, I decided to make a pitcher of tea, since I knew Daddy would want some when he came home.<br /> As I was filling the kettle, Mother came from her bedroom. When I saw her face, I turned off the water and left the kettle in the sink, realizing that not having tea was a minor problem. Mother’s eyes were red, her face drawn tight with distress.<br /> “Mom, what’s wrong?” I put my arms around her.<br /> She hugged me back and briefly rested her head on my shoulder before answering. “Ina Rae called earlier. Mama had a bad stroke last night and is in the hospital. Pack a few things. Your dad took the car to be serviced. We’re going to Floydada as soon as it’s ready.<br /> “Oh, no. How bad is it?” <br /> Mother took a deep breath, but sobs broke through her answer. “She’s paralyzed on her left side and she can’t talk.”<br /> My mind went blank at the thought of my grandmother, always laughing and talking, the undisputed matriarch of the Cummings clan, helpless and silent in a hospital bed. I walked toward my room to pack, which brought my mind back to the practical. “I need to call Mrs. Mancill to let her know I won’t be in tomorrow.” My plan for the start of summer break evaporated. I wouldn’t be working at the Book Stall on Saturday and hanging out with my girlfriends after church on Sunday. I faced with dread the prospect of being at Grandmother’s house without her.<br /> Mother, Kyle and I were on the road by four o’clock. I drove the first 48 miles to Lamesa, but was happy to give the wheel to Mother after that. Although the road was smooth and flat with hardly a curve, I didn’t have much highway driving experience, and tired quickly from nervous tension. We arrived in Floydada as the purple and orange sunset lit the western sky over the high plains.<br /> We drove straight to the hospital, a modest single story building with asbestos siding. As we entered the lobby, I resisted the urge to hold my nose as a wave of alcohol fumes overtook us. Aunt Ina Rae and Granddaddy sat in black vinyl chairs with bent chrome frames. Granddaddy’s face was in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, shoulders slumped forward. Ina Rae patted his back, her pretty face a mask of grief. Mother rushed ahead of me and Kyle. Her hands extended to her father and sister.<br /> “Oh, Shorty,” Mother reverted to her sister’s childhood nickname, struggling to keep her voice low in volume. Even so, a kind of howl escaped her lips.<br /> Ina Rae stood and hugged Mother, kissing her on the cheek. “Hi, Bill. I’m glad you’re here.”<br /> They clung to each other, both crying softly. As I waited for my hug from Aunt Ina Rae, I noticed Granddaddy was standing behind his daughters, looking bewildered. I went around and held up my arms to him.<br /> He seemed to have shrunk and he responded with a hug and pats on my back, still taller than I.. “Hello, Daughter.”<br /> “Hi, Granddaddy. Are you okay?” I stepped back so Kyle could give him a hug but kept talking. “How’s Grandmama?”<br /> “She’s bad.” He patted Kyle, then moved to give Mother a tearful hug as Ina Rae gave Kyle and me kisses. Granddaddy took a bandana out of his back pocket and wiped his eyes. “She can’t talk or move her left side.”<br /> “Where is she? Can we see her?” Mother was looking down the single long corridor.<br /> Ina Rae, said, “Aileene’s with her in room 12. You and Jann go on and see her, but tell me bye first. I have to go home. I left the children with my sister-in-law early this morning. J. D. picked them up when he got off work, but he’s probably pulling his hair out by now. We’ll come back in the morning. Can Kyle go with me? That would make J. Mac happy, and youngsters can’t go in the hospital room anyway.”<br /> Mother absent-mindedly gave her consent for Kyle to go to Lubbock. He was so excited, he was at the door waiting with his bag before Ina Rae said her goodbyes. He’d just had his eleventh birthday. J. Mac was ten, and the two boys were delighted when they could get together.<br /> Filled with dread, I followed Mother and Granddaddy down the hall. Just three months earlier, at his 80th birthday party, everyone had remarked how straight and tall Granddaddy stood. Now, three months later, he was bent by the blow of finding Grandmother on the floor, unable to sit up or make herself understood. Mother had her arm around his waist. I walked past them to open the door to Room 12. Reluctant to go in, I waited by the door after they entered. Mother and her older sister, Aileene hugged, sobbing. Mother wiped her eyes, turned to gently touch Grandmother’s pale face.<br /> Grandmother’s eyes opened. She looked afraid and lost, eyes darting around the dimly-lit room. Finding Mother’s face, she shook her head, signaling that she couldn’t find words. Her right hand closed over the inert left hand that rested on her chest. She rubbed the twisted fingers, trying to straighten them.<br /> Aunt Aileene turned the crank at the foot of the bed to raise Grandmother’s head. <br /> “Oh, Mama. I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Mother placed her hands over Grandmother’s hands, squeezing them both, leaning in to kiss her cheeks.<br /> I came to stand at the foot of the bed, horrified by Grandmother’s drooping face, not knowing how to respond. When she saw me, the right side of her mouth lifted in a half smile. Her right eye crinkled, emphasizing the drooping left eye. She made a sound that I took to be a joyous greeting.<br /> I walked around Granddaddy to stand on her left side, bent and kissed her face and nuzzled her neck, comforted by the familiar smell. “I love you, Grandmama.”<br /> She patted my arm. When I straightened, she closed her eyes wearily and I moved back to the foot of the bed and listened to Mother, Aunt Aileene and Granddaddy discussing next steps.<br /> Aileene lived on a farm in Hart, an hour away. “Since you’re here for the weekend, I’ll go home and come back during the week. Jack has a crew coming to harvest the maize tomorrow. He said he didn’t need me, but I should be there to cook and run errands for him.” Aileene laughed in a self-deprecating way.<br /> “Dad looks awfully tired. Has he had anything to eat?” Mother raised her voice slightly, “Dad, are you hungry?”<br /> He looked confused “I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I could eat something.”<br /> After some discussion, Mother decided to take Granddaddy to his home and make his dinner. <br /> “Would you like to stay here with Mama, Jann? The nurse said they’d set up a cot. After I get Dad settled, I’ll bring you something to eat.” Mother stroked my hair, her face strained.<br /> “Yes, I can stay with her..” I felt awed to be given this responsibility, but confident at sixteen that I could handle it.<br /> “If Mama wakes up and needs something, call the nurse. I’ll be here as early as possible in the morning.”<br /> The long night on an uncomfortable cot was a rite of passage for me. Being there with my beloved grandmother in her distress was bittersweet. I hardly slept as I listened to her labored breathing.<br /> She eventually recovered her speech, but was unable to walk for the remaining four years of her life. I don’t recall hearing her bell-like laughter after that August night in 1953. My grandparents, Sid and Susie Griffin Cummings, had married in December, 1895. Fifty-seven years later she became bedridden and depressed. Granddaddy spiraled into dementia. Life no longer seemed to make sense to him. She died on May 30, 1957, at age 82. He rejoined her September 2, 1958, at age 85.<br /> Leaving my childhood home in Odessa to start high school among strangers was a sad time. Saying goodbye to my grandparents’ house as a happy place of refuge took me to a new depth of sorrow.Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-86212876182499462792013-03-06T15:13:00.002-08:002013-03-06T15:13:42.663-08:00Suzy's GuitarI felt compelled to write this last week, a departure from the blogs of the last year. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
made by Socorro Zalapa Negrete, an artisan in Paracho, Michoacan, Mexico. He
was pleased with me, but after I stayed in his shop for several weeks without
selling, he decided to take me to Morelia, to the busy Saturday market. Once there,
he polished my wood, tuned my strings and put me on a stand alongside other
guitars from his shop.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A young
man approached the booth, hand extended, dark moustache stretched tight above
his smile. “Hola, Señor Negrete. Remember me, Roberto Loeza? The instrument you
made for me has served me well and beautifully.” He bobbed his head in respect.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Socorro
bowed as he shook Señor Loeza‘s hand. “What a pleasure to see you again, Señor.
How may I be of service?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Roberto
turned, gesturing toward a blonde woman who towered behind him. “This lady is a
guest in my home from California, here in Morelia to study Spanish. She wants a
guitar as a gift for her daughter. I told her I knew the best maker with the
best prices. Señor Negrete may I present Señora Juana.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
three exchanged pleasantries. Socorro made a sweeping gesture with his arm,
taking in all the guitars. “Please, Señora, feel free to try the instruments.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
lady lowered her eyes. “Roberto, I know nothing about choosing a guitar. Can
you advise me?” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Roberto
and Juana circled the booth, surveying all the instruments. Roberto picked up
the guitar next to me, strummed and tuned it with minute turns of the keys,
inclining his head to listen to the tone. After playing a few notes of
classical music, he repeated the process with three other guitars before
grasping my neck and strumming my strings. I sang my best. I longed to go to
California with this beautiful gringa. I wanted to be her daughter‘s present.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Juana rewarded
me with a smile. “I love the way this one sounds. Such rich bass notes.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Roberto
agreed and began to haggle with Socorro over the price. “Besides this guitar
and a case, Juana wants an extra case for her son, who already has a guitar.
What is the very best you can do for her? Can’t you go lower than 75 American
dollars? That’s over 116 pesos. Make it 100.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Señor
Negrete loved making guitars but hated selling them. With a frown, he picked me
up and strummed my strings. I knew I’d never feel my back against his chest
again. I sang with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. I was going to
California! He seemed to be on the verge of lowering his price, but Juana
stepped forward. “Señor, $75 is a good price. Thank you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Socorro
put me in my comfortable leather case with its red felt lining for the short
journey to Roberto’s house. That evening, Juana asked Roberto to play me for
his wife Laura, their two young sons, Mauricio and Robertito and three other
gringos from the Spanish program who’d come to a dinner party at the Loezas’.
Everyone agreed that I was a beautiful instrument with a rich tone.</span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
next time I was taken from my case, slender fingers lifted, tuned and strummed
me with a light, nimble touch. A young version of Juana smiled broadly as she
lovingly turned and stroked my wood. “Thank you, Mom. It’s beautiful and I love
it.” She kept playing, trying all the chords she knew, strumming intricate
patterns <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with the fingers of her right
hand.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Juana
breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like it, Suzy.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’d
passed the most important test of my short life. Suzy liked me.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
Suzy played me, I could feel the beat of her heart, a blissful experience. But
occasionally her heart would race until it seemed it would burst from her
chest. Despite her ragged breathing, she’d put me down carefully. As she went
into a seizure, the scream that tore from her throat felt like it might blast
us both apart. The attacks left her weak and pale. They left me resonating with
compassion, hoping she could go on playing so I could console her.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
night when I was left in the corner of the living room, I heard Juana crying as
she told Fred, Suzy’s dad, that a counselor from the college had called her at
work. “He said if Suzy’s seizures can’t be better controlled, she can’t continue
classes. The college administration is worried about liability. I don‘t know
what she’ll do if she can‘t go to school.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
counselor for handicapped students was able to smooth the way for Suzy to stay
in school. After she graduated from Porterville College, she and I went on a
trip to Los Angeles, where she tried to sell some of the ballads she‘d written
with my help. I thought she was very courageous to try, though she didn’t
succeed.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a
time, I was with Suzanne in Sacramento State before she transferred to San
Francisco State. It was there that she finally found a good neurologist at
U.C.S.F. hospital. For months she took tests to prepare for surgery to remove
the seizure focus area from her brain, even as she kept going to classes. Still,
she found time to tune me and caress my strings. I like to believe that singing
along with me enabled her to live alone in the large city, study for her degree
in cultural anthropology and prepare to undergo surgery.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
surgery, we were elated as the seizures stopped. She finished her degree and
was employed as a caregiver. Sometimes she played me and sang to the old lady
she took care of. When the old lady died, Suzy had a hard time finding another
job.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
didn't like taking the new psychiatric medicine prescribed for her after
surgery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I hate the way it makes
me feel," she whispered, strumming my strings. "I'm going to stop
taking it."</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without those drugs, she wasn’t sure of her
own perceptions. She heard things that no one else could hear. I felt her fear
when she played. Her friends suggested that she go back to be near her family
for support.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Living
with her in her late grandmother’s old house was hard. She strummed me in a
state of fear and delusion, from a different reality. She heard rocks talking
to her. The hum of the refrigerator so disturbed her that she unplugged it and
used ice chests to store her food. She no longer wanted to be called Suzy. She
was now Suzanne, always worried and afraid. My resonance comforted her,
drowning out the auditory demons. I was glad of that, but missed my fun-loving
girl.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Twelve
years after surgery, the seizures returned. Suzy came back with them, free from
the dreadful delusions. She was serene and content most of the time. When her
heart raced, warning of a coming attack, she would calmly put me down, stretch
out and wait for the horrible storm in her brain to pass. Afterwards, she
calmly dealt with the resulting wounds, such as bites in the lining of her
mouth or bruises from thrashing around.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
reached the age her mother was when she brought me from Mexico. Her musical
laugh rang out on her birthday. “I never thought I’d live to be 40. Now I’m
even older.” </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
took guitar lessons and spent happy hours practicing new techniques. I felt
ecstatic. Then, three years after the seizures returned, a last fearful attack
stilled her precious heart and the music in her fingers. I took refuge in the
darkness of my case.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the
time since then, Juana occasionally lifted me out and clumsily tried to play
me. But it made us both sad and lonely.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then, a
few days ago, Juana took me out and placed me in the hands of another loving
mother, Nancy Wills. “I want to donate Suzy’s guitar for a raffle to raise
funds: half for your high school guitar students to go to the state meet and
half for the Lindsay Art Association. We can do the raffle at the concert next
Saturday night.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hearing
this, I vibrated with joy. Perhaps my long dark days were over.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nancy
strummed and tuned me. I’d never been held with such expertise. “Oh, my, it has
a wonderful tone.” She frowned. “It’s not holding the tune, though”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
haven’t replaced the strings. Suzanne’s been gone for more than ten years.”
Juana’s voice trembled. She was smiling through tears brought on by my voice.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
probably the problem. I’ll restring it. Also, it might just be nervous after
being in the case so long.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How
right she was. After she restrung me, she let one of her advanced students,
Saul, play me. “I knew you were looking for a guitar. Try this. It’s from
Paracho.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saul
looked a little regretful. “I do like it, but I just bought another one.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
eight boys in her honors class all played me and loved the way I sounded. The
only girl was last. She played a few chords and then went into a flamenco riff
that thrilled everyone, especially me. Her fingers felt just right.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
girl turned to Nancy and said, “Oh, Mom. I love this guitar. Can we buy it?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nancy
gave her a brilliant smile. “We’ll see, Kathrynne.”</span></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>*</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nestled
in Kathrynne’s arms, I saw Juana enter the Museum/Gallery for the Saturday
night concert. I knew she was anxious to learn what Nancy had decided about my
value as a fund-raising item. Nancy didn’t keep her waiting.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“If
it’s all right with you, I’d like to buy the guitar for my daughter, Kathrynne,
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>rather than raffling it off. I don’t
think we’d raise more than $300 with a raffle. I know the guitar is worth more,
but that is all I can afford. Would that be satisfactory?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Juana’s
smile broadened. “That would be fine. I can’t tell you how happy I am that it
will be with you and your daughter. It belongs with a girl. May I take a
picture of Kathrynne with it?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was
a wonderful evening as my strings happily rang out in an ensemble of expert
young musicians, feeling Kathrynne’s nimble fingers and beating heart. As
planned, Kathrynne handed me to a young man as he walked to the soloist’s
chair, settled in and introduced his piece. “My name is Joseph. A couple of
years ago, I was very sad about losing someone in my life. But I was very happy
at the same time. I struggled for weeks as I sat with my guitar and wrote music
to express my feelings. I’m going to play part of that music now. I call it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Acceptance</i>.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
Joseph played his beautiful composition, I could feel Juana’s heart expanding
from across the room, tears flowing down her face. Suzy seemed to hover near.
Just as Jose said, I was sad and joyous at the same time. My rich vibrations
mingled with Juana’s feelings <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Acceptance</i>
healing us both.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-52565061086254647822012-11-28T13:00:00.001-08:002012-11-28T13:03:01.915-08:00Jann's Memories, 1949 - 1952<br />
<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">
Chapter 17</div>
<br />
When school started again, I felt well enough to start junior high. It was a big change, going from class to class throughout the day. Seventh grade was the only year I got into trouble in school. We weren’t assigned seats, and I liked to sit in the back of the room and talk to my friends. For this, at various times throughout the year, Mr. Horton, history, Mr.Stockton, math, and the speech teacher whose name escaped me along with his boring lectures on the International Phonetic Alphabet, all gave me “licks” with wooden paddles drilled with holes. To Mr. Horton and Mr. Stockton, this seemed to be a symbolic exercise to get my attention. Both were quite gentle with the paddle. I returned the favor and paid attention in their classes.<br />
<br />
The speech teacher walloped me <u>hard</u>, three times. It seemed like my feet left the floor with each lick. I didn’t feel at all repentant as I walked back to my desk and sat down gingerly, then glared at him through tears.<br />
<br />
He smiled then and said, “If looks could kill, I‘d be dead.”<br />
<br />
It was the first time I heard that expression, the only thing I remember from seventh grade speech class. I stopped talking to my friends in class, regurgitated speech material on tests and got a B, but the look he commented on was the last one he ever got from me.<br />
<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
One of my friends, Julia Grove, approached me in the hallway one spring day.<br />
<br />
“Want to spend the night with me Friday? You can bring what you’ll need to school that day and ride the bus home with me. My dad will bring you home on Saturday afternoon.”<br />
<br />
I liked Julie but didn’t know her very well. I knew she lived in the country and I thought it would be fun. “I’ll ask my mom. I think it’ll be okay.”<br />
<br />
We rode the school bus 40 miles to her home, a company house in the oil field where her dad worked. It was almost dark when we got there. Her parents didn’t talk much, but made me feel welcome. Julie was an only child, and they seemed like a very close-knit family. After a delicious supper, Julie and I read Nancy Drew mysteries by the light of a Coleman a lantern, then talked late into the night in her cozy bed.<br />
<br />
The next morning, Julie’s parents gave her permission to take a .22 rifle and drive an old pickup out through the mesquite wilderness to hunt jackrabbits. As we bounced across the field I was impressed that she could drive. When a rabbit jumped up in front of us, she threw on the brakes. The cloud of dust following us became even bigger and overtook the pickup as Julie jumped out and grabbed the rifle from behind the seat. She leaned on the open door to draw a bead on the animal through the open window. I felt overawed when she shot the bounding animal. She was the most self-confident girl I’d ever met.<br />
<br />
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* * *</div>
<br />
Odessa Junior High included seventh, eighth and ninth grades. My favorite teacher, Miss Wynn, taught history and social studies. She’d been Joe Mike’s favorite also. The two of them seemed to have a mutual admiration society, and I believe she favored me for his sake. It was through her encouragement that I kept my grades high enough in eighth and ninth grades to be in the National Junior Honor Society, which she sponsored. <br />
<br />
One day in April, 1951, an announcement on the public address system said that we were not to go to lunch at the usual time. A speech to congress by General Douglas MacArthur was broadcast in our classrooms. This was MacArthur’s farewell address to the nation. Miss Wynn made it obvious to our eighth grade social studies class that she disapproved of President Truman because he relieved the heroic general of his duties as Supreme Commander of the U.N. Forces in Korea. I didn’t know anything about the war in Korea or much about MacArthur, but I was moved by his speech, which ended with a quote from an old army ballad that he remembered from his West Point days early in the century: <br />
<br />
<i>“Old soldiers never die; they just fade away.” And now, like the old soldier </i><i></i><br />
<i> of that ballad, I now close my military career and just fade away, an old <br />
soldier who tried to do his duty as God gave him the light to see that duty."<br />
<br />
</i>I was glad when the speech ended and we could go to lunch. I was starving.<br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i><div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
</i>Joe Mike went out for football in his senior year, when I was in ninth grade. As a 140-pound center, he got to play only occasionally, since the first string center, “Tiny” Etheredge, outweighed him by 100 pounds and could plow through the opponents‘ defense line after hiking the ball. Odessa High School was the only one in town, and the people were crazy about football . The team did well that year, and played Lubbock at home in the semi-final match for the state championship. We were among the 22,000 people in the stands.<br />
<br />
My parents were with Daddy’s friends, Roy and Helen Barnes. I felt embarrassed, and Mother seemed chagrined, that Daddy, Roy and Helen, like many people there, drank whiskey from bottles they carried in brown paper bags. At an earlier game, Helen drank to the point of yelling slurred obscenities at the referee. I vowed I’d never sit with them again and felt bad that Mother had to. I took Kyle to the students’ section to watch the game with me and my friends.<br />
<br />
Odessa lost by one point in the last seconds of the game. Hoarse and dispirited, I made my way out of the stadium, my hand on Kyle’s shoulder in front of me. Suddenly, the crowd surged, pressing in on us. Kyle’s panicked voice came from in front of my belly, where he could hardly breathe.<br />
<br />
“Help. I’m being squoze. Help me.”<br />
<br />
With difficulty, I managed to elbow a space on either side and to resist the push from behind by digging in my heels. I picked him up and carried him to the parking lot where we met Mother and Daddy.<br />
<br />
As we drove home, I worried about Daddy’s state of drunkenness, thankful that this was a home game. I blushed as I thought of his driving to the Midland game a few weeks before. Cars were lined up bumper to bumper for the entire 18 miles. In a fit of impatience, he pulled out to pass, then drove onto the left shoulder, dust boiling up behind us, where we stayed until a merciful driver let us back in line.<br />
<br />
As my ninth grade year continued, forty cases of polio were reported in November, 1951, fifty more in December. Ten people in Odessa died from polio. The halls and classrooms at Bowie Junior High were almost empty as fearful parents kept their children home. I earned my license to drive sooner than I expected, because testing was expedited for the few students who attended driver’s education class during the epidemic.<br />
<br />
Early in December, four boys from Joe Mike’s class drowned in a horrific storm while duck hunting on Lake Texoma. I lay awake all night, confronted with the possibility of dying young. One boy in the boat survived, managing to hang on through the freezing night as, one by one, the other boys sank under the dark waves. With morbid fascination I read the news reports that went on for months as the bodies were found and recovered from the huge lake. The survivor lost 20 pounds overnight, his thick layer of fat probably saving his life. Joe Mike told us a few weeks later that this boy’s hair was growing out white. I still marvel at his courage, to hang on through that awful night.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * * </div>
<br />
Of my numerous friendships, the one with Faye Gray was special. She was Joe Mike’s age, the oldest of my friends, but we were close friends for years. I now suspect that her parents encouraged her to take me under her wing for the sake of mentoring me in Christianity. John and Eva, her dad and mom, were one of the devoted couples whom Mother envied for their common faith.<br />
<br />
I’d achieved my adult height of five-feet-nine-inches by this time, and enjoyed being in the midst of their tall family. John was six-and-a-half feet tall, Eva was about my height. Faye was five-ten and Charles, her little brother, hadn’t achieved his full height, but towered over Kyle, who was the same age. I thought John was an attractive man despite scars on his face and hands.<br />
<br />
“What happened to your dad to make those scars?” It took courage for me to ask Faye, but she didn‘t seem to mind.<br />
<br />
“When we lived in east Texas, he worked as a pumper on the night shift. His job was to go around to oil wells near Tyler and record the output of the pumps. One night as he opened the door of a pump house, there was an explosion. His face and hands were burned and his clothes caught fire. He climbed up to an open water tank, leaving flesh from his hands on the ladder rungs. He jumped in to extinguish the fire, then had to climb out and drive himself to the hospital. It was the middle of the night and no one else was around. He was in the hospital for a long time.”<br />
<br />
I’d never admired a man more than John Gray. He sat next to Joe Mike in church and pointed out the bass notes during singing, teaching him to read music. On Sunday nights, the boys practiced leading singing. John and other song leaders stood behind the boys and held their hands to show them how to direct the beat of each song. <br />
<br />
Joe Mike became a star bass in the high school a cappella choir and the boys’ quartet, which sang in programs for service club meetings on a number of occasions. I felt proud, sitting in the audience as he sang a solo at a St. Patrick’s Day concert. As he took a bow, his crew cut, dyed bright green that day, practically blinded the audience. He loved the laugh it got.<br />
<br />
When Mr. Day, the choir director, went to teach at Odessa Junior College the following year, he offered Joe Mike a scholarship Because he could live at home and study in a supportive environment, a gentle start on my brother’s college education. <br />
<br />
Joe Mike and I both loved going home with the Grays after church on Sunday. Eva prepared dinner ahead of time. Faye and I set the dining room table with fine china, sterling silver and crystal. We helped get the food on the table and washed dishes after the meal. The Grays lived in a modest house in a Sun Oil Company compound, but I learned much about gracious living from them. <br />
<br />
Sunday afternoons, we drove around with Joe Mike, searching out interesting spots in which to take pictures of one another. We liked a small park in Midland with sculptures of cupid-like angels flanking the gate. In our church clothes, including hose, high heels, hats and gloves, we posed like movie stars. It felt good being us.<br />
<br />
The Grays invited me to go on a weekend fishing trip, a new experience for me. I spent Friday night at their house. We arose while it was still dark and drove east toward Lake Sweetwater. Faye, Charles and I watched from the back seat as the sky lightened and the sun peeked over the horizon, level with us on the flat prairie. We stayed in a cabin owned by the Riggs family, members of our church.<br />
<br />
I felt wonderful to be in the presence of a relaxed, patient man. John offered to teach me to fish, but I didn’t really like it. What I did like was rocking along in the boat with him and Faye and Charles, listening to John’s deep voice explaining to his seven-year-old son how to bait the hook and cast the line. <br />
<br />
Faye would be going to Abilene Christian College in the fall. In April, John and Eva took us to Abilene for High School Weekend, an opportunity for prospective students to get acquainted with the school. We toured the campus, including Zellner Hall, which would be Faye’s dorm. Mary Titsworth, the dorm mother, shook hands with John and Eva, but paused to hold Faye’s hand between her own, smiling into the girl’s eyes.<br />
<br />
“I look forward to having you here, Faye. Let me know if you have questions or if I can help you in any way.”<br />
<br />
She liked to be called Mrs. T. With white braids encircling her head, she seemed almost holy in her sweetness. Imagine my surprise a few years later, when I arrived at the dorm late for curfew. She met me at the door with a frown, as articulate and dramatic in her censure of my behavior as she had been in welcoming Fay as a prospective student.<br />
<br />
Saturday night we went to a student presentation of the opera “Aida.” I was totally overtaken with the hope of someday being a student in this school. The next morning, we worshiped at the College Church of Christ, across the street from the campus. The cornerstone inscription read, “Founded in Jerusalem, A.D.33.” I’d never been in such a large church, and the singing captivated me. Going to Abilene Christian College. became my ambition and my vision for the future.<br />
<br />
In 1950, Daddy’s old friends, Homer and Roy Johnson, offered to sell him a share in a new wholesale gasoline distributorship they were starting. He sold his Shell service station and started commuting to manage Midland 66 Oil Co. He and Mother decided to keep living in Odessa until after Joe Mike graduated from high school in 1952.<br />
<br />
That summer, Fay and I went to church camp on the Pecos River near Iraan, Texas for three weeks. We had a great time, meeting kids from all over western Texas. Church and Bible study, swimming, hiking, volleyball and campfires kept us busy and happy. Food was spartan. Goat meat, donated by local ranchers was barbecued for lunch and dinner, with ranch beans, coleslaw and white bread. Breakfast was oatmeal and prunes. I was so happy being with other church kids in a scenic outdoor setting, I hardly noticed the food.<br />
<br />
While I was at camp, Mother and Daddy sold our house, bought another in Midland and moved. It was a shock to return from camp to a different house, different church, different town. I thought I was prepared for the move, but I wasn‘t.</span><br />Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-1233949699388639112012-09-12T15:55:00.002-07:002012-09-12T15:56:28.592-07:00Jann's Memories, Age 8 to 12<br />
Chapter 16<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was eight when Daddy bought the abandoned house in the Penwell oil field and moved it onto a corner lot on West Third Street in Odessa. Daddy’s excitement and enthusiasm were infectious. He hired a carpenter who replaced the flooring, repaired the windows, installed a new dark shingle roof and light gray asbestos siding and painted the trim kelly green I don’t recall a time when Daddy seemed as happy as when he came home to our little rental on the south side and reported daily progress on the house.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One day after work he took us with him to check on the front porch and sidewalk that were poured that day. The work was complete. We’d be moving in soon.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Going someplace with Daddy was a rare treat. When he was happy, all was right with my world. The mood changed quickly when we got to the house. The work on the sidewalks was fine, but the names of neighborhood children were gouged in the wet cement.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll be damned.” Daddy’s face turned almost purple as he read the most prominent name, running the entire length of the sidewalk, from the steps to the street. “I’d like to get my hands on Billie Yvonne Derrick.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he pronounced Billie Wy-vonne Derrick. “I’d wring her neck.”<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I shrank back from Daddy’s anger but had to grin behind the hand I clapped over my mouth when the image of my grandmother wringing a chicken’s neck came to mind. I wondered if Daddy could really wring a child’s neck and whether she’d run and jump around without her head like chickens did. He’d never spanked me, and I was pretty sure he wouldn‘t wring Billie Yvonne Derrick’s neck. I decided then and there that I would never write my name in wet cement and that I would never make friends with Billie Yvonne Derrick. I never did, though she was only two years older than I and lived across the street for six years.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I held Mother’s hand as we walked up the steps and entered the living-dining room combination. The windows were covered with Venetian blinds. “I’ll make sheer curtains to go over the blinds.” Mother liked to share with me what she’d learned in home economics.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> The floor-covering was linoleum with large pinkish flowers and dull green leaves. “This will look good with the dusty-rose couch and chair.” Mother turned to face Daddy. “I found a nice mahogany dining set at Wright’s today. It's only $15.” Her voice was excited. I’d been with her to the used furniture store and knew she longed for the table and chairs we saw there.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I breathed a sigh of relief when Daddy smiled and said, “Good. Sears called today. The furniture we ordered is in. They’ll deliver it next week.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He went to a gas valve and turned it on. An awful smell hissed out. I held my nose. He turned it off quickly.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Good.” Daddy looked satisfied. “They got the gas hooked up.” Our heater, a small one with a line of blue flames in front of clay panels, would go in that spot.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother and I went to the kitchen behind the dining area. Plain tan linoleum covered the floor and the counter that ran along one wall. Two windows and a door opened to the back yard. Mother put a finger on her chin, studying the small space. “Our kitchen table will go under the windows, but there won’t be room for all of us to sit around it.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That’s okay, Mother,” I piped up from the door. “We’ll have our new table in here.” I gestured toward the dining area.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We followed Daddy and the boys to the front bedroom, which was large enough for two double beds. Kyle and I would continue to sleep together in one. Daddy and Mother would share the other.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother looked in the small closet in the corner. “This is awfully small, Joe. We need to look for a wardrobe.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Daddy sighed and took a step into a narrow hallway. Gesturing to a larger closet to his right, he said, “We have this one. It’ll be enough for now.” He entered the bathroom to his left. I followed him, pleased to see new fixtures and paint.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We heard Joe Mike yell from the small back bedroom. “Look, Jann and Kyle. My room has cowboys and bucking horses on the wall.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother looked pleased. “Do you like it? Katherine Murphy helped me do it.” She had pulled off quite a coup, keeping her wallpapering project a secret.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I knew about it cause I came with her,” Kyle laughed, “but Mama told me not to tell and I didn’t.” He looked at Mother for approval and she rewarded him with a hug.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After we moved in, Mother bought a cherry wood Philco radio-phonograph console and records from the Sears Roebuck catalogue with babysitting money. I remember music albums by Bing Crosby and Arthur Godfry, and a Bugs Bunny story.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother still did our laundry at the Helpy Selfy. Every week she ironed a large washtub full of clothes, mostly Daddy’s work uniforms. She set up the ironing board near the radio and listened to Art Linkletter or “The Life of Helen Trent,” a soap opera. Sometimes she sang as she worked, either hymns from memory or with records.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This humble house became the essence of the word “home” for me.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One of my first memories of living there was finding an extra edition of The Odessa American on the front walk when I arrived home after school. The paper usually came in the morning, and I felt apprehensive as I unrolled it that afternoon. A band of black bordered the page, and the huge headline announced that President Roosevelt was dead. All my life, and all of Joe Mike’s life, Roosevelt was president. As World War II wound down, I heard many people say as it ended, “What a shame that Roosevelt didn’t live to see the end of the war.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was in third grade and Joe Mike was in sixth when we moved to our new house. We rode a bus to Northside Elementary School. How scary it would’ve been not to have a big brother with me. I followed him like an adoring puppy, trying to do everything he did.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>* </div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The following year, Joe Mike went into junior high. He went out for track and field. In the front part of the vacant lot next door, he and some neighbor boys set up a broad jump and high jump course in the sandy soil to practice.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I watched the boys jump for awhile before volunteering to help them place the crossbar between nails that marked the height on each side post. I decided I could probably clear the bar, on the lower levels, so finally got up my courage to ask, “Can I try?”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Okay, but you’ll have to wait until we finish this round. You can have a turn when we start over with the low bar.” Joe Mike was the boss, since the whole thing was his idea. He used his own money to buy the materials to build it.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After all the boys jumped as high as they could, knocking the crossbar off on their last try, they moved on to the broad jump pit. I stayed behind and put the crossbar on the first peg and jumped it easily. I was moving it up to when Joe Mike called me to hold one end of the rope with which they marked the line for beginning the broad jump<br />
.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll hold it, but you have to give me a turn, too. You said I could try the high jump and then you left.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Joe Mike rolled his eyes, but agreed.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> I was better at broad jump than high jump. We also tried pole vaulting, but I didn’t vault much higher than I could jump, intimidated by the long pole and the drop into the sand on the far side of the high bar. Still, I had fun practicing, planting the pole and lifting my weight off the ground with the momentum of a running start.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I followed Joe Mike’s lead in teasing our little brother. One day after school, Kyle watched as I played jacks on the front porch. Joe Mike came out of the house eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Kyle,” his voice was raised in alarm. “You have garments on your back.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As Kyle squirmed, trying to see over his shoulder, feeling his back with his hands, Joe Mike grinned and winked at me.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Where?” Kyle looked worried.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I didn’t see anything alarming on his back and didn’t know what garments were, but I decided to ally myself with power. When Joe Mike said, “They’re all over you,” I nodded.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Kyle jumped up and ran in the house, crying for Mother’s help. I followed.<br />
<br />
Mother picked up the four-year-old and hugged him. “What’s the matter?”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Joe Mike said I have garments on my back. Get them off.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Oh, Honey, garments are just clothes. We all have garments on our backs.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I laughed, understanding Joe Mike’s joke, but not at all concerned about Kyle’s feelings.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Later, Joe Mike teased Kyle again about having garments on his back. Wanting to show my knowledge, I said, “So do you, Joe Mike.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Kyle grinned and nodded. “Yeah, Joe Mike. So do you.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, but you have ancestors, Kyle.” Grinning, laughing, pointing at the little boy.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I do not,” Kyle’s voice trembled and his eyes welled with tears<br />
.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Again not knowing the word but now understanding the game, I followed Joe Mike’s lead, teasing in a sing-song voice, “Kyle has ancestors. Kyle has ancestors.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He ran to Mother again in distress. She comforted him and scolded Joe Mike and me as we laughed. Thus I improved my vocabulary but not my compassion.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>One day Mother made lye soap. After boiling lye and lard together, she poured it into a flat enamel pan, which she put on a chair outside to cool. She cautioned us not to touch it. Joe Mike and I decided it looked like the caramel candy Mother made at Christmas time. Joe Mike took the wooden spoon Mother had left resting on top of the soap and pretended to take a bite, saying, “Yum. That is delicious.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I followed suit.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Kyle actually put some of the soap in his mouth. Fortunately, the burning started immediately, and he spit it out without swallowing any.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hearing his wails, Mother grabbed him and gave him a sip of vinegar.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Rinse like this.” She swished some in her mouth. “Spit that out. I want you to take a little more and swallow it.” She followed the vinegar with an egg white. Kyle lost a layer of skin off his tongue. <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Horrified when I understood that our sweet little brother could have died, I lay awake for a long time that night. Our teasing stopped after that.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>* </div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The summer after I finished fourth grade, Joe Mike, Kyle and I all had our tonsils removed on the same day. Dr. Wood, the one who delivered me, recommended the surgery because we had frequent sore throats. The three of us checked into the same room in the hospital. When Mother went with Kyle to the operating room, Joe Mike and I jumped on our beds, laughing. They brought Kyle back, pale and asleep. I was next. Mother walked beside my gurney to the operating room. An ether mask was put over my face and the next thing I knew, I woke up, back in our room. Mother was sitting on the bed with Kyle, patting him and singing.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I tried to say something and couldn’t because of a terrible pain under my tongue. I expected to have a sore throat, but I hardly noticed that because I couldn’t move my tongue without hurting myself.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Mothuh, theh’s a knot unduh my tongue.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She came quickly to my bedside. “I know, Honey. The doctor couldn’t get your tongue out of your mouth, so he clipped it. When you were a baby, he said you were tongue tied , but it never was a problem.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Bud I could talk bettah befoah.” I cried.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“It’ll get well , Honey. Don’t worry.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She was right. After the doctor took the stitches out, my speech was back to normal.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When Joe Mike woke up, he looked at Mother accusingly. “You went with Kyle and Jann to the operating room, but I had to go by myself.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At that moment, I think Mother wished she’d scheduled the operations on different days.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I began to be more interested in school. Our principal, Mr. Turner, came to our fifth grade class one day and asked if anyone would like to work in the cafeteria every day to earn their lunch. I eagerly raised my hand and he chose me. The job required that I get a blood test. It was the first time I remember going to a doctor’s office. The ladies who cooked our food on site every day were very nice to the kids who worked there. I felt quite important, serving plates to all the other fifth graders as they came through the line.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>On Mothers’ Day that year, 1948, nervous and elated, I walked up the aisle of the Southside Church of Christ as the congregation sang, “Just As I Am.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Just as I am, without one plea,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But that Thy blood was shed for me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And that Thou bidd’st me come to Thee,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
O Lamb of God, I come! I come!”</div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I whispered to Eddie Myers, the minister, that I wanted to be baptized and took a seat on the front pew. When the song was over, he motioned for me to stand, and asked, “Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ, the only begotten son of God?”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Shivering with nervousness and excitement, I answered, “Yes.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The small church had a baptistery behind the pulpit. There were curtains that were usually open to show a painting of the River Jordan. A small dressing room was on each side of the baptistery. Eddy Myers motioned for Joe Mike to follow him to the room on the left. Mother came from the congregation and led me to the room on the right.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother and I were both nervous as I took off my yellow Easter dress and put on a white chenille bathrobe that had weights sewn around the hem. Mother held my hand as I climbed the steps. Joe Mike stood on the other side of the baptistery, grinning and holding the cord to the curtains, now closed. Brother Myers was already down in the baptistery. He guided me down the steps to stand in front of him facing Joe Mike as Brother Myers faced the congregation.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He placed a white handkerchief in my hand as Joe Mike opened the curtains. Brother Myers raised his right hand, saying, “Upon your confession of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> He took my hand with the handkerchief, put it over my nose and mouth, put his other hand behind my head, and lowered me under the water. Mother and Joe Mike watched from above, she behind me and he in front. When I came up, Joe Mike closed the curtains. I could hear the congregation singing the last verse of “Just As I Am.”<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because Thy promise I believe,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
O, Lamb of God, I come! I come!”</div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The dripping chenille was very heavy as Brother Myers helped me climb to where Mother waited. Wearing waders with his dress shirt, tie and jacket, he turned and took Joe Mike’s hand as he went out the opposite way.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I shed the robe and Mother wrapped me in a towel. As she helped me get dressed, I felt ecstatic. Sixty-four years later, I read in Mother’s journal her memory of that day: “Jann said, ‘Oh, Mother, Jesus is so sweet.’”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This marked my entry into the young people’s group at the church. We attended Bible classes twice on Sunday, usually had outings between those services and parties on Saturday night. Church activities comprised a large part of my education. That summer I went to church camp near Iraan, on the Pecos River, about 100 miles south of Odessa. I made friends from all over the state, including counselors who were students at Abilene Christian College. Going to college there became my ambition.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Devoted and idealistic, I took Mother as my role model and more or less rejected Daddy as such. My parents’ values offered my brothers and me a stark contrast. I had complete faith in Church of Christ doctrine, growing up with a very black-and-white way of thinking.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When I started the sixth grade that fall, there was a teacher shortage in Odessa. Our principal, Mr. Turner, taught our class for the first few weeks. It was as if someone turned a light on in my head. For the first time, I understood why I was in school, and I loved it. Having a man teacher as I approached puberty probably contributed to the change. He was kind but serious about learning. I felt inspired.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When our new teacher, Mr. Weinert, arrived, no one in the class could understand a word he said for the first several days. He was from Wisconsin, and we just couldn’t get his name. In west Texas, we didn’t say a word like Weinert with a long I sound. We’d say Wa-a-a-nert. After a time, our ears and his speech adjusted.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I was aware of presidential politics for the first time. The day after the 1948 election is clearly etched in my memory. A rare snow covered the school playground when Mr. Weinert came out to get the class at the end of recess. He’d been listening to the news on the radio. His face and voice registered shock, punctuated by vapor clouds made by his breath in the cold air, as he announced that Harry S. Truman won the election.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>He wasn’t the only one who was surprised. Arriving home that afternoon, I looked for the Odessa American. The front page featured a photograph of the grinning president holding up the New York Times with the headline, “Dewey Defeats Truman.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother and Daddy talked about it at supper. “I don’t particularly like Truman, but at least he’s not as much a damn yankee as Dewey.” Daddy laughed.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I didn’t know “yankee” was a word by itself.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*</div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In sixth grade, all my friends and I had boyfriends. Mine was Gary Hinds. He had a shy smile that I liked. He and I were both quite tall for our age. His nickname was Biggy because of his huge hands. He could grasp and pick up a basketball in each hand. Sometimes on Saturday, we would meet in front of the movie theater and sit together, too shy to touch, even in the dark theater. I liked his shyness. He made me feel small and he liked me.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>*<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>* </div>
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>In April, I walked home from school in a wind storm, sometimes turning around and walking backwards to protect my face from the stinging, blinding sand. Arriving home, I collapsed onto my bed, out of breath and exhausted. Mother called from the kitchen, asking me to set the table for supper. I dragged into the kitchen and she looked up, registering alarm.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What’s the matter, Hon? You look like you don’t feel well.” She put her hand on my forehead.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“My ankles hurt. Feel my neck, Mom.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Mother’s worried look intensified as she probed two large lumps, a couple of inches behind each ear, near the hairline.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Ouch. That hurts.” My voice faltered as I opened the silverware drawer.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I’ll set the table, Honey. You go back and rest. Tomorrow I’m taking you to the doctor.”<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The diagnosis was rheumatic fever. The treatment was six weeks of complete bed rest. I was shocked. Six weeks seemed like an eternity to me, and I wondered what missing so much school would mean. Mother visited the school to talk to Mr. Weinert, who assured her I could finish sixth grade by doing the weekly assignments he would bring to the house.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I didn’t feel ill and those weeks were among the most pleasant of my childhood. Mother, who’d wanted to be a nurse, indulged me with impeccable care. She communicated love in the ways she tended my needs: daily baths, fresh line-dried sheets, meals brought to my bed on a tray. I appreciated her friendliness to the classmates who visited regularly.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lying beside the open window, sheer curtains moving with the mild May breeze, I read notes from my classmates that Mr. Weinert delivered with my weekly assignments in math, history and language arts. I knew my friends’ notes were writing assignments, but most seemed sincere and some were even entertaining. Sometimes he assigned crayon drawings for my encouragement. Every day the mailman brought a bright get-well card from Aunt Jewell.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I enjoyed the time so much, it’s a wonder I didn’t become a hypochondriac. At the end of six weeks, I was happy to leave the bed behind and return to my favorite summer activity, roller skating in the neighborhood.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-28050763115699326222012-06-22T14:47:00.001-07:002012-06-22T14:47:04.307-07:00Fun-Loving Young Mother<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">
Chapter 15</div>
<br />
“Can I keep the car today? I need to go to the grocery store.” <br />
<br />
Bill felt a twinge of guilt as she said this. It was true they needed a few groceries, but her real reason for wanting the car was to go to Ladies Bible Class. <br />
<br />
Joe picked up the last bite of bacon from his plate, popped it into his mouth, drained his coffee cup and stood. “Okay, but I need to get to work.”<br />
<br />
Bill stood as well. She went into the bedroom where three-year-old Kyle slept. She sat on the side of his bed as she changed from slippers into brown oxfords. “Kyle, wake up, Honey. We’re going to take Daddy to work.”<br />
<br />
Kyle turned over, eyes squinting in his round face. “Where’s Joe Mike and Jann?”<br />
<br />
“They left for school already, Lazy Bones. Come on, I’ll wrap your blanket around you for now and get you dressed when we get back.”<br />
<br />
Joe waited in the brown Mercury sedan with the engine idling and the heater on against the dry, cold February air. Bill carried Kyle out and put him in the back seat, where he lay down, pulled the blanket close around him and went back to sleep. She sat in the front passenger seat, shivering. <br />
<br />
As Joe parked in front of the lift bay at the Shell Service station which he now owned, Bill thought back to the changes of the previous year. As soon as the war in Europe was over Joe quit his oil field job. There was a huge wheat crop to be harvested on the plains. Joe thought he could make money helping to harvest it for the hungry people in the countries devastated by war. He bought an old school bus that had been converted into a camper, with a cook stove in the front and bunks in the back. He asked his sister, Nit Darden, her husband, Lon, and their son, Doyce, to work for him. Joe Mike went, too, although he was only 13. With a tractor, a truck and a combine, they went on the road. Starting in the south plains, near Floydada, they followed the harvest all the way to Kansas. Bill stayed home, tending a garden and worrying about everything that could go wrong with such an arrangement.<br />
<br />
Joe’s gamble and hard work paid off. With the profits of the summer, he was able to buy the Shell station. He seemed much happier as a business owner than an employee.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Joe got out of the car and Bill scooted across the seat to the driver’s side. “What time should I come get you?”<br />
<br />
“I’ll call you. It’ll probably be late. There are already two cars waiting to be serviced.” <br />
<br />
“Why don’t I come and get you for dinner at noon, then you can bring the car back and come home whenever you‘re through.”<br />
<br />
“Okay, but don’t come until 1:00. It’ll take me that long to get caught up here.” Joe leaned through the open window and gave Bill a peck on the lips, then walked away, whistling.<br />
<br />
“Bye, Honey.” The arrangement was perfect. Bill would stop at the grocery store now, hurry home to put her purchases away and get Kyle dressed, then pick up Katherine Murphy for Ladies’ Bible Class at 10:00. Since Joe wanted dinner later than usual, she’d have time to make meat loaf and mashed potatoes before picking him up.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
They no longer lived in the house on South Crane Highway, where they’d lived when Kyle was born and where Pop died. It felt like home, but the owner decided he wanted to live there.<br />
<br />
For a year, they rented a house with a barn and garden space on the east side of town in a rough neighborhood. Joe bought two horses, a light bay, Penny, for himself and a smaller paint named Tony for Mike. Joe taught Mike and Jann how to ride and gave Mike the responsibility of feeding and grooming both horses. On Sunday afternoons, they rode to a neighborhood arena, where men and boys got together and practiced roping calves. <br />
<br />
Bill smiled when she remembered how much Jann loved to ride Tony. It reminded her of when she’d raced her horse, Dunny, to school. One summer day, Joe’s nephews, Bill and James Darden, stopped to see Joe as they were driving through Odessa. Joe invited them home for dinner, and decided to show them how well his seven-year-old daughter could ride. He saddled the gentle paint pony. Jann climbed on and loped out into the mesquite-covered field. For some reason, Tony made a sudden stop, and the barefoot girl went flying over his head, turned a flip and landed on her feet in front of the horse. Joe and his nephews laughed and clapped. With a toss of her head, Jann got back on the horse and continued riding as if she’d planned the whole thing.<br />
<br />
At the dinner table, the men teased her about being a trick rider. Jann said, “The only thing I was thinking about was how many thorns those mesquite bushes had on ‘em. That and rattlesnakes.”<br />
<br />
One day when Jann went with Joe and Mike to the roping, she came home with her face and hair filthy, looking sulky. Joe Mike had talked her into riding a calf at the arena, and she’d landed on her face in the dirt. Bill was relieved that Jann stopped going to the roping. <br />
<br />
During that year, Joe Mike and Jann walked downtown and go to the movie theater on Saturday, always a western. Their favorite hero was Gene Autry. They thought he looked like their daddy. Sometimes they saw Roy Rogers, Hopalong Cassidy, the Lone Ranger or Red Ryder. Every week a serial drama ended in seeming tragedy. The following week, the tragedy was averted by heroic effort for another 20 minutes.<br />
<br />
One Saturday the two children arrived home and greeted their mother with large, frightened eyes. “Jann almost got hit by a train.” Joe Mike’s voice trembled as he recalled his fright. “We were walking home on the railroad track and didn’t see the train coming until it whistled, pretty close to us. I shouted for Jann to run, then I went this way.” Joe motioned to his right. He turned to his sister with a voice charged with anger. “Why didn’t you follow me, Jann?” <br />
<br />
His little sister, seven, looked down. “I was so afraid, I couldn’t move. I didn’t know which way to go. Finally I went that way.” She held out her left hand. She put her face against her mother’s apron. “The train was so close I could feel the wind it made.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike stared intently into Bill’s eyes. “I didn’t know until the train went all the way by whether she was all right or not.” Tears spilled out of his eyes. Jann also started crying.<br />
<br />
Bill sat on a kitchen chair, hugging one child in each arm and gave each a kiss. “Thank goodness you’re both all right. You take such good care of your sister, Joe Mike. Please don’t walk on the railroad track anymore.” <br />
<br />
Joe used part of his wheat harvest earnings to buy their own home. He heard about an abandoned house out in the Penwell oil field that was for sale for $500, including the cost of moving it and setting it on a foundation. Built for a pumper, the man who monitored the flow of pumping wells, it was no longer needed in that location. One Sunday afternoon, the family drove through desolate fields to see it. <br />
<br />
As they bounced along gravel roads, past abandoned oil derricks, hundreds of moving pumps and burning gas flares, Joe Mike and Jann chattered in the back seat, each claiming the things they could see from their side of the car. Kyle, stuck in the middle, was left out.<br />
<br />
Everyone thought Jann would be the winner when she saw three antelope on her side. Joe Mike had seen a single coyote. When he spotted a herd of eight buffalo, it was clearly the grand prize of the day.<br />
<br />
When they finally arrived at the abandoned house, Bill’s heart sank. It was buried in sand past the foundation. All the windows were broken, the doors sagged and constantly blowing sand had scoured away the paint. They went in, carefully watching for rattlesnakes.<br />
<br />
Joe stomped on the floor, tried to shake the door frames and declared it basically sound. “After it’s moved, we’ll get a carpenter to fix the windows and doors. With fresh paint and new linoleum, it’ll be nice.”<br />
<br />
Bill hoped he was right.<br />
<br />
They bought two lots in a new neighborhood on the west edge of Odessa, for $250 each and built a foundation on the corner lot for the house. The extra lot was for a garden, with room at the back for a barn, chicken house and a pen for raising beef calves.<br />
<br />
Now, a year later, Bill was satisfied with their home. Five Chinese Elms were growing well. When spring came, they would put in a lawn and garden. New houses were going up on their street. So far, the neighbors seemed like good folks. Joe Mike and Jann rode the school bus, but a new elementary school was planned for the neighborhood. In a couple of years, Jann would be able to walk to school.<br />
<br />
Bill belonged to the Parent-Teachers Association and was a room mother for both children. That was rewarding, but her real place in the world was her church, the Southside Church of Christ. She went twice on Sunday and twice again on Wednesday.<br />
<br />
She and Katherine Murphy were close friends. Both were devoted Christians with non-believing husbands, and each took great comfort in the friendship.<br />
<br />
“Having you as a friend keeps me from envying the couples who sit together and share their faith,” Bill told Katherine one day as they were drinking coffee at Bill’s kitchen table.<br />
<br />
“I know, Hale. It must be nice to worship with your husband.” Most people at church called Bill “Sister Hale.” Katherine, whose husband and son were named Bill, called her friend Hale.<br />
<br />
“Do you ever feel guilty when you read the scripture in II Corinthians, ’Do not be yoked together with unbelievers?’ If I hadn’t departed from the way I was raised for a time, maybe I would’ve found a Christian husband.”<br />
<br />
“No. I don’t feel guilty.” Katherine’s eyes flashed. “My husband is a good man. I believe Christ accepts us just as we are, in the situation we’re in.”<br />
<br />
Bill laughed. “That’s why I like having you as my friend. You don’t let me get by with self pity. Joe’s a good man, too, and I’m lucky to have him. I adore him. I just wish he’d go to church with me.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike and Jann had a large group of young people at church with whom they learned social skills. The minister, Eddie Myers and his wife Chris, took a genuine interest in them. The entire congregation helped the kids navigate the difficult waters of being “in the world but not of the world,” as well as providing a foundational knowledge of the Bible. Fun-loving Bill enjoyed chaperoning their parties, often held on the same night as school dances, forbidden territory.<br />
<br />
Jann especially enjoyed their outings to the sand hills near Monahans. There were miles and miles of beautifully-sculpted white wavy dunes that changed by the hour with the constant wind. She thought it was hilarious to be on the tail-end of pop-the-whip games. One time the momentum sent her flying over the edge of a sand cliff. She and the other kids near her landed 40 feet below, rolling and laughing in the snow-like grit.<br />
<br />
The kids stayed out until late dusk. Hurrying back to the hayride truck where they’d roast wieners and marshmallows, Jann was in a little valley between two sand hills that each hid a fence post. She ran into a strand of barbed wire, dazing her. Later, as Bill put a bandage her skinned nose, Jann told her about the game of pop-the-whip. “Oh, Mother, it was so much fun. It felt like I was flying.” <br />
<br />
Joe Mike and Jann asked their mother if they could have a party for the church youth at their house. Bill enthusiastically agreed and suggested a taffy pulling party.<br />
<br />
“We used to have so much fun making taffy. The candy has to be at just the right stage and temperature when you take it out of the pot. Everyone butters their hands and rolls the candy into balls. Partners share the warm portions. Each one pulls, then rolls the strand back into a ball and pulls again until the strand cools and turns white and hard.” Bill’s hands illustrated the pulling and folding. “Then you break it into little pieces, eat it and play games.” <br />
<br />
Joe Mike and Jann were sold on trying it. Another generation had fun pulling taffy, thanks to Bill Hale.<br />
<br />
She played board or card games with them and their friends on Sunday afternoon between church services. A favorite was “Spoons.” She was very good at sneaking the first spoon away from the center of the table after matching all the cards in her hand. Jann was often the last to see the spoons being taken, thus not getting one and losing the round. It was a hilarious game that all the kids liked. <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Joe Mike joined the 4-H Club when he was in sixth grade. He raised a Hereford steer to enter in the fat stock show. The following year, he used the money he made on that calf to buy two more. The tall and rangy one, he named Mutt. The other, short and stocky, was Jeff.<br />
<br />
When it was time to show them, he spent more and more time with the steers, teaching them to follow on a lead rope, grooming them, finishing their feeding with rich grains. “Mr. Lee thinks Jeff has a chance to win first prize,” Joe Mike told his mother.<br />
<br />
Bill smiled. “That would be wonderful, Honey. You’ve worked so hard, you deserve a ribbon yourself.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike laughed, blushing.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t a first but a second place ribbon that Jeff won at the show. Joe Mike was disappointed, but Mr. Lee, the county agent, congratulated him. “That means only two other steers, the grand champion and first place, were better than yours, Mike. You should be very proud.”<br />
<br />
The next day, Bill watched from the stands as Joe Mike led Jeff into the auction arena. Mutt was sold earlier that morning. This was the last time Mike would be with the pretty little calf that was his favorite. Bill saw that he looked upset and nervous in front of the crowd of parents and businessmen who bought stock for the sake of the good publicity they’d get. Joe Mike burst into tears as the auctioneer began. The tears seemed to inspire the bidding. The more Joe Mike cried, the more bids came in. Finally, Jeff brought twice as much per pound as Mutt, giving Joe Mike a nice profit for his work.<br />
<br />
At supper, Dad was jubilant. “George Walters, the banker that bought Jeff is a customer of mine. The next time I see him, I’ll thank him for his support. I’m proud of you, Son.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike, his eyes still red, looked down. “I don’t want to raise any more calves.”<br />
<br />
A few weeks later, the family was around the supper table when there was a knock on the door. <br />
<br />
“I can’t imagine who that could be.” Bill opened the door. “Oh, hello, Mr Walters. Come in.”<br />
<br />
George Walters entered with a box of packages wrapped in white butcher paper. “I thought maybe you folks could use some beef. I bought more than my family can eat.”<br />
<br />
Bill’s hand covered her mouth in surprise. “Oh, my. Thank you so much.”<br />
<br />
Joe hurried forward to take the box, then handed it to Joe Mike, who was right behind him. “Here, Son, put this in the kitchen.”<br />
<br />
Turning to Mr. Walters, Joe shook his hand vigorously. “We’re much obliged to you, George. Can you sit down and have supper with us?”<br />
<br />
Mr. Walters took a step backwards. “No, thank you, Joe. I have more deliveries to make.” Seeing Joe Mike coming back in the room, he added, “Don’t worry, Mike, none of that meat is from Jeff. It’s from another calf I bought that day. Jeff made such good steaks, I kept them all for myself.” He laughed.<br />
<br />
Embarrassed, the family laughed with him. Bill closed the door behind him. “Isn’t that nice. He paid so much for that meat and then he gave it away.”<br />
<br />
Dad explained, “It’s all about advertising. That’s the way business works. Oh, boy, I can’t wait to try those steaks.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Jann was in fourth grade when she joined 4-H. The county home demonstration agent, Mrs. Carter, gave her a ride to the meetings in Penwell on Saturday mornings. For projects, Jann helped Bill in the garden and canned some of the tomatoes they raised. She sewed an apron and a hot pad on Bill’s treadle sewing machine, and embroidered some pillow cases to enter in the county fair, along with canned tomatoes and fresh green beans from the garden.<br />
<br />
Bill took her to the fair after school to see all the exhibits. “Look, Jann. You got a blue ribbon on your hot pad. That’s first place!”<br />
<br />
Jann, who was the youngest member of the club, couldn’t believe it. “Mrs. Carter liked my straight seams. Oh, I got a white ribbon, too, third place on my tomatoes. And the green beans got a second. Red, white and blue.” She laughed, fingering the silky ribbons. “These should be yours, Mother. You did most of the work in the garden.” <br />
<br />
When summer vacation came, Jann went to 4-H camp. Bill helped her pack a small suitcase and a bed roll made of two quilts and a folded sheet with a little pillow inside. “Take your bath in the afternoon before the evening meal. Put on clean clothes then. You have enough clothes for five days. Keep track of your things.”<br />
<br />
There was a lump in Bill’s throat when she put her little girl on the school bus to go to Alpine, Texas, in the Davis Mountains. The other girls on the bus from her club were teenagers and ignored the shy younger girl. Even when they arrived at the school gymnasium where they stayed with 4-H members from all over west Texas, she was still the youngest and was left alone. <br />
<br />
She felt slightly sick going up a mountain road for the first time, to the McDonald Observatory, where they saw the big telescope and had an astronomy lesson. She liked the key ring she wove for Daddy from thin strips of blue and white plastic, but her favorite day was when they had a riflery lesson. She learned to shoot a .22 caliber rifle and gun safety. The girl next to her, only a little older, was friendly. When Jann shot and hit her small paper target, the other girl said, “Good shot.” <br />
<br />
When Jann got off the bus back in Odessa, Bill hugged her fiercely. “I’m so glad you’re home safe and sound, Darlin’.”<br />
<br />
“I am, too, Mother.” Jann said seriously. Years later, Jann told her mother how lonely she was during that first separation from her family. “I hardly talked to anyone the whole time. I was a little too young for that experience.”<br />
<br />
Two years later, in sixth grade, Jann was thrilled to be asked to join an eight-member Girl Scout troop that included her best friend, Patsy Robbins. Bill went with them and their leader, Mrs. Ivy, to Carlsbad, New Mexico. The girls earned a hiking merit badge for their walk down into the immense caverns.<br />
<br />
On the trip to Carlsbad, Bill listened with pleasure to Jann chattering with the other girls as she followed Mrs. Ivy’s car, one girl beside her and three more in the back seat.<br />
<br />
“This is the first time I’ve been outside Texas.” Jann’s voice was elated as they crossed the state line.<br />
<br />
“Me, too.” Patsy and Frieda Lankford piped in unison.<br />
<br />
“I’ve been to Oklahoma lots of times. In fact, I used to live there.” Quita Ivy, the scout leader’s daughter, bragged. Later, Bill was surprised when Mrs. Ivy revealed she was a Republican. Bill didn’t think she’d ever met one before.<br />
<br />
The chatter was incessant as they checked into the La Caverna Hotel in the little town of Carlsbad. It was the first time that several of the girls, including Jann, had stayed in a hotel.<br />
<br />
The chatter stopped the following morning after walking for awhile in the immense grandeur of the cavern. “I keep forgetting the top of the cave is not the sky.” Bill heard her daughter tell Patsy in a lowered voice.<br />
<br />
“I know,” whispered Patsy. “Wasn’t it scary when they turned off the lights?”<br />
<br />
They ate in the underground lunchroom. From there, they took an elevator ride that took more than three minutes to reach the surface. “Now I’ve ridden two elevators. One at the La Caverna Hotel and this one,” Jann proudly told her mother. <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
With chickens and a milk cow, Bill earned a little extra money from selling eggs, butter and buttermilk. From this, she paid Jann for churning the butter. With their roots in farm families, Joe and Bill always had stock and raised food, but Bill was tired of milking the cow when Joe was delayed at work. <br />
<br />
One day, after Bill had spent half the day cleaning out a chicken coop and came in the house hot, tired and filthy, she decided it was time to approach her husband with a question. “Do you think the work and expense of having animals is worth it, Joe? We don’t save much on food, and we make very little money on selling the produce.” <br />
<br />
“I know, Honey. Maybe we won’t buy any more after these die off. I just finished building the barn a few months ago.” <br />
<br />
Not long after that, as the wind howled louder than usual at dusk, rattling the doors, Jann squinted out the kitchen window, watching the willow branches whip in all directions. Looking beyond the willow tree, she said, “Mother, where is Daddy? Is he milking?”<br />
<br />
Bill looked up. Her daughter’s voice had a strange hint of panic. “No. He called to say he’d be late.”<br />
<br />
“Mom, I can’t see the barn.”<br />
<br />
Coming to stand beside her, Bill also peered out the western window. Sure enough, she could see neighbors’ lights that were usually blocked by the barn. “Oh, my word. Everything out there has blown away.” She ran to call Joe.<br />
<br />
After the wind died down and they could go out safely, they found that the sheet metal siding from their out buildings was scattered all over the west end of Odessa. Joe scoured the area for days, picking up the pieces. The night of the storm, with the help of neighbors, they gathered, slaughtered and dressed the injured hens by flash light, since the electricity was out by then. The poor cow stood patiently in the lee of the water tank.<br />
<br />
Joe laughed. “I guess you were right about getting rid of the livestock, Bill. I’ll take the cow to auction next week.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * * </div>
<br />
As Jann approached adolescence, her mother longed to buy her some nice ready-made clothes. She decided to answer an ad looking for a baby sitter. Betty Jones, who placed the ad, worked in an insurance office. Bill couldn’t understand how her husband could’ve deserted her and their toddler son, Alan. He was a beautiful and pleasant child, and Bill’s whole family grew to love him in the years she took care of him. Betty was reserved almost to the point of coldness. Bill felt sorry they didn’t become friends, so she could stay in touch with Alan after he started school.<br />
<br />
Bill delighted in taking Jann to the department stores downtown to shop. If her baby sitting money didn’t cover what they chose, she’d put the items on layaway and pay them off in a few weeks. She still made most of her own clothes, teaching her daughter to sew as well. The two grew close in sharing a love of soft fabrics, earth-tone colors and well-cut clothing.<br />
<br />
One day when Jann got home from school, her mother was cutting leaf shapes from several old felt hats. “What are you doing, Mom?”<br />
“I’m making a belt for my new green gabardine dress. I collected these hats from the church rummage sale.” <br />
<br />
Jann helped her cut felt leaves of gold, brown, orange and tan to sew on a grosgrain ribbon. Bill put on her new dress and tied the ribbon around her waist. She strode back into the room swiveling like a model on a runway.<br />
<br />
“Beautiful, Mom. What a good idea, perfect for fall.”<br />
<br />
The years in Odessa were happy ones for Bill as she watched her three children grow and thrive. In 1950, Joe sold the Shell service station in order to buy into a partnership with his old friends, Homer and Roy Johnson. He’d be manager of Midland 66, the wholesale distributor for Phillips petroleum products in Midland, 18 miles east of Odessa. For two years, he commuted to Midland, until Joe Mike graduated from Odessa High School in 1952. That summer, Jann went to church camp for two weeks. When she returned, everything had changed for her family.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-68640864171859269012012-04-25T15:12:00.000-07:002012-04-25T15:12:07.410-07:00Jann's First Memories<span lang="EN"><em>Most people who follow my blog know that my Mother, Willie Mae Cummings Hale, died on March 6. Since telling the story of my own birth in her story, I've had a hard time finding my way forward. This chapter of my first memories is discontinuous and I hope to get back to her story soon. </em><br />
<br />
The first Christmas I remember, Joe Mike was eight and I was four. Mama and Daddy picked out toys for us from the Sears & Roebuck catalogue. On Christmas Eve, a man dressed in red, his face covered with a bandana, ran through the living room and left presents, running out before we got a good look. Mama handed me a box. The baby doll inside had blue eyes that closed when I lay her down, much to my delight. I wrapped her in the flannel blanket Mama made, sat on the floor, rocking the doll in my arms and sang “Rock-a-bye-Baby.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike jumped up and down, laughing when he opened his present. “Oh, boy, a Red Ryder BB gun.” He dug further into the package and found a little round box of bb’s. Daddy showed him how to load the gun and talked to him about taking care of it. Mama, Daddy and Pop went to the kitchen to mix eggnog. Looking around for a target, Joe Mike decided my tin Humpty Dumpty bank would be good. He put it on back of the couch and fired away. By the time Mama discovered he was shooting in the house and stopped him, my Humpty had several dents in his brightly painted egg face and body.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Daddy managed a service station downtown and worked long hours every day of the year except Christmas and the Fourth of July. We rarely went anywhere together, but once when I was almost five, Daddy came home early on a Saturday and told us we were going to visit the family of his friend, “Red” Redmond. I was so excited, I couldn’t keep still. Daddy smiled and picked me up. <br />
<br />
“They have a girl about your age and a boy a little older than Mike.” He tickled me and I laughed with delight.<br />
<br />
Joe Mike and I bounced on the back seat of our Chevrolet as we drove to the Redmonds’. I stretched my legs out into the space in front of me, trying to touch the front seat with my high-topped patent leather shoes. Daddy seemed happy. Mama sat straight, twisting a handkerchief. I wondered why she looked worried.<br />
<br />
The Redmonds lived on the east side of Odessa in a modest house with artificial brick siding. Daddy introduced each of us to Mr. and Mrs. Redmond. They welcomed us. <br />
<br />
Mrs. Redmond called out, “Jim Bob and Lulu, come and meet your new friends.” The children came in from a back room. It turned out that Joe Mike and Jim Bob already knew each other from school. Jim Bob put an arm around my brother’s shoulder. “Come on, Joe Mike. Let’s play outside.”<br />
<br />
I smiled at Lulu, anxious to be her friend, but she scowled. She didn’t seem to want me for a friend.<br />
<br />
I stood by Mama and watched as Mr. Redmond set up a card table. Mrs. Redmond put four chairs around it and brought out a set of dominoes. Mr. Redmond brought beer and glasses for all of the grown-ups. Mama’s face turned red and she told him she didn’t drink beer. Maybe that’s why she looked worried. Daddy laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll drink hers.”<br />
<br />
I liked the sound the dominoes made as they were shuffled on the cardboard table. Eventually I tired of watching the grownups’ game and went outside to see what the other kids were doing. <br />
<br />
Lulu watched the boys play Mumblety Peg, seeing how close to their feet they could make a knife stick in the ground. She wore thick glasses, which was something special to me. I thought I’d like to wear glasses. I got the courage to ask, “Lulu, can I try on your glasses?”<br />
<br />
“No. You might break them and then I couldn’t see good.” She seemed angry. I took a step back.<br />
<br />
Joe Mike threw his pocket knife at his foot, but it failed to stick. “I win again,” Joe Bob crowed, folding his knife and putting it in his pocket. “Let’s play keep-away. I’ll get a pillow. Want to play, girls?”<br />
<br />
Glad to be included in the game, I made a few tentative tries to get the pillow from the boys, then gave up and watched from the side. When Lulu went in the house without inviting me, I didn’t mind. She wasn’t any fun. The dangerous roughhousing of the big boys excited me. I could smell their sweaty bodies and feel the breeze they made as they ran past.<br />
<br />
A June bug buzzed around me, making me forget the game as I tried to catch it. If I caught it, I’d ask Joe Mike to tie a thread to its leg, as I’d seen him do before. I imagined holding the end of the thread, watching the emerald insect fly around me in circles. I stopped to look at the Milky Way, so brilliant from the high prairie of West Texas, and realized too late that I’d wandered into Jim Bob’s path. Running with the pillow clutched in his arms, he looked over his shoulder at Joe Mike chasing him, laughing and yelling. I couldn’t move as the big boy suddenly loomed over me. Then everything went black.<br />
<br />
When I came to, Daddy knelt beside me. I saw Mama’s worried face behind him. All the others were looking at me, very quiet. As soon as I opened my eyes, everyone seemed to breathe out at once. Then the parents all scolded Jim Bob and Joe Mike.<br />
<br />
“It wasn’t our fault.” Jim Bob glared at me so did Joe Mike.<br />
<br />
Daddy picked me up with a jerk, convincing me that I’d done something wrong. He said we’d better go. Our visit with his friends was suddenly over.<br />
<br />
The car was full of disappointment in an evening that had begun with high hopes. Joe Mike didn’t stop glaring at me all the way home. As he stomped into the house ahead of me, I felt the disaster was my fault.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
The country had been at war for more than a year, which often figured into the games Joe Mike and I played. We chased and shot each other with imaginary weapons, calling one another “Nazi“ or “Jap,” and chanting “Mussolini, big fat weenie.” The family was caught up in contributing to the war effort. Mama strained bacon grease into coffee cans. Joe Mike made balls of rubber bands and gum wrapper foil. He tied newspapers into bundles. Daddy took these things to a collection center. He registered for the draft, though at age 36, he wasn’t worried about being called up. <br />
<br />
Two weeks and a day after my fifth birthday, on June 26, 1942, my little brother Kyle was born. Mama was in the hospital for ten long days. I stayed with a woman from church during the day. Daddy took Joe Mike to work with him, then picked me up at night. Finally, on the tenth day, I stayed home with my grandfather, Pop.<br />
<br />
“Your mother and new baby brother will come home from the hospital today.” Pop told me. “You can play outside this morning.” <br />
<br />
Glad to be home, I ran out to play with Scrappy, our dog. After a while, an ambulance pulled up in front of the house. The driver and his assistant took Mama in on a high bed with wheels. As I watched, fascinated, the driver spoke to me. “Well, Sister, you’ll have a new doll to play with.” <br />
<br />
I ran in, excitedly looking for the doll. Mama sat on the side of her bed, holding a tiny baby with a round red face. <br />
<br />
I stood beside her, disappointed that I wasn’t really getting a new doll. “Can I hold him?“<br />
<br />
“Not yet. He’s too little.”<br />
<br />
When Mama saw my face, lower lip protruding and tears in my eyes, she said, “Oh, don’t be disappointed, Honey. When Baby Kyle is bigger, you can play with him. Come, give me a hug.” I climbed on the bed beside my mother. She pulled me close with one arm as she held the baby with the other. “Isn’t he beautiful? Give him a kiss.”<br />
<br />
I patted the baby’s tummy and kissed his fat cheek.<br />
<br />
Daddy came home from work early that day. The family gathered around a meal of sausage gravy with biscuits and fresh green beans that Pop cooked I felt happy that Mama was home. I wasn’t so sure about the baby.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Because tires and gasoline were strictly rationed, Mama took us on the bus to Floydada to visit Grandmother and Granddaddy. Every seat was taken. Padded boards on hinges folded down into the aisle so more people could sit down. Joe Mike and I sat on two of those while Mama held Kyle on her lap. The trip took longer and was more tiring than when we went in our car, but it was worth it to Mama to see her parents.<br />
<br />
Aunt Shorty came from Lubbock to see us, especially Kyle, who was the Cummings’ 19<sup>th</sup> grandchild. Aunt Shorty and Uncle J.D. had celebrated their ninth anniversary, still childless. After dinner, I followed Mama and Aunt Shorty into the bedroom. They sat side by side on the bed, leaning against the tall headboard, while Mama nursed Kyle. I sat on the floor between the bed and the wall, stacking dominoes and listening to their conversation.<br />
<br />
“Please, Bill. Did you get my letter? Won’t you and Joe consider letting J.D. and me take this baby to raise? You already have Joe Mike and Jann. You know we’d be good parents.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, Shorty, I’m sorry, but no. Joe and I talked about it, but we lost one baby. We just can’t part with this one.” She hugged her sister. “Don’t give up hope. You’ll get pregnant yet.”<br />
<br />
Aunt Shorty blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “There’s something else I want to tell you, though I don’t know if I should. J.D. and I were going into the Ace of Diamonds night club in Lubbock last spring. We saw Joe coming out with a beautiful girl on his arm. He pretended he didn’t see us. I think he was trying to be invisible. I found out the next day that he was at a Phillips convention.”<br />
<br />
Mama hummed softly to the baby. She said, “It’s okay, Shorty. Joe is a good man. He loves the children too much to ever leave us.”<br />
<br />
I felt jealous that Daddy had a beautiful girl on his arm. He said I was the prettiest girl in the world. I wondered who the girl in Lubbock was and if she was bigger or littler than me. <br />
<br />
The next day, Grandmother told me that she wished Daddy could’ve come on the visit. <br />
<br />
I said, “I do, too. My daddy’s funny. Especially when he’s drunk.”<br />
<br />
Suddenly the room was very quiet, except for sharp intakes of adult breath.<br />
<br />
I was shocked when Mama grabbed my arms and shook me, her face a mask of anger. “Why would you say such a thing?” Red-faced, she turned and hurried into the bedroom.<br />
<br />
I collapsed into a puddle of tears on the floor. Grandmother picked me up and sat in the rocking chair. “Don’t cry, Jann. It’s all right. You didn’t know you weren’t supposed to say that.”<br />
<br />
A spring thunderstorm struck that afternoon. Cooped up indoors, Joe Mike and I started a game of tag, running and yelling through the house. Grandmother said, “If you kids don’t get quiet, lightning’s going to strike this house.”<br />
<br />
Unafraid, we kept chasing each other until a flash of fire shot down through the ceiling light in the dining room with a huge crash. All of us screamed. There was a strange smell in the air and wisps of smoke came from the attic, curling around the light fixtures. Mama and Grandmother ran through the house to make sure nothing was burning. Then they grabbed umbrellas and ran outside to look around.<br />
<br />
When everyone calmed down, Grandmother looked at Joe Mike and me. “I told you to get quiet.” We sat quietly on straight chairs, hands folded in our laps. Convinced that she might have special powers, we didn’t say another word for the rest of the afternoon, as we listened to the rain on the roof and the thunder rumbling around the high plains. <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * * </div>
<br />
In late-March, 1943, I awoke to a sound I’d never heard before. It was still dark as the sound split the night. Loud and high-pitched, it got lower, stopped while a breath was taken, then began again, repeating over and over. Frightened, I sat up, wide-eyed, listening intently, wondering what could make that sound. I felt for Joe Mike, who slept with me. He wasn’t there. Kyle, nine months old, awoke and started crying. Mama came in and picked the baby up from his crib. Seeing that I was awake, she came and sat on the bed beside me. Holding the baby to nurse with one arm, she pulled me close and cuddled me with the other.<br />
<br />
“What’s that noise, Mama? Where’s Joe Mike?” I moved closer, feeling afraid.<br />
<br />
Joe Mike walked in and heard me. “Pop died. Daddy’s crying.”<br />
<br />
Mama started to say something but stopped, giving Joe Mike a worried look.<br />
<br />
“Pop died?” I sat up straighter. “Daddy’s <i>crying</i>?” Suddenly curious, I hopped out of bed and went to stand near Joe Mike. He took my hand and led me to Pop’s bedside. The white-haired old man lay with his mouth wide open. We stood there in awe, watching our grandfather not breathe. Joe Mike told me that Mama had found Pop like that. <br />
<br />
We heard a knock on the front door. Two men from the funeral home were there to take Pop away. Finally Daddy stopped wailing so he could talk to them, but his voice still broke and he wiped tears from his eyes and blew his nose often. The men had a hard time getting Pop’s tall body through the door of his bedroom. One of them had to lift his end of the gurney above his head to make the turn.<br />
<br />
A few days later, the Lutheran church in Sagerton overflowed with people who came to pay their respects to Wiley Hale. He died just eleven days before his 80<sup>th</sup> birthday and was buried in the family cemetery beside his wife Susan, who’d rested there for 19 years. A long line of people filed past the casket to see Pop for the last time. Daddy wailed all through the service. The sound that was so strange a few days earlier was now familiar to me. I remember one song that was sung:<br />
<br />
<i>Shall we gather at the river,</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i> Where bright angel feet have trod,<br />
<br />
With its crystal tide forever,<br />
<br />
Flowing by the throne of God<br />
</i><br />
We spent the night with Aunt Nit in Stamford after the funeral. The next day, She opened a trunk of Pop’s things and gave each of us a badge inscribed with Pop’s name, from the Texas Cowboys Reunion. These small mementoes, along with the memory of his quiet dignity, were our legacy from our grandfather Hale. <br />
<br />
On the fourth of July, our family returned to Aunt Nit’s to attend the yearly rodeo sponsored by the Texas Cowboys Reunion. Pop had been a founding member of the association. The rodeo was open only to cowboys who worked on cattle ranches. This became an annual event for us. The only time I remember Daddy singing was on our way to the rodeo. <br />
<br />
That was not the only wonder of our yearly rodeo trip. I’d never been in such a big crowd. As the audience filed into the stands, a blind man stood in the middle of the lane, playing an accordion and singing country and gospel songs, a tin cup at his feet. It filled with money as the crowd parted and flowed around him like a river around a large rock.<br />
<br />
<i>Farther along, we’ll know all about it.</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
<i> Farther along, we’ll understand why.<br />
<br />
Cheer up, my brother, live in the sunshine.<br />
<br />
We’ll understand it all, by and by.<br />
</i><br />
At noon, we ate barbecue beef and beans at a chuck wagon brought in from a local cattle ranch. I especially admired the many older girls that rode fine horses in the parade and competed for the title of Rodeo Queen. They wore beautifully-tailored western suits with matching hats and custom-made boots. Some had silver-studded hand-tooled saddles.<br />
<br />
My favorite part of the rodeo was the Grand Entry. It was led by riders bearing the U.S. stars and stripes, the lone star flag of Texas, and many banners emblazoned with ranch brands. They ran their horses at break-neck speed around the arena in opposite directions, then stationed themselves as posts for the hundreds of horse-men and women who followed, weaving their way back and forth around them until the entire space was filled with color: horses, riders and flags. The high school band played patriotic marches to accompany this spectacle. To me, the bronco and bull riding, calf roping and bulldogging events were anti-climactic. I was more interested in the people around me in the grandstand, though I did enjoy the ladies’ barrel racing, dreaming of being the girl on the horse, flying around the barrels without knocking one over. I loved riding Daddy’s shoulders out through the crowd at the end of the rodeo.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i><div align="CENTER">
Janny-Ran</div>
<br />
Childhood remembrances sometimes hurt if you hid in your big brother’s shadow and teased your little brother cruelly.<br />
<br />
If you study dysfunctional family patterns, the writers of the books don’t know how funny Daddy was, drunk, or how important you felt playing hide-and-seek outside after dark with your brother’s friends.<br />
<br />
Somehow it never gets across how good it felt, growing up tough and hard and having your mother buy you beautiful clothes with her baby-sitting money.<br />
<br />
Even though you remember it well, your “normie” friends never understand the thrill of going to the Stamford rodeo, the family all together, happy, with Daddy drunk and driving a hundred miles an hour.<br />
<br />
Since I’ve been working on healing childhood hurts all these years, I really hope I can remember the joy that bubbled up in the midst of our family circle, and feel grateful.<br />
<br />
<br />
</i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-21812453121370343212012-01-26T15:07:00.000-08:002012-01-26T15:15:30.513-08:00Mother's Story, Chapter 13<span lang="EN">
<br />
Bill and Joe struggled with emotional chaos after losing baby Patrick. The recent move to Odessa, far from their community of friends and family in the Texas panhandle, made this a lonely endeavor.<br />
<br />
One night after Bill put Joe Mike to bed, she slipped into bed next to Joe. He lay on his side, his back to her. As she turned in the other direction, a wave of grief overcame her. She cried softly. When Joe turned over and put his arms around her, she realized he hadn’t been asleep. A whimper escaped his throat, and she knew he also wept.<br />
<br />
She turned and clung to him as to a life preserver in the middle of the ocean, burrowing her face into the cozy spot at the base of his neck. Profoundly grateful for the comfort of his warm embrace, she let her tears flow freely. “Do you hate it here, Joe? I feel homesick and I miss the baby.” <br />
<br />
“I know, honey. I do, too.” Joe rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of one hand and sniffled. “I’m grateful for the job here, but I feel like I’m buried in the Phillips’ debt. When I get that paid off, we’ll find a bigger house. We’ll be able to have parties again and make more friends.”<br />
<br />
She didn’t say it, but that was the last thing she wanted to do. Remembering the parties of the previous four years made her feel nauseous. As her sobs quieted, she wondered how to tell him she didn’t plan to party anymore. “I’m going to take Joe Mike to church Sunday.”<br />
<br />
“Sure, Honey, if that’s what you want.”<br />
<br />
He kissed her tenderly, then more urgently. She responded to his arousal with a sudden aching desire, for him and for life.<br />
<br />
“Can we have another baby, Joe? I want a baby.”<br />
<br />
“That’s what I want, too, Honey. Another sweet baby.”<br />
<br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN"></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">
* * * </div>
<br />
The following Sunday, Bill chose her clothes carefully and got ready for church. She dressed Joe Mike in a white sailor suit with short pants and oversized buttons on the jacket. She parted and combed his blond hair carefully. He looked adorable.<br />
<br />
His blue eyes wide, he asked, “Where are we going?”<br />
<br />
“To church.”<br />
<br />
“Church? What’s church?”<br />
<br />
“You’ll see, my darling.” Bill felt ashamed that she’d never taken her son to worship.<br />
<br />
Joe worked as many hours as possible to pay off their debts. He left early that warm Sunday morning in July to deliver gasoline to an oil drilling rig in Notrees, 24 miles west of Odessa. Bill took him to work so she could keep their car.<br />
<br />
The Church of Christ was only six blocks from their house, but it would be too hot to walk home by the time the service was over, so she drove. Bill went early to go to the Bible class before worship, knowing her parents wouldn’t approve of a church practice not mentioned in the New Testament.<br />
<br />
As Bill and Joe Mike entered the church and sat near the back, an older couple sitting in front of them turned around. <br />
<br />
“Good morning.” The husband and wife said in unison, then laughed.<br />
<br />
“Welcome,” continued the man. “I’m Wesley Smith, and this is my wife Agnes.”<br />
<br />
Bill shook their hands. “I’m Willie Mae Hale. Everyone calls me Bill. This is my son, Joe Mike.”<br />
<br />
When Wesley held out his hand for the toddler, he responded with his own hand, smiling. More people came to meet and welcome them. Joe Mike smiled and shook each hand, delighted with the attention.<br />
<br />
Bill hoped there’d be a class for her son, but the youngest level was for five-year-olds. After the children left for their classes, an older boy came back to give Joe Mike a card with a picture of Jesus, standing at a rose-covered garden gate.<br />
<br />
Bill whispered, “This is Jesus. He loves you, Mike.”<br />
<br />
“She loves me?” Joe Mike had never seen a man with long hair.<br />
<br />
“<u>He</u> loves you, darling. See, he has whiskers like Daddy. I’ll read you the words when we get home. Now we have to be still and quiet during church.”<br />
<br />
When Joe Mike got restless, Bill sat him on her lap, took an embroidered cotton handkerchief from her purse and folded it to make a tiny soldier’s hat, put it on her fist, then unfolded it and made a different pattern. Joe Mike took the handkerchief and experimented with it, trying to make designs of his own.<br />
<br />
When the sermon ended, the congregation sang an “invitation song” to encourage anyone to come forward who wanted to be baptized, to make a confession of sin or to place membership with the congregation.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
“Just as I am, without one plea,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But that Thy blood was shed for me,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And that Thou biddest me come to Thee,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, Lamb of God, I come. I come.”</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Bill picked up Joe Mike and walked to the front. The preacher shook her hand, gave her a card and motioned for her to sit on the front pew and fill it out. She marked the lines indicating her needs: to confess that she had sinned and that she wanted to be a member of this church.</div>
<br />
An elder of the church offered an humble and earnest prayer on her behalf, asking that she and everyone assembled would be forgiven the sins they’d committed. Tears flowed from Bill’s eyes.<br />
<br />
Joe Mike, still holding the handkerchief, wiped her face tenderly. “No cry, Mama.”<br />
<br />
Bill smiled through her tears and kissed her son. The prayer lifted an enormous burden from her heart. She took communion, grateful to be with people of simple faith, who welcomed her, no questions asked. She put a quarter in the offering, wishing she had more to give. <br />
<br />
After the service, people crowded around to welcome her. One woman, Katherine Murphy, was also there with an infant boy and without her husband. On impulse, Bill invited her to have lunch with her. “It won’t be fancy, but there’s plenty if you don’t mind warmed leftover salmon patties. I’ll make some cornbread and cook some fresh green beans my neighbor gave me from her garden.”<br />
<br />
Delighted, and a little surprised, when she said yes, Bill suggested Katherine follow her home. Bill had forgotten that the wreath of flowers she’d hung on the front door to denote a death in the family was still there, more than a week after the funeral. <br />
<br />
“Have you had a bereavement, Bill?“ Katherine’s sympathetic manner gave Bill an opening to tell about Patrick.<br />
<br />
“He would’ve been eight months old a week ago, on the third.”<br />
<br />
Katherine held her baby boy closer. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Bill. I can’t imagine losing Tommy.” She hugged her baby and shivered in the July heat.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
By December, Bill knew she was pregnant. She consulted Dr. Wood, who had a small hospital in Odessa.<br />
<br />
After taking her health history, Dr. Wood asked more questions about Patrick’s birth.<br />
<br />
Remembering how quickly it happened, Bill told him, “Dr. Johnson thought the rapid birth might have resulted in the baby’s epilepsy.”<br />
<br />
“You seem very healthy, Mrs. Hale. You’ll be here in the hospital this time, and I assure you, this baby will not be born too fast.”<br />
<br />
Although her elation at being pregnant was evident, Dr. Wood also seemed to sense the apprehension she felt that the baby might not be well. He gave her a pamphlet from the Illinois Health Department on prenatal care, a term she’d never heard.<br />
<br />
She left the appointment feeling reassured, anxious to tell Joe about it. He was also excited at the prospect of a new baby.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> </i>On June 10, 1937, Joe arrived home from work to find Bill waiting for him to take her to the hospital. He hastily ate the supper she’d prepared, told Joe Mike to mind Pop, who was staying with them at the time. He held Bill’s arm as she walked awkwardly to the car. At 15 minutes past midnight, their baby girl was born.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> I was that baby. My mother has told me many times of when she first saw me. She loves to tell it. “You were just beautiful, with olive skin, dark auburn hair and dark eyelashes and eyebrows. Your big blue eyes looked at me as if you were the wisest person who ever lived. You seemed to know everything. You studied my face, and I imagined you thinking, “Are <u>you</u> my mother?”</i> <br />
The nurse came in the following morning to fill out the form for the birth certificate. “What will the baby’s name be?”<br />
<br />
“Jann,” Bill answered.<br />
<br />
“Janet or Janis?” the nurse stopped writing with her pen poised above the clipboard.<br />
<br />
“Just Jann, with two n’s.” Bill said, a little defensively.<br />
<br />
“Oh, that’s cute. I’ve never seen that name before.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike went to work with Joe that day. All day, the little boy bounced on the truck seat beside his daddy as they delivered gasoline. After work, they went to the hospital to see the new baby.<br />
<br />
“Look, Mike. That one in the pink blanket is your baby sister.” Joe held him up to the window of the nursery.<br />
<br />
Joe Mike studied the tiny face for a minute before turning away to hide his face in Joe’s shoulder. “Where’s Mama?”<br />
<br />
“Okay, Hoss. You’ve had a hard day. Let’s go see Mama and then I bet Pop has a nice supper fixed for us.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">
* * *</div>
<br />
Bill continued going to church every Sunday. After church one morning, Joe Mike was climbing on the porch rail to slide down the short banister. When Jann, who was now three years old, tried it, she fell, hit her head and lost consciousness. A crowd surrounded her, clucking with concern. When she opened her eyes and looked around, the large man who held her returned her to her embarrassed mother’s arms. Shaking his finger in Jann’s face, he said, “Never do that again.” She never did.<br />
<br />
In 1940, Homer Johnson established the Phillips 66 wholesale dealership in Levelland, Texas. He asked Joe to move to Levelland for a few months, to set up the accounting system for the company and teach Homer how to keep books. Though Joe had only a ninth grade education, he’d learned bookkeeping from Tiny and Eula Mae Magness. By this time, he’d paid off his debt to Phillips and had a good reputation with the company.<br />
<br />
Joe rented an old farm house on the edge of Levelland for very little because it didn’t have electricity. Bill’s heart sank when she saw it. “The leak in the roof in Odessa already ruined my nice cedar chest, Joe. Do I have to give up my electric refrigerator?”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry, Honey,” Joe reassured her. “The house has a kerosene stove and we’ll get a Servel refrigerator. It can be converted to gas when we move back to Odessa.”<br />
<br />
The house had a long driveway with enough of a slope for Joe Mike, who was six, to roll down in a barrel . “You want to try it, Jann?” He helped her climb in and gave the barrel a shove. Bill came looking for them just as the barrel rolled down the hill with more momentum than usual.<br />
<br />
“What are you doing, Joe Mike? She could get hurt.” Bill ran to catch the barrel and get the three-year-old out. Jann looked pale and shaken when she emerged, but was unhurt. <br />
<br />
The barn’s loft was a great place for the children to play, with a hay stack to jump into. One day Joe Mike couldn’t resist putting on his mother’s class ring from Floydada High School. As he jumped from the loft into the haystack, the ring came off. He confessed to Bill what had happened. <br />
<br />
Angry and upset, she spanked Joe Mike. “I told you and told you not to play with my ring. You can’t seem to mind. Get out to the barn and find my ring. You can’t come in the house until you find it.” <br />
<br />
Jann went with Joe Mike to the barn to look for the ring, but it was never found<i>.</i><br />
<i>
</i><br />
Joe Mike started to school in Levelland, a farm town in the Texas panhandle. There was no kindergarten, and children had to be six years old by September 1 to start first grade. Since Joe Mike’s birthday was September 17, he was almost seven when he started school. He did well and was popular with his peers and teacher, showing early signs of charisma and leadership. Like all the boys, he wore striped overalls to school.<br />
<br />
When the family moved back to Odessa from Levelland, Joe became bookkeeper for the Phillips 66 Wholesale Agency. The move came in the middle of that school year. Joe Mike came home looking sad at the end of his first day in his new school. “Mama, something’s wrong with my clothes. The kids laughed at me and called me a farm boy.” His voice trembled.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> </i>When Joe heard this, he gave Bill money to buy two pairs of khaki pants and a belt, which she did the next day. After that, Joe Mike seemed to fit in just fine with the oil field kids of Southside Elementary School in Odessa.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> </i>The family rented a house on the Crane Highway on the outskirts of town. Joe’s father, Pop Hale, lived with them much of the time. When he arrived in Odessa from visiting Aunt Nit in Stamford, he walked from the bus station with his thick leather valise in one hand and a gallon can of sorghum molasses in the other.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> </i>“Oh, boy,” Bill’s smile spread wide when she saw him. “I’ll make biscuits so we can have sorghum on them for supper.” She’d enjoyed Pop’s company since her early married days when she and Joe lived with him in Sagerton for a few months. <br />
<i></i><br />
<i> </i>Acreage behind the house allowed for chickens and pigs. For the most part, Pop took care of the animals. On the first cold morning in the fall, Joe and Pop butchered a hog. Pop prepared the hams and gave Bill a recipe for making sausage. Cutting the meat, mixing and grinding the sausage was a hard day’s work. Bill made long tubes of cotton muslin for stuffing the sausage.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> “</i>Can I do that?” Jann asked. Stuffing the fat, spicy sausage into the bags must have looked like fun to a four-year-old.<br />
<br />
“Let’s wash your hands.” Bill took Jann to the sink, lifted her up to get her grubby hands wet under the faucet. Holding out a bar of Ivory soap, she ordered, “Scratch the soap.” Taking an ice pick from a nearby drawer, she carefully cleaned Jann’s fingernails, scrubbed and rinsed her hands, examining as she dried them.<br />
<br />
Jann hardly began to stuff the sausage when Pop took the sack away from her. It was the last one, and he was impatient to be done with the task. “You’re not stuffing it tight enough.” That was her dismissal. He was from the “children should be seen and not heard” generation.<br />
<br />
On days when there was no school, Joe Mike and Jann sometimes walked to the playground at his school. She sat on the thick wooden seat of a swing. He stood above her, his feet on either side of her legs, and pumped the swing to get it started.<br />
<br />
When they were going high enough for Jann to see over the top of the pipe from which the swing hung, Joe would yell, “We’re going to go over the top. Hang on tight.”<br />
<br />
She giggled, excited and terrified. At the apogee of their arc, the thick steel chain would slacken, then jerk back tight as they started down. The feeling of weightlessness was thrilling. They were never able to go over the top, though.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-69403166545167968202011-12-01T15:18:00.000-08:002011-12-01T15:18:58.589-08:00Chapter 12 Grievous Loss<span lang="EN"> <br />
On a sunny Sunday in April, 1936, Bill invited her brother Ennis and his family to dinner. Ennis, Jewell, Doyle and Dorothy Sue arrived at 12:30, after attending church in Friona. Bill greeted them at the door.<br />
<br />
“Come in. You have perfect timing. I’m just ready to put the food on the table.”<br />
<br />
She hugged and kissed each one.<br />
<br />
Joe came in behind them with Joe Mike. “This boy is getting the hang of his tricycle. He rode all the way to the corner and back.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike looked pleased with himself. Dorothy Sue picked him up for a hug and kiss, then passed him to her mother. Jewell gave him a big kiss. “Where is your baby brother?” He pointed toward the back of the house.<br />
<br />
Bill spoke up. “He’s asleep in the bedroom. Go ahead and take a peek while I get our dinner on.”<br />
<br />
Joe brought extra chairs while Bill put a bowl of steaming beans with ham hock and a basket of cornbread wrapped in a napkin on the table with the bowl of coleslaw she had placed there earlier.<br />
<br />
Ennis came from the bedroom. “Bill, there’s something wrong with your baby.”<br />
<br />
She hurried to the crib. Jewell and her children were standing there, staring at the baby. Jewell ushered Dorothy Sue and Doyle out of the room, then came back and stood with her arm around Bill, who was bending over the crib in panic. Little Pat’s head was jerking to the left and back to the center. His eyes were staring, unseeing. His left leg and arm were moving in rhythmic spasms.<br />
<br />
At her sister-in-law’s touch, Bill straightened and yelled, “Joe, call Dr. Johnson.” She picked up the baby, rocking him in her arms, but when the convulsive movements didn’t stop, she put him back in the crib, not knowing what to do. She sat on her bed, next to the crib, patting his tummy and crying, “Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.”<br />
<br />
Joe came in, “Dr. Johnson is on his way.” He leaned over the crib, his face crumpling. “It’s like Homer Joe, Honey.”<br />
<br />
Bill looked up. Joe’s nephew came to her mind with horror. He was afflicted with epilepsy. His seizures, which were mild, weren’t well controlled by the phenobarbitol he took. The medicine sedated him and he was behind in school. She looked back at her darling baby and his continuing spasms. “He has been so well, Joe.” She heard the puzzled denial in her own voice. This couldn’t be happening.<br />
<br />
Dr. Johnson entered the room, carrying his black bag. <br />
<br />
“Thank you for coming, Doctor.” Joe shook his hand.<br />
<br />
Looking grave, the doctor put his hand on the baby’s forehead, then took out a thermometer, put it under the baby’s left arm, and held it.<br />
<br />
While they waited for the temperature to register, Bill went out to talk to Ennis and Jewell, who sat in the living room playing “I spy” with the children. Dorothy Sue, with Joe Mike on her lap, whispered guesses to him and he tried to repeat them. Jewell had put the beans and cornbread back in the warm oven.<br />
<br />
“Why don’t y’all go ahead and eat?” Bill took a white handkerchief embroidered with red roses from the pocket of her housedress and wiped her eyes.<br />
<br />
Her brother and sister-in-law rose and embraced her. “All right, Honey, but you and Joe better eat, too.”<br />
<br />
“I can’t. You go ahead.” Bill turned and walked back into the bedroom.<br />
<br />
The doctor was reading the thermometer. “A slight fever. Ninety-nine point eight. There’s nothing I can do here. I want you to take him to the Santa Fe Hospital in Clovis.”<br />
<br />
Joe rushed out the back door to start the car.<br />
<br />
Bill changed the baby’s diaper and wrapped him, still convulsing, in a small, light blanket, grabbed a sweater for herself and her purse.<br />
As she walked out, Jewell, holding Joe Mike, opened the door for her. “This little boy wants to go home with us, right Mike?”<br />
<br />
The two-year-old looked confused, torn between being upset and excited. His mother was crying and his daddy was starting the car without even telling him goodbye. Still, he reveled in the loving attention of his Aunt Jewell and her family.<br />
<br />
“Thank you, Jewell.” Bill bent to kiss Joe Mike in Jewell’s arms. “Be a good boy, Mike. Bye-bye.” She straightened to look at Ennis and Jewell. “We’ll call you when we know anything. Should I pack a bag for Joe Mike?”<br />
<br />
“We can find what he’ll need. Don’t worry, Bill. You go on.” Ennis’s quiet, kind voice brought fresh tears to Bill’s eyes.<br />
<br />
She hurried to the car. Joe had the passenger door open, and hardly gave her time to get in before pulling out from the curb, tires squealing.<br />
<br />
Thankful that Clovis was only ten miles away, Bill and Joe were disappointed when the emergency room doctor examined the baby and shook his head. “You need to take him to Dr. Overton in Lubbock. He’s the best baby specialist in this part of the country. I frankly don‘t know what to do for your baby.”<br />
<br />
By the time Bill had Pat bundled up again and walked out of the hospital, Joe had their new Hudson Terraplane waiting at the door. He floor-boarded the accelerator as soon as they got on the highway and kept it there all the way to Lubbock. It was seventy flat, straight miles. Joe fretted at the time they’d spent driving west to Clovis when they should’ve driven directly southeast to Lubbock.<br />
<br />
“It can’t be helped, Honey.” Bill finally let the prayer she’d been repeating silently escape her lips. “Oh, God, please let our baby stop this and be all right.” Little Patrick, still convulsing, his unseeing eyes bulging, was pale and exhausted.<br />
<br />
When they arrived on the outskirts of Lubbock, Joe handed Bill a piece of paper on which the doctor in Clovis had written the address of the West Texas Sanitarium, Dr. Overton’s hospital. “The doctor said he would call the hospital so Dr. Overton would be waiting for us.”<br />
<br />
The rational grid of Lubbock’s streets made it easy to find the hospital. To their great relief, Dr. Overton was indeed waiting. A kind-looking man in his fifties, he took the baby from Bill and gently laid him on a table to examine him. When he realized the baby had been convulsing for more than two hours, he said, “The first thing we have to do is stop this seizure. I’m going to give him a shot that will do that.” He wrote something on a pad and gave it to a nurse. She left, presumably to prepare the medicine for the shot.<br />
<br />
Bill stepped close to the examination table to pin the baby‘s diaper, but Dr. Overton stopped her. “Leave it off. The shot will go in his hip. I must warn you that what we’re giving him is derived from spider venom. It will stop the convulsions, but will cause an abscess. He’ll need to stay in the hospital for treatment for that.”<br />
<br />
Bill couldn’t stand to leave the baby on the hard examination table. She picked him up and held him close, as she had for the last two hours, swaying from side to side.<br />
<br />
Dr. Overton continued. “We have to figure out what caused the seizure. You said there is some epilepsy in the family, but this could be meningitis, which is contagious, so I’m going to quarantine your baby away from the rest of our patients until we find out. Can you stay with him?”<br />
<br />
“Of course.” Bill wouldn’t think of leaving Patrick. “He’s still nursing.”<br />
<br />
“I need to get back to my business, Doctor.” Joe looked regretful. “But I can come back anytime I’m needed.”<br />
<br />
“The fewer people who come in contact with the baby the better until we can eliminate the possibility of contagion.” Dr. Overton turned to Bill. “We’ll move you and the baby into a room in the basement. No visitors until we get the test results from the lab.”<br />
<br />
When the nurse came in with a large hypodermic syringe on an enamel tray, Dr. Overton said, “Mrs. Isbell will take care of the shot. I’ll go arrange for your room.” Bill didn’t realize how comforting his presence was until he left.<br />
<br />
Bill started to put the baby down, but the nurse motioned her not to. “Just hold him on your shoulder, Dear.” She bared his little butt, wiped it with cotton soaked in alcohol and plunged the syringe into his left hip. It took awhile to inject the fluid. She withdrew the needle, wiped the area again. “Now you can pin his diaper and we’ll get you settled.”<br />
<br />
When the baby was dressed again, Joe said, “Let me carry him, Honey. Sounds like I won’t get to see you and him for awhile.”<br />
<br />
The couple followed the nurse to the end of the hallway and down the stairs to the basement. An orderly was putting a hand-lettered sign on the door: “NO VISITORS.” In the room was a cot made up for Bill, and crib for Patrick and a rocking chair. There was a lavatory in the corner, and a covered enamel pot.<br />
<br />
The nurse looked apologetic. “I’m sorry there’s not a bathroom, but this will have to do until we find out whether the baby has something contagious.” She gave Bill a hospital gown to sleep in and some extra linens and blankets for the crib. “This telephone connects to the hospital switchboard. Call if you need anything.” She turned and walked out, her steps echoing down the long hallway.<br />
<br />
Joe sat in the rocker with the baby in his arms. “I think the shot is working, Honey. The spasms are slowing down.”<br />
<br />
Finally the convulsive movements stopped, the baby’s eyes closed and he slept. Bill continued to worry, wishing he’d wake up and nurse. She went to the lavatory and expressed some milk into the sink to relieve her engorged breasts.<br />
<br />
There was a knock on the door at 5:00. When Bill opened the door, an orderly was standing in the middle of the hall. There was a cart with two dinner trays on it closer to the door. “When you’re through eating, just leave the trays on the cart.” The man took a step back as he spoke.<br />
<br />
“Thank you. I didn’t realize I was hungry, but this looks good.”<br />
<br />
The couple enjoyed the meal, ironically the same menu Bill had prepared at home that morning. It seemed like years ago.<br />
<br />
Joe looked regretful when he decided to go home at 7:00 that evening. They’d been in Lubbock for four hours. “I’ll stop by Ennis’s house and let them know the situation, and check on Mike. I hate to leave you here, Honey, but I’ll come back tomorrow evening.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry about me, Joe. I’m just so glad the convulsions have stopped. Be careful. Bring us some clean clothes when you come. Call Mama and Dad tomorrow and let them know we’re here.”<br />
<br />
They stood by the crib, looking at their pale son, sleeping peacefully. Turning to Joe, Bill held him for a long embrace, unable to express her deep fear, even to herself. After Joe left, she lay on the cot, praying. “Please let my baby be all right,” over and over until she fell asleep. <br />
<br />
When she awoke, she had no idea how long she’d slept. Her chest was soaked with milk. She took off her clothes, rinsed them out in the lavatory and put on the hospital gown. She hung her wet clothes on the metal ends of the cot, hoping they’d dry before anyone came in.<br />
<br />
She picked up the baby. He didn’t awaken, but latched on to the nipple she offered him and nursed hungrily. Never had she felt so grateful. Surely he’d be all right. He looked perfectly healthy. After she changed his diaper and lay him back in the crib, she was able to sleep for the rest of the night.<br />
<br />
The next morning, sunlight shone through the high basement window. Bill heard a noise from the crib and got up quickly to check on Patrick. He was cooing and smiled broadly when he caught sight of her. “Oh, there are two suns shining this morning, my darling boy.” She picked him up and danced around the room. “Oh, thank you Heavenly Father, for answering my prayer. This baby is obviously not sick.”<br />
<br />
When Dr. Overton made his round, he agreed with her that the baby didn’t have an infectious disease.<br />
<br />
“Can we go home when my husband comes?”<br />
<br />
“No. I’m sorry, but you’ll be here for awhile because of the shot we gave the baby. We had to use it to save his life. Patrick is going to have a very bad sore on the site of the injection, and we’ll need to watch it for at least ten days. We’ll move you to a room upstairs today where you’ll be more comfortable, but this isn’t going to be an easy experience, Little Mother. Again, I’m sorry.”<br />
<br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Bill and Patrick were in Lubbock for ten days. The fifth day, Joe brought Joe Mike to see them and to go home with Mama and Dad, who were visiting every other day. Bill wondered what her two-and-a-half year old son must think. She was deliriously happy to see him, but he seemed almost indifferent to her, lowering his eyes and turning away as she rushed to kneel beside him. <br />
<br />
“Oh, Mike, now you can come to see us with Grandmother and Granddaddy. We’ll go home soon, and you can play with baby Pat again.” As she picked him up and kissed him, he patted her cheek with a solemn smile. She bent to let him kiss Patrick, who sat on Grandmother’s lap. <br />
<br />
“Baby Pat sick?” Joe put his hand on his brother’s face.<br />
<br />
“Yes, he was sick, but now he’s better. We’ll all go home together soon.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * * </div><br />
<div align="CENTER"></div><br />
The flesh on the baby’s hip turned red, blistered, then turned black, and sloughed off until the wound was a deep hole. The hospital staff taught Bill how to dress it to prevent infection, a horrific experience. She swabbed the site with merthiolate, which burned the raw tissue like fire. The baby screamed with pain and Bill cried. She gritted her teeth as she finished dressing the deep wound, then picked him up and wept with him as he quieted.<br />
<br />
A few days after they came home from the hospital, Joe came from work in the middle of the morning, looking very dejected, a letter in his hand. “Honey, I hate to tell you this.” His hazel eyes filled with tears as Bill rushed to embrace him, feeling frightened.<br />
<br />
“What’s the matter, Joe?” Even on the awful day they raced to the hospital with their sick baby, her husband hadn’t looked so somber. His strength had given her courage. Now he looked totally beaten.<br />
<br />
“Phillips Petroleum has cut off my credit. I have to close the business.” Joe slumped into the nearest dining chair. Dropping the letter on the table, he put his face in his hands.<br />
<br />
Bill stood by helplessly, trying to comprehend what this meant. She’d never handled money and had no experience with financial matters. She sat next to him and rubbed his back. “What will we do, Joe?”<br />
<br />
Her husband let out a deep sigh, squared his shoulders and sat up straight. “There’s an oil boom in Odessa. Phillips says I can get a job with their wholesale dealer there, driving a truck. If we can’t sell the house, we’ll have to let it go. The car, too.”<br />
<br />
Bill gasped. She picked up the letter, but couldn’t read the words through tears. “Odessa? The house? The car? Oh, Honey, you love the Terraplane so much.” Her voice seemed to come from someone else. It occurred to her that the car was a strange thing to focus on, considering the big picture.<br />
<br />
Joe put his hand over hers on the table. “Well, I won’t give it up until after I go check on the job. I’ll go to Odessa and see what it’s like. and find us a place to live.” He laughed bitterly, “It’ll be nice to have oil field people to deal with instead of broke farmers.” <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Within two weeks, Joe, Bill and their two boys vacated their beloved little house, left the Terraplane with the Hudson dealer in Clovis, and used the truck that Joe would be driving for the T. E. May Oil Co., to move to Odessa. <br />
<br />
Joe’s new employer had been a fireman before starting his business, and was called Chief. He and his wife, Cora were kind, inviting Joe and Bill to stay with them for a few days until they could find a place of their own. The oil boom had caused a housing shortage, and they felt lucky to find a rental house with three rooms. Their furniture almost filled the rooms, leaving narrow aisles for moving about.<br />
<br />
Bill and Cora May became friends. Chief and Cora were older than Joe and Bill, but had no children. They doted on Joe Mike and Patrick. Bill didn’t know what she would’ve done without Cora’s friendship. The sudden change in their prospects for the future, on top of the baby’s illness, had left her shaken to the core.<br />
<br />
Cora watched the boys one Saturday night while Bill and Joe went to a night club with Jack and Judy Morris. Joe delivered gasoline to the Phillips 66 station that Jack managed. Joe, as usual, drank more and laughed more than anyone else at the table. Bill felt uneasy in the rowdy atmosphere of the nightclub. Pleading a headache, she asked Joe if they could go home at 9:30. He was having a great time, entertaining his new acquaintances with stories Bill had heard before. She put her head in her hands, hardly able to keep from crying. <br />
<br />
Judy Morris noticed Bill’s discomfort. “Would you like me to take you home, Honey? These boys are just getting started, and you look like you feel bad.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, thank you, Judy.” Bill felt profoundly grateful to her new friend. “If you don’t mind, could we pick up my boys from Cora May’s house.”<br />
<br />
“That’s not a problem at all.” Judy exhaled a big cloud of smoke from her Chesterfield cigarette. She turned to her husband. “Jack, I’m taking Bill home. “I don’t want you to be stinkin’ drunk when I get back. We’ve only had one dance.”<br />
<br />
Bill found that Judy, like many people in Odessa, was rougher than anyone she’d ever met, but would go out of her way to be helpful.<br />
<br />
The next morning, Sunday, June 28, 1936, as Bill was getting Patrick dressed, he went into a seizure, more severe than before. Every muscle was in spasms. She screamed for Joe.<br />
<br />
He came running, took one look and said, “I’ll take Joe Mike to Chief and Cora’s. Be ready to go to Lubbock when I get back. We’re not going to waste time with local doctors this time.”<br />
<br />
Bill tied a change of clothing for Joe Mike into a bundle and gave it to Joe, then picked up the bewildered toddler, who was crying. “Oh, Mike. We have to leave you with Cora, but we’ll be back soon. You be a good boy.” She found she was crying too.<br />
<br />
By the time Joe got back, Bill had packed clothes for her and the baby. She handed the suitcase to Joe, “Let’s go. It was a hot day, but the baby was clammy. She wrapped him in a light blanket and hurried to the three-year-old Ford Joe had bought to replace the Terraplane.<br />
<br />
They headed toward Lubbock, 90 miles north of Odessa. When they were just past Seminole, with fifty miles to go, the baby’s spasms stopped. He was lying on Bill’s lap on his side. She put him in that position so she could wipe off the excess saliva that ran from his mouth and he wouldn’t choke on it. When he suddenly became still, she felt profound relief and put him on her shoulder, patting his back. <br />
<br />
“Daddy, he’s better. Oh, sweet baby.” She lowered him into her arms then, and looked at his face. It was colorless. He was perfectly still. Bill gently shook him and patted his face, put her ear on his chest. Nothing.”<br />
<br />
“O, Joe, Honey. I think he’s gone. He’s gone.”<br />
<br />
Joe pulled the car over, turned off the engine. He took Patrick from her, listened for a heartbeat, heard nothing, buried his face in the little belly and howled like an animal.<br />
<br />
As they held each other, sobbing, the baby’s still body between them, Bill noticed the smell of hot oil. She wondered if the car would have made it all the way to Lubbock with Joe floor boarding it.<br />
<br />
“What shall we do now? There’s nothing we can do for our precious little boy. Where shall we go?” Joe looked totally bewildered.<br />
<br />
“I want to go home, to Mama and Dad’s. They’ll know what to do. But first let’s go back and get Joe Mike.”<br />
<br />
Bill held Patrick all the way. In Odessa, Cora came to the car and tried to get her to come in and eat something. She continued to hold him as they drove through Lubbock and on northeast to Floydada. Finally, 5 hours after his last breath, when her dad insisted on taking him from her, she gave up her baby’s lifeless body with an anguished wail.<br />
<br />
Mama kept Joe Mike while Dad took Bill and Joe to the funeral home to make arrangements. Mama and Dad had cemetery lots for themselves beside their daughter Felicia’s. Felicia’s husband was remarried and no longer wished to be buried there. Dad arranged to use the extra plot for Patrick.<br />
<br />
The funeral was at the Cummings’ home. Pop Hale and Joe’s sister, Nit and his niece, Eula Mae, came. Bill’s siblings, Ina Rae, Elma, Aileene and Ennis were there with their families.<br />
<br />
Brother Morgan, from Mama and Dad’s church said the eulogy, reading from Ecclesiastes: <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">“Dust thou Art, and to dust thou shalt return. </div><br />
<div align="CENTER">The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.</div><br />
<div align="CENTER">Blessed be the name of the Lord.”</div><br />
When she and Joe returned to Odessa, Bill knew that she was not the same person she‘d been. She held Joe Mike on her lap, sang songs to him and played pat-a-cake, but she did it with a seriousness she’d never before felt.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-78457970542415050412011-11-09T13:44:00.000-08:002011-11-09T13:44:44.876-08:00Chapter 11 Another Son<span lang="EN">In February a letter arrived from Mama and Dad inviting Bill, Joe and Joe Mike to go with them and Ina Rae to Galveston to visit Clyde‘s family. <br />
<br />
“Oh, Joe, can we go? It’s such a cold, windy winter. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go to the beach and see the Gulf of Mexico?” Her voice took on a desperate edge.<br />
<br />
“I’d like to go, Honey, but I just can’t get away. I haven’t collected enough money to pay for my supplies this month. Farmers around here want gasoline, but don’t have money to pay for what they’ve already charged. I have to drive out to visit all of them. I just hope they can pay something before the first of the month.”<br />
<br />
Bill was very disappointed. When Joe suggested, “You and the baby can go. I don’t mind batching for a while,” she decided to take him up on it. She immediately wrote to tell Mama and Dad that she and Joe Mike would go with them.<br />
<br />
It was a memorable trip. She and Joe Mike went by bus to Floydada. Ina Rae met them at the station. “I’m so happy that you’re going with us, Bill. It’ll be like old times, Bill and Shorty on an adventure.” Holding her hands out to the baby, she added, “And you, Joe Mike. A handsome little man to go with us.”<br />
<br />
Ina Rae held Joe Mike while Bill loaded their suitcase into Dad’s four-door Plymouth sedan. “It’s nice to have a big car to go in. Are we really going to drive all the way in one day?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Dad’s planning to get us up at 4:00 in the morning to get started. It’s almost 700 miles, but won’t it be fun?” Ina Rae lapsed into baby talk as she tried to get a laugh from Joe Mike. She put her face into the soft folds of his neck and blew. It worked. He giggled, lowering his chin in defense.<br />
<br />
Bill sat in the front passenger seat of the sedan and took Joe Mike onto her lap. She sighed deeply. “It will be fun. Being home with you and Mama and Dad is wonderful. I feel like I’m shirking my responsibility as a wife.” Sighing again, she felt her wifely duties fall away as she sank into the comfort of the big car. “Feels wonderful.” The sisters laughed.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
The sun came up as the Plymouth headed south, then east across the huge vistas of west Texas. Willie Mae and Ina Rae took turns driving when their dad got tired. Joe Mike seemed to enjoy being passed among the doting adults and napping on the wide back seat. They stopped for a picnic of ham sandwiches at a park in Weatherford.<br />
<br />
When they passed through Ft. Worth, Dad said, “This is where east Texas begins. Wish we had time for me to see all our kin folks around Greenville, but since it‘s out of the way, that’ll have to wait until another time, .”<br />
<br />
They turned south at Dallas. As the terrain became hillier and more wooded, Bill got the uneasy, closed-in feeling she’d noticed in the mountains of New Mexico.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
“Houston is huge.” Mama could hardly believe how long they drove in the city. They stopped at a roadside diner for supper. Dad bought a newspaper to peruse as they waited for their food. <br />
<br />
“Listen to this.” Dad cleared his throat. “Amelia Earhart flew from Honolulu, Hawaii, to San Francisco, California. in 17 hours, 11 minutes.” He took out his pocket watch and studied it. “That’s about how long it’s taking us to drive to Galveston, but I’m happy to stay on the ground, thank you very much.”<br />
<br />
They drove the last 50 miles in exhausted silence. Bill was glad her dad was driving as they crossed the long causeway to the island. It seemed narrow, and the lights glinting off the vast stretch of water below made her shiver. She was relieved and happy to arrive at her brother Clyde’s house.<br />
<br />
Clyde, a slimmer, darker version of his father, ushered them in, kissing each one as they entered. “Come into the kitchen for some hot chocolate.”<br />
<br />
Mary Belle set cups on the table. “Welcome. We’re glad you made it. Just leave your baggage in the hallway for now. Mama and Dad Cummings and Bill will sleep in the single beds in the girls’ room. Shorty can sleep on the sofa bed with Katherine. Denise and Clydelle have pallets on the floor. Shall Joe Mike sleep with them, Bill?”<br />
<br />
“He can sleep with me. If it’s all right, I’ll go ahead and put him down. He was asleep in the car and is very tired and cranky since we woke him.”<br />
<br />
Clyde showed her the way to the girls‘ room with its three single beds. She took the baby’s coat and shoes off, pushed the bed close to the wall and lay beside him, patting him gently until he went back to sleep. Wishing she could stay with him, she joined the conversation in the kitchen.<br />
<br />
The next day, they all went to the beach. Bill ventured into the surf with Joe Mike in her arms. When a wave hit her, she retreated, shaken. “I just wanted to wade,” she laughed, drying off her crying toddler. I don’t like moving water. I think I’ll just stay with Mama and Dad under the umbrella.”<br />
<br />
“Watch the baby carefully.” Clyde wrinkled his nose. “There’s lots of disgusting garbage on the beach.”<br />
<br />
Clyde’s three girls doted on Joe Mike, competed to carry him and helped him make sand castles. They loved playing in the shallow surf, and took the baby with them, under their Aunt Shorty’s watchful eye. He came to love the water, chasing the retreating waves, running from the advancing ones. Bill loved watching his happy play.<br />
<br />
The next day after church they drove to the Houston zoo, all six adults and four children crowded into the big car. When they passed a black family walking down the sidewalk, Joe Mike pointed and babbled. He’d never seen people with black skin.<br />
<br />
Dad was scandalized. “That shouldn’t be allowed,” he raved, his face turning red. His voice shook with outrage. “N_____s should walk on the street, not on the sidewalk with white people.”<br />
<br />
No one dared to argue with him. Bill was glad Clyde was driving as Dad gestured wildly, chopping the air with both hands. She felt shocked and couldn’t see why it was a problem. People walking on the busy street would be a bigger problem.<br />
<br />
Clyde spoke up. “It’s a different world here, Dad. In the homes on our block, six languages are spoken.”<br />
<br />
Dad kept grumbling. Mama finally said quietly, “That’s enough, Sid. The girls don’t need to hear their granddad having a fit.”<br />
<br />
Dad took a deep breath and said no more.<br />
<br />
Bill felt as if she’d traveled to a foreign land. The people in Galveston didn’t talk like Texans. They sounded like the New Yorkers she heard on the radio. She was very glad she’d come, but was ready when the day came to leave for home.<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Joe was at the bus station to meet them when Bill and Joe Mike arrived in Farwell. He smiled broadly, hugged and kissed Bill, then lifted Joe Mike high over his head. “I missed you, Hossfly.” Joe Mike laughed and reached down to touch his daddy’s nose. When Joe lowered him to face level, the baby gave him a wet kiss.<br />
<br />
“It’s good to be home, Honey. The best part of the trip.” Bill hugged her husband’s arm as they walked to the car.<br />
<br />
In the spring of 1935, Bill realized that she was again pregnant. When she consulted Dr. Johnson, he said, “You really need to control your food intake. With the weight you’ve gained since Joe Mike was born, you shouldn’t gain any with this pregnancy.”<br />
<br />
“I’ll try to cut down, Doctor. We have a lot of company and I love to cook.” She blushed. “And eat. Still, I’ll try.”<br />
<br />
Six months later, on November 3, 1935, Bill rearranged the furniture in the bedroom to make space for the baby crib. As she finished, a fierce pain caused her to crumple on the bed. After it eased, she called Dr. Johnson. He and his wife arrived within a few minutes.<br />
<br />
He examined Bill, then turned to his wife who was struggling to open his bag. “Oh, my. This is going quickly. Hurry, Margaret. Bring me my bag. Hurry!”<br />
<br />
Within minutes and with just a few contractions, a nine pound boy was born. Mrs. Johnson cleaned him and brought him to Bill. “Isn’t he fine. Tall, and look at those broad shoulders. You did very well, my dear.”<br />
<br />
Joe came in from the front room, carrying Joe Mike. “Look, Son. This is your little brother. His name is Patrick. Can you say Pat?”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike, 25-months-old, looked at the baby with wide eyes. ”Paa?”<br />
<br />
“That’s right. Pat.” Joe knelt by the bed and kissed Bill’s forehead. “How are you doing, Mom?”<br />
<br />
“Tired. Happy.” She tilted her face to return his kiss. “Two boys. Mike and Pat. Everyone’s going to tell Irish jokes, you know.”<br />
<br />
“That’s all right.” Joe kissed the red-faced infant, sleeping peacefully on his mother’s breast. “These boys will be fine with Irish jokes.”</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-51188419545855527532011-10-27T16:40:00.000-07:002011-10-27T16:43:58.446-07:00Chapter 10: Hard Times/Happy Times<span lang="EN">Two months later, dark days literally overwhelmed the North American continent. Three years of drought had turned the top soil to dust all over the Great Plains. On May 9, 1934, high winds built into a giant storm. The wind caused static electricity between the earth and the dust, which rose 10,000 feet into the air and blotted out the sun from horizon to horizon. That night, twelve million pounds of soil landed on Chicago. Two days later, darkness enveloped New York, then covered New England before moving out to the Atlantic, where ships found a quarter-inch of soil on their decks the next morning.<br />
<br />
People around Farwell, Texas, on the edge of the great storm, were used to dust storms and high winds, but when Joe arrived home the night it started, his voice trembled as he told of his difficult day trying to deliver gasoline.<br />
<br />
“I couldn’t even see if I was on the road. I got out of the car to check for the turnoff into the Carpenter place, and almost lost my footing. It seemed like I might be blown away.” He sat at the dining table, wiping his red eyes with a wash cloth.<br />
<br />
Bill brought eye wash, poured some into a small cup shaped to fit over the eye. She held it for Joe as he tilted his head back and blinked as the soothing liquid loosened the sand, first in one eye, then the other. She clucked sympathetically. “Were you able to make the delivery?” <br />
<br />
“No.” He chuckled. “Mr. Carpenter is a skinny little man. He tied a rope around his waist and secured it to a post on his porch before he came out to talk to me. Neither of us wanted to be pumping fuel in that wind. So no sales today, Honey.” <br />
<br />
Though they had very little money, Bill enjoyed her life as a housewife and mother. Joe Mike was such a sweet baby. She felt inspired to write “A Mother’s Poem.” <br />
<i></i><br />
<i> What do I really want him to be?<br />
This beautiful baby God gave to me?<br />
Will he be kind, good and pure<br />
With a strong healthy body and mind secure?<br />
Will he one day smile as he looks at me?<br />
“Mom, I’m exactly as you taught me to be.<br />
You’re my pattern. I’ve looked at you<br />
And followed your example my whole life through.”<br />
<br />
</i></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><i><div align="CENTER">* * *</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></i><div style="text-align: left;">Pop Hale, Joe’s dad, sold the last of his horses. He grew bored and decided to visit his children in the Texas panhandle. After he spent a few days with Dee’s family in Levelland, he went to see Eula Mae, Tiny and their son Tim in Friona. Bill was happy when it was his turn to visit her family. She enjoyed conversing with him while Joe was at work.</div><br />
One morning Pop sat at the dining table with Joe Mike on his lap, the newspaper spread on the table, reading interesting bits to Bill as she worked in the kitchen. “Can you believe that the Dionne quintuplets are six months old? Looks like they’re going to make it. They all weighed less than three pounds when they were born.” His awe-filled voice faltered.<br />
<br />
Bill looked up, surprised to see his white moustache trembling and tears in his eyes. She thought of the day that she and Joe walked to the family cemetery on Pop’s farm. Four of the eight gravestones were tiny. Two were for unnamed infant daughters who died the day they were born, one in 1900 and one in 1904. One was for Ila, six days old and another for Jesse Hubert, three years old. They both died the same week, in November of 1902. In that context, the survival of the quintuplets indeed seemed like a miracle. Bill went and patted Pop awkwardly on the shoulder, her eyes welling with tears. She loved this tender-hearted man. <br />
<br />
During his visit, Bill’s brother Clyde, his wife Mary Belle and their three daughters came from Lockney to visit Ennis and Jewell in Friona. Bill invited her two brothers and their families to come to Farwell on Saturday to have dinner with her and Joe and then go to a dance in town. “Pop is here. He can watch the kids while we‘re gone.”<br />
<br />
On Saturday, they enjoyed Bill’s meatloaf with mashed potatoes, gravy, biscuits and home-canned green beans. Dessert was chocolate cake. Bill, Jewell and Mary Belle hurried to clean the kitchen while the men talked in the living room and the children played outside.<br />
<br />
The women went into the bedroom to get ready for the dance. Mary Belle laughed as she showed her sisters-in-law her new orange party dress with butterfly sleeves. Bill admired Mary Belle’s petite good looks. “I can’t wear orange or yellow, but it looks wonderful on you, with your dark hair. So cheerful.”<br />
<br />
While Bill sat nursing Joe Mike, Jewell stood behind her, arranging Bill’s blonde hair into finger waves. “Thank you, Jewell. I’m so glad you all could come. Having family here makes me happy.” She stood and put Joe Mike in the crib and put on her dress of pink rayon with a darker rose sash. She complimented Jewell’s lavender outfit as they stood side-by-side at the mirror, putting on makeup. Ready for fun, they walked out to join their husbands.<br />
<br />
Ennis was telling Joe and Clyde the result of the giant storm on his farm. “The dirt stacked up against my fence and the cow was able to walked right over it. Luckily, she took shelter against the wall of the house instead of going the other way.” He laughed. “Our roof sagged from the dirt piled on top of the house. Jewell and I swept it into buckets and weighed it on the cotton scales. It was almost a ton.”<br />
<br />
Bill’s brother Clyde spoke up. “I have the chance to transfer to the post office on Galveston Island, and I’ve decided to take it. It will be nice to be away from the prairie wind.”<br />
<br />
“Can we come to see you?” Bill felt truly excited at the prospect of going to a beach.<br />
<br />
“Sure,” Mary Belle spoke up. We hope everyone will come.”<br />
<br />
“Just not all at once.” Clyde said, in his serious way.<br />
<br />
When it was time to leave for the dance, Jewell and Mary Belle urged their children to behave for Pop Hale and the three young couples drove to the lodge hall in Clyde’s new Chevrolet.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t until many years later that Bill learned what happened that night from her nieces, Denise and Clydelle.<br />
<br />
The children played outside until dark. Pop called them in, made them a snack of popcorn and told them to go to bed on the quilt pallets Bill left in the living room. Since they would return to Friona when their parents got home, they merely removed their shoes and lay down in the clothes they were wearing. Pop went to bed in the basement about 9:30.<br />
<br />
When all was quiet, Katherine, who was eleven and the oldest of the children, whispered, “Denise, are you awake?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Are you, Doyle?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Why?”<br />
<br />
“It’s not far to town. I have a quarter.” Katherine’s voice shook with excitement. “Let’s walk to town and get some candy.”<br />
<br />
The five children jumped up, ready for action. They walked eastward, across the railroad tracks to downtown. They found a corner grocer open and lingered over the glass jars of penny candy. Each child chose a lollipop. Katherine generously bought lemon drops, licorice and peppermint in bags for their walk back home.<br />
<br />
“Let’s walk around the block and go back on the next street.” Katherine led the adventurers until they came to the steps of the lodge hall where their parents danced. They sat there for awhile, listening to the strains of “Blue Moon,” which drifted out the open doors.<br />
<br />
“We better get back,” Katherine decided. They made their way back to the street leading to Aunt Bill’s house. Denise, nine, and Dorothy Sue, seven, walked ahead of the other children. As they crossed the railroad tracks, a train whistle shrieked ominously nearby, startling them into a run. Denise yelled over her shoulder, “Hurry, Clydelle. There’s a train coming.” <br />
<br />
Clydelle, only five, struggled to get across the rows of raised steel tracks, almost knee-high to her short legs. As she got to the last track, Denise grabbed her hands and pulled her across, terrified that their sister Katherine was still on the tracks. The ground shook under their feet as the train rumbled nearer. Katherine and Doyle, ten, were walking together. Katherine ran ahead to join the other girls, then turned to see Doyle standing on the tracks as the train approached, its whistle deafening.<br />
<br />
“Run, Doyle!” The girls screamed in unison. He seemed mesmerized by the train’s bright light. Finally, at what seemed like the last possible moment, he ran toward them as the train whooshed by close to his heels, making a wind that added to his momentum. He almost fell, but regained his footing and joined the terrified girls. He tried to look nonchalant, but his face was white. The children were silent for the rest of the walk home, collapsing onto their pallets, exhausted. When their parents arrived, they were sleeping like angels.<br />
<br />
The next day, as Clyde’s family drove home to Lockney, the daughters confessed the train story. Mary Belle turned pale and looked like she might faint. It was the last time she and her husband ever went to a dance. <br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Bill cried when Joe Mike’s first birthday came. “That year went so quickly,” she lamented to Joe at breakfast. She made a white layered birthday cake topped with a single candle on fluffy chocolate icing. As she put it on the table, Joe walked in with a big box. Joe Mike, who had taken a few steps on his own the week before, dropped from standing beside the couch and crawled swiftly across the floor to greet his daddy. <br />
<br />
In the box was a simple rocking horse, a board mounted on a curved base close to the ground with a perky painted horse’s head mounted on one end and a tail on the other. Joe Mike squealed with delight when his daddy put him on it.<br />
<br />
“Look, he already knows how to ride.” Joe laughed.<br />
<br />
Bill couldn’t have been happier, looking at her laughing son and his proud dad.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Christmas, 1934, was as grand as a celebration could be in such hard times. On their way home from the Cummings’ Thanksgiving gathering, Bill and Joe stopped at The Breaks, where the edge of the cap rock descended, and cut a small cedar tree for the holidays. Bill used part of the Christmas money she received from her parents to buy a tinsel star for the top of the tree and tinsel icicles to hang on the branches. She popped and strung popcorn to complete the decorations. She and Joe had a wonderful time at Woolworth’s buying a teddy bear, a wind-up car and wooden alphabet blocks for Joe Mike. Joe gave her “Evening in Paris” cologne and talcum powder in a fancy box. She gave him “Old Spice” after-shave lotion and a jacket.<br />
<br />
Life was good. The little family was content.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-54615313850763986492011-09-28T11:30:00.000-07:002011-09-28T11:30:07.574-07:00Chapter 9 - Firstborn Son<span lang="EN">In March, a few days before Franklin Roosevelt became president, Joe came home waving a letter from Phillips Oil Company headquarters in Bartlesville, Oklahoma. “They want me to be their wholesale agent in Farwell, Texas. Finally, a real job, Honey!” Patting Bill’s abdomen, he added, “Now we can afford to have this little fellow.” <br />
Blushing, Bill put her hand over his and patted along with him.<br />
<br />
With a loan from Pop they moved to Farwell, on the New Mexico border. They rented an apartment in an older couple’s house and scraped together enough furniture for a start there.<br />
<br />
Joe’s business consisted mostly of selling gasoline and oil to farmers. He made deliveries by pulling a trailer loaded with barrels behind his car.<br />
<br />
On the Fourth of July weekend, Joe closed the business early. He and Bill drove into the Sangre de Cristo mountains of New Mexico for a brief delayed honeymoon. Near Taos, they found a tourist court consisting of eight small log cabins. Seven were for rent and the manager lived in the eighth, which doubled as his office. Theirs was at the back of the U-shaped layout, away from the highway. Behind them was wilderness.<br />
<br />
“Oh, Joe, it’s beautiful.” Bill delighted in having Joe all to herself in an exotic place. The tall pines surrounding the cabin whispered constantly in the breeze. “The air smells delicious. This is the perfect time for a honeymoon, now that we’re used to each other and I’m not so nervous about pleasing you in bed.”<br />
<br />
“What do you mean? You’ve always pleased me.” Joe held her close, caressing her smooth hair. “I’m just glad I have a job and don’t have to worry about supporting you and the baby.”<br />
<br />
The couple had four lovely days to themselves. One afternoon they drove east ten miles and hiked to the edge of the Rio Grande gorge. After their picnic, they stood awestruck on the rim at sunset. Holding each other tightly in the pink light of the alpenglow, they giggled at their vertigo.<br />
<br />
“I have to admit, Joe, I feel a little uneasy here with mountains surrounding us so closely. Being from the plains, I get the feeling the hills and trees are closing in on me.”<br />
<br />
Joe laughed, peering into the deep canyon. “Not to mention the earth dropping out from under you. It’s great to visit, but I don’t think I could live here.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * * </div><br />
Joe felt especially happy to get back to the friends with whom they partied the previous summer. Bill went with him to more parties, but with less enjoyment than before. As her pregnancy advanced, her energy waned. <br />
<br />
One evening in August, Bill chatted with C.F. Brownlee. They sat at a table in the elegant Hotel Clovis ballroom. “You know, C.F., with your new moustache, you look like Clark Gable.”<br />
<br />
C.F. laughed. “If I weren’t so darn short, maybe I could be a movie star.“<br />
<br />
Looking out at the dance floor, where Joe danced with C.F.’s date, Margaret, Bill said, “Maybe it’s because Joe and I just saw the movie <i>No Man of her Own, </i>but Margaret reminds me of a brunette Carole Lombard. She’s beautiful.”<br />
<br />
C.F. frowned. “Thank goodness she doesn’t have such a bawdy sense of humor. She’s a really sweet girl.”<br />
<br />
When the last strains of “Mood Indigo” faded, Joe, Margaret and two other couples returned to the table. Joe kissed Bill’s cheek and sat beside her. “Can we go home, Joe? I’m tired and need to go to bed.” She had wanted to ask him for awhile and could wait no longer to make this appeal. “I don’t think I can hold my head up until midnight.”<br />
<br />
“I’m not ready to go, Honey. Why don’t you take the car and go on home? I’ll ride with someone else.”<br />
<br />
C.F. took his cue. “Sure. We’ll give Joe a ride, Bill.”<br />
<br />
Relieved, Bill slipped her swollen feet into her shoes under the table, stood and gathered her purse as Joe handed her the keys to the coupe. She felt grateful their home was only five miles away.<br />
<br />
Margaret’s eyes flashed but she kept her voice light. “Nice way to take care of your wife, Joe. The least you can do is walk her to the car.”<br />
<br />
Bill was glad when Joe just laughed. It was good he didn’t have the short fuse she had observed in some other men had when they were drinking. She could walk to the car by herself. She said a quick goodbye to the table at large and made a relieved exit.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Bill sewed new Phillips 66 shields on the uniforms Joe still had from working for Tiny Magness. Once a week he dropped her off with their dirty clothes and linens at the Helpy Selfy Laundry. It was a shed-like building with a long row of washing machines with wringers. Each washer had laundry tubs on three sides for rinse water. Hot and cold water pipes with faucets fitted with black hoses filled them. A drain trough, covered with wood between the wash stations, ran the length of the building under the washers. After Bill finished their wash, Joe picked her up on his way home for the noon meal. He loaded baskets of wet laundry in the car, unloaded them at home and placed them in the back yard for Bill to hang on the clothesline after lunch. On wash days, she usually served leftovers. Today lunch consisted of pinto beans with cornbread and greens.<br />
<br />
On July, 1, 1933, Joe presented Bill with a new Singer treadle sewing machine for her twenty-first birthday. She enjoyed making baby clothes and reading magazine articles on infant care. She could hardly believe she was going to be a mother. <br />
<br />
Dr. V. Scott Johnson lived just three blocks from Bill and Joe. His wife was also his nurse. Thinking how convenient that would be when the baby came, Bill became his patient. “You’re quite healthy, young lady, but you’re gaining too much weight.”<br />
<br />
She knew it was true, but her appetite was huge. She despaired of controlling her food intake. <br />
<br />
Their first son was born at home on September 17, 1933, weighing more than ten pounds. “Isn’t he beautiful, Joe? Look at his precious little toes.” She rubbed his downy blond hair, overwhelmed with love.<br />
<br />
Joe, too, was awestruck. “Isn’t he fine? I can’t believe I’m a dad.” Focusing on his wife, he kissed her forehead. “How are you, Bill? Are you all right?”<br />
<br />
“I’m very tired and a little sore. Dr. and Mrs. Johnson said I did very well for a first-time mother with a large baby. Guess I’m like Mama. She says she just shelled her babies out like peas from a pod.” <br />
<br />
They agreed on the name Joe Michael and called their son Joe Mike. He was a happy and healthy baby.<br />
<br />
One day, Joe arrived for their noon meal as Bill set a platter of fried chicken and bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. He patted her bottom as he went by on his way to wash his hands. Joe Mike was lying on a folded quilt on the living room floor, playing with his feet. Joe picked up the baby, held him overhead, their foreheads together. Joe Mike rewarded him with a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me, Hossfly.” Joe smiled and rubbed his nose against the little tummy he held between his large hands. “You smell so good, like a clean baby should.”<br />
<br />
Joe Mike laughed harder, hitting at his daddy’s face awkwardly.<br />
<br />
Joe carried him to the table and sat at an angle, holding the baby on his left leg as he dished food onto his plate.<br />
<br />
Bill placed glasses of water beside their plates and sat across from Joe. His voice held excitement. “Honey, I saw a house with a for sale sign on it this morning. I talked to the real estate agent and he gave me the key. Want to go look at it after we eat?”<br />
<br />
Thrilled at the thought of owning a home, Bill clapped her hands. “Of course. Do you know how much it will cost?” Bill had no experience handling money.<br />
<br />
“The agent said the owner is asking $2500, but might take less.”<br />
<br />
As soon as the meal was finished and the food put away, Bill put a sweater on, wrapped Joe Mike in a blanket and climbed into the passenger seat with the baby in her arms. Joe drove west and after a few blocks, crossed railroad tracks that marked the line between Farwell, Texas and Texico, New Mexico. <br />
<br />
The small, neat, light brown stucco house had a small porch with pillars in front trimmed in white.<br />
<br />
Stepping inside, Bill remarked, “Oh, I like the hardwood floors.” <br />
<br />
They entered the combined living and dining room. A door at the back of the dining section on the left led to the kitchen. Another in the middle of the back wall led to a hallway. <br />
<br />
“ Good.” Joe went into the kitchen and examined the G.E. refrigerator. It had an electric motor on top. “The realtor said the refrigerator and stove go with the place. They seem to be fairly new. How do you like the kitchen, Honey?”<br />
<br />
Bill followed him into the room, then twirled with delight. “I love it. The stove is really nice.” She opened the oven of the ivory-colored gas range, trimmed in green. It was on slim legs, with four burners to the left, the oven beside the burners on the right. “There’s plenty of cabinet space. I was hoping there’d be room for a breakfast table, but it’s not really a problem to eat in the dining room. I’m glad there‘s a window over the sink with a tree outside.” She realized she was a little giddy at the prospect of owning a house.<br />
<br />
She followed Joe into the hallway. Doors opened into bedrooms on each side. The one behind the living room was larger. Behind it was the bathroom, also opening onto the hall. The bedroom behind the kitchen, was small. Standing there, Bill’s voice trembled with excitement. “This will be perfect for Joe Mike’s room. I love it, Honey. Can we really afford to buy a house?”<br />
<br />
“I think the bank will loan us money since I’m making almost $30 a week.” <br />
<br />
At the end of the hallway, a door led to a small back porch . Stairs beside the porch led to a full basement. Bill and Joe explored it all, visualizing what it would be like to live there.<br />
<br />
Upon learning that the bank owned the house, they both felt slightly deflated and apprehensive Another young couple had loved the house but couldn’t keep up the mortgage payments when the man lost his job. Yet within weeks, the house was theirs and their enthusiasm returned as they settled in.<br />
<br />
One day when Joe came home to eat dinner, he held a letter from his brother Dee. <br />
He read it to Bill. “My boy Jack has finished high school and is looking for work. There’s none to be had here in Levelland. Do you think he might find something around Farwell?”<br />
<br />
As he folded the single page and put it back in the envelope, Joe looked thoughtful. “I think my business is doing well enough to use an extra hand. What do you think, Honey? Jack could live in our basement. We could count room and board as part of his pay.”<br />
<br />
Bill thought of the extra cooking, cleaning and laundry this would involve, but smiled. “It’s such a hard time to find a job. How can we say no if you can use him?”<br />
<br />
Joe hugged her. “Tiny and Eula Mae helped me out in the same way. It will feel good to help my nephew.”<br />
<br />
The following week, a man and boy were with Joe when he came home for dinner. “Bill, this is my brother Dee and his son, Jack.” <br />
<br />
Bill smiled and held out her hand. “Dee, I’m so glad to finally meet Joe’s brother. You look a lot like Pop.”<br />
<br />
Dee indeed had Pop’s square face, frown lines between his hazel eyes and even a similar, though darker, moustache. He took her hand briefly, dropped his eyes and nodded an acknowledgement. “I wish I’d got Pop’s height. It’s hard being shorter than my 17-year-old son.”<br />
<br />
They all laughed.<br />
<br />
Turning to Jack, Bill again extended her hand, “You look like a younger, slimmer version of your Uncle Joe.”<br />
<br />
He looked pleased, his grin splitting his face in half. Joe put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “After we eat, you can go back to work with me and get started on your new job. If you want the job.”<br />
<br />
The boy’s smile got even wider as he nodded enthusiastically. “Thanks, Uncle Joe. I do want the job.”<br />
<br />
Jack took a duffle bag filled with his possessions down to the basement. Joe followed with a stack of quilts. “You can start off sleeping on a pallet on the floor. We’ll find you a bed directly.”<br />
<br />
When Joe and Jack left for work, Dee hugged his son, shook Joe’s hand, tipped his hat to Bill and climbed in his black Ford to drive the fifty miles to Levelland.<br />
<br />
Jack had a pleasant disposition. He liked playing with the baby and Joe Mike’s face lit up when Joe and Jack arrived home from work. Squealing, he held up his little hands, signaling his desire to be lifted high in strong, playful arms.<br />
<br />
These were happy days for Bill. She worked hard preparing, serving and cleaning up after, meals, caring for the baby, cleaning house and doing laundry. All this and more her mother did for a much larger family, so that’s what Bill expected of life.<br />
<br />
When Joe Mike was six months old, Bill took him on the bus to Floydada to visit Mama and Dad. Ina Rae was back home, engaged to a J.D. Cates, whose family farm was near the Cummings’ place.<br />
<br />
“I knew J.D. when we were in high school. He went to Lockney High School and I wasn’t at all interested. But wait until you see how he blossomed, Bill.” Ina Rae glowed with happiness.<br />
<br />
“Have you set a date for the wedding?” Bill was thrilled to see her sister so happy.<br />
<br />
“It‘s not really set, but I hope it’ll be in June. J.D. is working in Lubbock at the A & P Grocery Store. He thinks he can save enough by then to rent an apartment.”<br />
<br />
When J.D. came to visit, Bill saw that her sister was right. He was handsome and charming, with a deep, resonant laugh.<br />
<br />
Bill enjoyed being at Mama and Dad’s, having time to visit old friends and show off her beautiful Joe Mike. One sunny day, she helped her mother prepare a garden plot for planting when danger of frost passed. She planned to stay a week, but on the fifth day, Mama said, “Now Willie Mae, you need to get home and take care of your husband.”<br />
<br />
Bill arrived in Farwell late Saturday afternoon. She tried calling Joe from a pay phone at the bus station, but no one answered. She called Norma, a girl friend who lived nearby.<br />
<br />
“Hi, Bill. I can pick you up. Joe is at the Hotel Clovis with my husband Herbert. They rode over with C. F. The gang is throwing a party tonight. I’m going in a little while. You can go with me.”<br />
<br />
Bill looked at what she was wearing and her tired baby. “Thanks, Norma, but Joe Mike is tired and I don’t have anything to wear. I’d better just go home.”<br />
<br />
Norma wouldn’t have that. “You can wear one of my dresses. The girl next door is coming to watch my kids. Joe Mike can stay here. My Buddy is old enough to sleep on a regular bed, so Joe Mike can use his crib until we get home.”<br />
<br />
Bill wore Norma’s dress of silk crepe printed in watery shades of blue and green. Gazing at her reflection, she thought she looked pretty good. She was getting used to the weight she‘d gained. <i>Now I’m glad Mama made me come home early,</i> she thought.<i> I can hardly wait to see Joe.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
When Bill and Norma entered the party, Joe looked startled to see his wife. She laughed at the expression on his face, but felt hurt that he didn’t look happy to see her at first. She even wondered if he was disappointed. She quickly put the thought out of her mind as he smiled and whirled her into a dance to “I Got Plenty o’ Nuthin’.”</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-24880905311042150162011-09-06T14:50:00.000-07:002011-09-06T14:50:51.330-07:00Chapter 8<span lang="EN"><br />
Home with Mama and Dad, Willie Mae kept busy preparing for her marriage while waiting for Joe. She hemstitched and embroidered white flour sacks for dish towels, and made aprons from printed feed sacks. She helped Mama and the ladies at church finish a quilt that Mama had pieced for her. She enjoyed sitting with the ladies at the end of the quilt frame, taking tiny stitches in her portion of the blue, yellow and white Dutch Girl squares.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae’s parents again lived on a farm, near the tiny community of Sand Hill, Texas, seven miles from Floydada. Mama took Willie Mae shopping in Plainview for some new lingerie and a dress to be married in. She chose a black tailored silk faille dress with white braid trim and white mother-of-pearl buttons down the front. Her brother A.D. and his wife Rose visited that evening. When Willie Mae showed them her dress, A.D. said, “You’re going to have a dark life with only a little brightness, getting married in that dress.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae laughed. “I love this dress. It’s practical, and since we’re not having a formal wedding, I can wear what I like.” <br />
<br />
Joe came to claim his bride on Tuesday, December 20, 1932. Mama fixed a dinner of roast pork, potatoes, onions and green beans from last summer’s garden. A.D. and Rose joined them. Joe was less talkative than usual, but still quite sociable and charming. Willie Mae’s heart swelled with joy as she sat at the table with her family and the handsome man who’d won her heart.<br />
<br />
The next morning, Joe loaded Willie Mae’s suitcase into his black Ford Coupe. She hugged her parents happily. “We’ll stop back by day-after-tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
Mama smiled through teary eyes. “Be happy, Willie Mae.”<br />
<br />
“Bye, Daughter. Be a good wife.” Dad’s voice was gruff as he hugged her.<br />
<br />
She cuddled close to Joe as the 150 flat miles to Clovis flew by. He’d chosen to go there to marry because New Mexico didn’t require a blood test and waiting period to get a marriage license. He needed to get back to Sagerton for work. She liked the romance of going back to the place they went on their first date. <br />
<br />
They were married in the home of the Justice of the Peace with his wife as witness. The wife kindly served coffee and cake after the brief exchange of vows.<br />
<br />
“ I love it that we’re spending our wedding night at the hotel where we danced the night we first met.” Willie Mae sighed over dinner in the elegant hotel dining room, decorated in a Southwestern Indian theme.<br />
<br />
Joe leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I like the idea that it’s the shortest day and the lo-o-ongest night of the year.”<br />
<br />
She blushed, shivering in anticipation. They hadn’t had much privacy during their courtship and didn’t linger over dinner. Their room was on the top floor. Neither one of them had ridden an elevator so high before and felt a little nervous as it ascended nine stories.<br />
<br />
The elevator operator noticed. “The Hotel Clovis is the tallest building between Albuquerque and Dallas,” he bragged. “Don’t worry. The elevator is safe. The hotel is less than a year old and sound as a dollar. Architect Robert Merrill designed it, you know.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae and Joe giggled. They’d never heard of Robert Merrill and hardly knew what an architect was. Willie Mae breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the corridor, glad the floor felt solid under her feet. She followed Joe as he found their room, unlocked the door and stepped back to allow her to enter ahead of him. She stopped inside the door, looking at the mission-style oak furniture and the turquoise, brown and sand-colored Navajo designs in the carpet and bedspread. “Oh, what a nice room, Joe.”<br />
<br />
He put their bags down, closed the door and stepped close behind her, leaning to kiss and nuzzle the side of her neck. His large hands lingered on her breasts, then encircled her waist and turned her to face him, kissing her lips tenderly. Holding her close and gazing into her upturned face, he walked her backward until she fell across the bed. He sat beside her and unbuttoned her dress. “Is it a nice room? I hadn’t noticed. Can’t take my eyes off of you.”<br />
<br />
She let him finish with the buttons that went from the collar to the hem of her dress, then laughed and rolled to the foot of the bed, escaping his grasp. She grabbed her suitcase and gave him a light kiss as she fled to the bathroom. “Wait till you see my beautiful new nightgown.”<br />
<br />
Joe groaned. He rose, removed his suit and hung his clothes in the closet. He waited near the bathroom door in his underwear - blue cotton shorts and a sleeveless knit undershirt.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae came out wearing the peach-colored lace-trimmed silk satin gown her mother had given her as a wedding present. As Joe reached for her, she twirled away. “Isn’t it pretty?” She giggled as he grabbed her.<br />
<br />
After a long, tender kiss, Joe answered. “It’s very pretty. How do you like what I’m wearing?” As he said it, he stepped back and unsnapped his shorts, dropping them to the floor.<br />
<br />
“Oh, my.” Willie Mae laughed and blushed as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Her romantic dreams of finding a husband who would be a tender lover were fulfilled. She sighed happily as she went to sleep, spooned in his embrace. <br />
<br />
They left Clovis early the next morning and stopped by Eula Mae’s house in Friona. Eula Mae called Tiny, who joined them for coffee. The Magnesses presented them with a small set of aluminum cookware. “Pop and Joe don’t have a very well-appointed kitchen.” She smiled.<br />
<br />
“Oh, thank you. The ladies at Mama’s church gave me a shower, and I got kitchen utensils, but no cookware. I‘ll enjoy using these.”<br />
<br />
Joe spoke up. “Yes, thanks. I hope we won’t be staying with Pop for long. As soon as I can find a steady job, we’ll move into our own place.” He seemed embarrassed to be taking his bride to his father’s, not their own home.<br />
<br />
They stopped by to see Ennis and Jewell, who insisted they join them for dinner, as the noon meal was called.<br />
<br />
The children were on vacation for Christmas. Dorothy Sue climbed in Willie Mae’s lap and put her small hand on her cheek. “Did you get married, Aunt Bill?”<br />
<br />
Inclining her head toward the girl’s small hand, she held out her left hand, smiling. “Yes. See my ring?”<br />
<br />
Dorothy Sue admired the white gold band carved with chevrons. “Oh, it’s pretty. When I grow up, I want to marry someone just like Joe.”<br />
<br />
Everyone laughed. Joe blushed. “Now you can call me Uncle Joe.”<br />
<br />
They left soon after the meal and drove back to the Cummings farm near Floydada, where they loaded the belongings Willie Mae brought with her to her new life.<br />
<br />
“You might as well stay for supper and spend the night with us. The days are so short now. It’ll be dark soon,” Mama fretted as she carried the Dutch Girl quilt, folded and tied with a wide blue ribbon, to the car.<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cummings, but I have a job tomorrow cutting and delivering firewood with my brother-in-law. I’m much obliged for the invitation and for all the nice presents you’ve provided.” He held a wooden box of silver-plated tableware Mama had acquired over several years with coupons from flour and sugar packages. She had waited to tell Willie Mae about it until now, presenting it as a Christmas gift.<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry, Mama. I packed some leftover biscuits and some ham from the ice box. We won’t starve. We’ll really enjoy the Christmas apples and oranges, too.” Willie Mae happily hugged and kissed her parents, wishing them a merry Christmas, then cuddled beside Joe for the ride to her new home.<br />
<br />
Feeling nervous at the prospect of meeting her father-in-law, Willie Mae questioned Joe. “Tell me about your dad. What’s he like?”<br />
<br />
“As a young man, Pop worked as a cowboy and always liked horses. He’s a charter member of the Texas Cowboys Reunion Association. They have a rodeo in Stamford every Fourth of July. Pop used to compete every year but can’t do that now that he’s 69. I’ll take you to the rodeo next summer. Maybe we can borrow horses and ride with Pop in the grand entry.<br />
<br />
“That’ll be fun, Joe. I’ve never been to a rodeo. How do you think Pop feels about you bringing me to live in his house?”<br />
<br />
“He’s excited. I told him you were a good cook and not afraid to help with farm chores.”<br />
<br />
“Does he have livestock, other than horses?” Willie Mae wondered what kind of chores she’d be expected to do, other than cooking and cleaning house.<br />
<br />
“He’s down to just his own saddle horse. With the drought, he can’t feed more, and he had to sell the rest off cheap. We don’t use enough milk to need a cow. We buy it from a neighbor. There’s a hog that we’ll be butchering in January and a few laying hens. Don’t worry. You won’t have any outdoor chores this time of year. I think you and Pop will enjoy each other’s company.”<br />
<br />
Wiley Hale, tall and slender, had white hair, a white moustache and two deep wrinkles between his blue eyes that gave him a fierce but very distinguished look. He reminded Willie Mae of an eagle.<br />
<br />
He took her cold hands between his warm ones when she and Joe arrived at his house. “Welcome. Joe has told me all about you. Do you want me to call you Bill?”<br />
<br />
Blushing, Willie Mae answered. “It’s what my friends call me. So yes, call me Bill.”<br />
<br />
As Joe showed her around Pop’s nice little house she realized that only her parents still called her Willie Mae. <i>From now on, I’m just Bill. … Bill Hale</i>. <i>I like it - short and simple.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
The house had two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, kitchen and bath. Its neatness impressed Bill. The bed in their room had freshly ironed sheets and a note on top of the chenille bedspread. “Welcome, Joe and Bill. Please come to our house for supper tomorrow night. Pop, too.” It was signed “Nit.”<br />
<br />
Bill felt confused. “Sorry, but I can’t remember who Nit is.”<br />
<br />
Joe smiled and nuzzled her neck. “You have a lot of people to meet. Nit is my sister. Her name is Juanita, but everyone calls her Nit. Her husband, Lon, and their three little boys: Billy, James and Homer Joe will be there. Mmm, you smell sweet. Let‘s try out this bed.”<br />
<br />
The next morning, the newlyweds awoke to the delicious aroma of bacon and coffee. Bill put a pink cotton housecoat over her nightgown, ran a comb through her hair and splashed water on her face. She hurried into the kitchen.<br />
<br />
Pop bent to put a pan of biscuits into the oven of the wood-burning stove. He turned rather stiffly as she entered the kitchen. “How do you like your eggs, Bill?” <br />
<br />
“Sunny side up. Sorry we slept this late. I meant to cook breakfast for you and Joe. How can I help? Shall I set the table?” <br />
<br />
“Can’t have you cooking on your first morning. Yes, you can set the table. The plates are on the shelf to the right of the sink, silverware in the drawer below that. Hand me the plates. I’ll load them when the eggs are done. How many can you eat?” Pop broke three eggs into the hot bacon grease in the skillet and waited for her response.<br />
<br />
“Two, please.” Bill placed forks, knives and spoons, cups and saucers on the enamel-topped table against the wall opposite the stove. Salt and pepper shakers, a butter dish and a jar of sorghum molasses were already on the table. “ I didn’t realize I was so hungry. Everything smells delicious.”<br />
<br />
Joe came in from the bathroom freshly shaven and dressed for work in the green uniform he’d worn when he worked in Friona. Bill noticed he’d removed the Phillips 66 shield that had been over the left breast pocket. The fabric was a little darker in that spot. His hazel eyes looked pure green in that uniform. His good looks took her breath away.<br />
<br />
After breakfast, Joe kissed her. “I’ll be back about dark, and we’ll go to Nit’s for supper.” Turning to go, he added, “Thanks, Pop. Take care of my girl. Don’t work her too hard today.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.” Pop looked serious, but gave her a wink. She already liked him very much.<br />
<br />
Bill insisted on washing the dishes. Pop dried. Afterwards, she bathed and put on a green and navy blue plaid housedress with a new blue apron. Pop gave her a smile when she came out to the living room. He put his newspaper aside. “Put on a coat and I’ll show you around outside.”<br />
<br />
The Brazos River ran only thirty yards from the house. “Does it ever flood?” she asked. The river barely trickled after three years of drought.<br />
<br />
Pop chuckled at how far from flooding the trickle was. “It gets higher in the summer, but never has overflowed the bank here. I’d sure be happy to see it flowing full. This drought is killing us.”<br />
<br />
Bill walked down the bank a few steps to get a better view of a bridge she glimpsed downstream around a bend in the river bed.<br />
<br />
“Don’t go any farther down. There’s quicksand.” Pop turned back toward the house. Bill followed.<br />
<br />
Pop fed the chickens a little grain, put the bucket of table scraps he’d brought from the kitchen into the pig’s trough and gave the horse a small block of hay. Bill gathered a few eggs, folding her apron around them.<br />
<br />
“If we have all the ingredients, I could make a cake to take to Nit’s.” Bill didn’t know what else to do to fill her time till Joe came home from work.<br />
<br />
Pop nodded. “That sounds like a fine idea. I used most of the flour for the biscuits this morning. We‘ll drive into Sagerton in my old truck. I need a few more provisions anyway.”<br />
<br />
The town, three miles east of the Hale farm, consisted of a main street lined with red brick buildings, surrounded by a grid of streets with neat white houses. Native post oaks and cedars had been left in the yards where garden space allowed.<br />
<br />
Pop drove Bill around town pointing out the school and post office and a small, beautiful white stucco Lutheran church with a tall steeple. “Sagerton was settled by Germans, like most of this part of Texas. Did you know that Old Glory, the next town over, changed its name from Frankfurt during the war to prove their loyalty? The Germans are very good and hard-working people.”<br />
<br />
Pop and Bill entered a small store which had groceries as well as dry goods. Pop introduced her. “Ada, this is Bill, my new daughter-in-law.”<br />
<br />
The friendly-looking blonde behind the counter looked stereotypically German. Her canvas apron covered an ample chest. “So you’re the girl who snagged Joe Hale. Congratulations, and glad to meet you. Who’d think Joe would marry someone named Bill.” She laughed heartily at her joke.<br />
<br />
Bill laughed with her, acknowledged the introduction and searched out the ingredients she needed for the cake. She was used to others’ surprise at her name. She still liked it, maybe for that very reason.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * * </div><br />
When Bill heard Joe’s car turn off the road, she ran out to meet him. Tired and dirty, he sat on the porch and unlaced his high work boots. Bill knelt behind him and rubbed his shoulders. “You were right, Honey”<br />
<br />
“About what?” He picked up his boots, stood and turned toward the door. “Can’t wait to get cleaned up.”<br />
<br />
“About Pop and me. We do enjoy each other’s company.”<br />
<br />
“I knew it.” He smiled and bent to kiss her lightly on the lips as he went in.<br />
<br />
That night Nit and Lon Darden welcomed Bill to their modest home in Stamford. The three boys ran to Joe, clamoring for his attention. He managed to pick up all three of them and introduce them to their new Aunt Bill. Sitting around an oak table, they enjoyed Nit’s chicken and dumplings with green beans and carrots she said she’d canned from her garden the previous summer. Joe seemed proud of Bill’s contribution to the meal, a yellow layer cake with chocolate frosting.<br />
<br />
The Dardens competed with one another in telling funny stories. The continual bursts of laughter around the table impressed Bill. She could see where Joe honed his storytelling skills and the ability to see humor in difficult situations. This family seemed more light-hearted than the Cummings, she reflected, even though they were not as well-off financially.<br />
<br />
“I’m glad you brought a cake, Bill. I was going to make a cedar berry pie in your honor, but just didn’t have time.” Nit passed around slices of Bill’s cake.<br />
<br />
Bill laughed. “Sorry, Nit. You’re not playing that joke on me. Joe told me about your cedar berry pies.” She patted Joe’s leg under the table, grateful that she wouldn’t be laughed at for taking a bite of delicious-looking but very bitter pie. It was a practical joke that Nit loved to pull on unsuspecting newcomers.<br />
<br />
Nit laughed. “Oh, shoot. Well, that’ll save me the work of making the pie.”<br />
<br />
The next evening, Saturday, they were invited to Oscar and Annie Gibson’s for a party. Oscar was Eula Mae’s father. The party turned out to be a wedding shower in Joe and Bill’s honor. Bill could hardly believe how many people came. The gifts were modest but useful. Everyone she met had good things to say about Joe and his family.<br />
<br />
During the three months they lived with Pop in Sagerton, Joe and Bill went to a party every week. Everyone in Joe’s circle of friends loved to dance and they all had records and wind-up record players to provide the music. One Saturday night a month, the Sagerton Lutheran Church held a dance for the community. <br />
<br />
Ina Rae came for a visit between semesters at Canyon and went to one of the church dances. When they returned home that night, Bill helped Ina Rae make a bed on the sofa in the living room. “What a fun group of friends, Bill. I can’t believe they have dances at church.”<br />
<br />
“That’s what I told Joe and Pop. We couldn’t even go to dances and stay in the good graces of our church, right?”<br />
<br />
Joe, leaning on the door jamb watching them, joined the conversation. “Yeah. I’m not a religious person, but if I were going to join a church, I’d choose the Lutherans. They know how to have fun. They‘re very good people.”<br />
<br />
Ina Rae sat on the made-up sofa, eased off her shoes and rubbed her feet. “The fruit punch was good, but boys kept offering to take me out to their cars for a drink of liquor. Some of them were pretty tight by the end of the dance.”<br />
<br />
Bill noticed an unusual brightness in her sister’s eyes and gave a little snort. “Last week everyone came to our house to dance without even asking me if it was okay. Luckily I had some cookies and made cocoa to drink. Someone nearly always brings some liquor. You wouldn’t know prohibition was still the law.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t think it will be for long. My history teacher says it was a mistake.”<br />
<br />
“He’s got that right. Making something unlawful just makes people want it more.” Joe’s speech was slightly slurred.<br />
<br />
Ina Rae changed the subject. “Anyway, Joe and Bill, thanks for having me for this visit. I‘ve had a really good time.”<br />
<br />
“It was our pleasure, Shorty. Hope you’ll come again soon. Now I’m ready to take my wife away.” Joe put his arm around Bill’s shoulders and pulled her toward the door, but she shook him off to give Ina Rae a hug and a Cummings kiss. <br />
<br />
“Good night, Shorty. Thanks for coming. I’ve loved having you here. Now that we know there’s a good train connection to Amarillo, you’ll have to come often.” She hurried to catch Joe at their bedroom door.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * * </div><br />
Joe scoured the area for work. He unloaded freight cars, helped farmers shoe horses and did odd jobs when he could find them. When he found nothing else, he searched his dad and Oscar’s farms for dead cedars and scrub oaks, which he cut to sell for firewood. It was a frugal but happy beginning to Bill and Joe’s married life.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-19853754363843617122011-08-17T10:41:00.000-07:002011-08-17T16:59:58.830-07:00Mother's Story, Chapter 7<span lang="EN">Riding back to Friona, Texas from Hot Springs, New Mexico, in the back seat of Orville and Charlotte Putnam’s Model T, Willie Mae once more faced an uncertain future. She longed to see her parents, but didn’t want to move back home after tasting independence. <br />
When they arrived at Ennis‘s, she felt delighted to see her parents’ car in front of the house. Orville carried her suitcase in while she told Charlotte goodbye. “I’m so glad the baths helped. You keep walking every day, and if I can help you while I’m here, please let me know.” Willie Mae opened the car door so she could give the older woman a hug.<br />
<br />
“Thank you, Bill. I plan to go for a walk after breakfast and after supper every day. Join me any time you can.” Charlotte patted Willie Mae’s back.<br />
<br />
Orville climbed back in the car. Willie Mae leaned across Charlotte and extended her hand. “Thank you, Orville. I’ll never forget this month with Charlotte.”<br />
<br />
He shook her hand, tipped his hat and put the car in gear. “You’re welcome, Willie Mae - uh - Bill. Thanks for taking care of my dear wife. She is definitely stronger.”<br />
<br />
As they drove off, Willie Mae turned and hurried to the house where everyone waited to exchange warm Cummings kisses. “I’m so glad to see you, Mama. You, too, Dad. What a wonderful surprise.”<br />
<br />
Dad hugged her, then held her by the shoulders at arms length. “You’re looking fit, Daughter.”<br />
<br />
Mama measured Willie Mae‘s upper arms with her fingers. “How much weight did you gain? You remind me of that Chesterfield radio ad: ‘so round, so firm, so fully packed.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae blushed and laughed. “Bathing in the hot springs with Charlotte every day gave me a big appetite. And the hotel provided a lot of food to satisfy it.”<br />
<br />
Mama and Dad expected her to go home with them the next day, but she decided to accept Ennis and Jewell’s invitation to stay and help out on the farm. Mama teared up when she kissed Willie Mae goodbye. “All my little chicks are leaving home.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae felt a twinge of sadness, but smiled. “I’ll be home in a few weeks. You’re not rid of me yet.” Dad’s hug seemed a little fiercer and longer than usual. She buried her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar aroma of shaving soap and Prince Albert pipe tobacco. Tears welled up as she realized Mama was right. Willie Mae was determined to find her own way now. <i>I’ll be home, but just for visits in the future.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
She and Jewell harvested and canned green beans, sweet corn and tomatoes. The rows of green, yellow and red vegetables in glass jars on shelves in the cellar looked beautiful. The two women dug up potatoes and stored them in burlap bags. <br />
<br />
Mornings, after Ennis milked their cow, Willie Mae helped him separate the cream from the milk. She used the cream to churn butter, packed the butter into a rectangular wooden form that made one-pound cubes. Wrapped in waxed paper, the butter and quart bottles of buttermilk were stored in the well house. Jewell’s neighbors came to the house to buy them, along with eggs. After Ennis milked in the evening, he brought the bucket of warm milk into the kitchen, where Willie Mae or Jewell strained it through cheesecloth, poured it into bottles and stored it in the ice box for the family.<br />
<br />
“How do you manage all this work without help?” Willie Mae strained and bottled milk while Jewell cooked supper. Willie Mae remembered thinking that Jewell was gruff when they first met because her manner was so serious. She seldom smiled. Now Willie Mae knew Jewell had a heart of gold.<br />
<br />
“I just work later at night,” Jewell shrugged. “I’m so glad you stayed to help. Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go to town. I made enough money this week to pay you a little. You can buy some material to make a new dress for fall.”<br />
<br />
“Why, thank you, Jewell.” Willie Mae bent her knees, lowering herself to her sister-in-law’s height, put her arms around her and squeezed, pressing Jewell’s large bosom into her smaller one. <br />
<br />
The next day, after shopping at the dry goods store, they took the children to the drug store for an ice cream soda at the fountain. While they waited for their drinks, they sat on wire chairs with wooden seats and admired the dark blue light-weight wool yardage and white braid trim Willie Mae had chosen.<br />
<br />
Behind her, Willie Mae heard a woman’s voice, “Is that you, Bill Cummings? What are you doing here?”<br />
<br />
Turning, Willie Mae recognized a stylishly dressed young woman with dark waves and a wide lip-sticked smile. “Hi, Ruby. Can you join us? Have you ordered? Oh, this is my sister-in-law Jewell, and her children Dorothy Sue and Doyle.” <br />
<br />
As Ruby acknowledged the introductions, Willie Mae stood to pull over an extra chair from a nearby table, then explained to Jewell. “Ruby and Elma taught together two years ago.” Jewell nodded and looked pleased that Willie Mae had a friend near her age in town.<br />
<br />
After they all had their sodas, Ruby turned to Willie Mae. “Why don’t you stay in town with me tonight? I have a date, and I can call him to bring someone to go with you. We’re going to dance at the hotel over in Clovis.”<br />
<br />
Raising her eyebrows, Willie Mae looked at Jewell hopefully. <br />
<br />
“It’s fine with me and I’m sure Ennis won’t mind.” Turning to Ruby, Jewell asked, “Can you bring her to the Church of Christ for services tomorrow?”<br />
<br />
Ruby clapped her hands. “Sure. It’s the church I grew up in, and I’ve been thinking I should start going there. Now I won’t have to walk in alone the first time.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae looked down at her clothes. “Is this all right to wear to the Clovis Hotel? It’s a long way out to the farm to change.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry.” Ruby waved in a dismissive gesture. “We’re close to the same size. You can wear one of my dresses. Your shoes are perfect.”<br />
<br />
Glad for the diversion, Willie Mae suspected Ennis and Jewell would be happy to have just their family in their tiny house for a change.<br />
<br />
She and Ruby went to Ruby’s duplex apartment. Ruby called C.F. Brownlee, her date for the evening. “Hi, Honey. I ran into a girlfriend who’s visiting Friona. Can you bring a friend for her tonight?” After a pause, she added , “She’s beautiful, blonde and a lot of fun. He‘d better be handsome and well-mannered.” Willie Mae blushed, as Ruby laughed and hung up the phone.<br />
<br />
The young women spent the afternoon exchanging facials and manicures. As they finished, another friend of Ruby’s, Nona, arrived. She came through the front door without knocking. Before Ruby had a chance to introduce her, she blurted, “I finally got a date for the dance in Clovis tonight.” <br />
<br />
“Have a seat so I can introduce you to Bill Cummings.” Ruby indicated a burgundy velvet easy chair. “C.F.’s getting her a date for tonight as well.<br />
<br />
“ I’ve never met a girl named Bill before.” She went on before Willie Mae could reply. “I don’t really care for my date.” She picked up a nail file and smoothed the edges of her fingernails. “There’s only one boy in this town I want to go with.”<br />
<br />
Ruby looked quizzical. “Who’s that?”<br />
<br />
Nona rolled her eyes dreamily and sighed, “Joe Hale.” She dropped the nail file back on the table and rose. “Nice to meet you, Bill. See you both later in Clovis.” She disappeared out the door as quickly as she’d appeared.<br />
<br />
When Ruby’s date arrived, Ruby introduced him. He, in turn, introduced the good-looking man at his side as Joe Hale.<br />
<br />
“Oh, la-de-da,” thought Willie Mae. “I guess I’ve hit the jackpot.”<br />
<br />
Riding beside Joe in the back seat of C.F.’s Chevrolet, Willie Mae and Joe talked non-stop for the 30 miles from Friona, Texas, to Clovis, New Mexico. She had to explain one more time how she came to be called Bill. He in turn told her that he worked for his niece’s husband, the wholesale agent for Phillips Petroleum Company.<br />
<br />
The life of the party that night, Joe told stories that kept the others laughing. “I was much younger than my sisters and brother. One time when I was three, I crawled into my mama’s quilt box and pretended to be a chicken. My mama and older sisters looked everywhere for me, calling frantically. They finally decided I that fell in the river and washed away. They were crying hysterically when I cackled from the quilt box. My sister Minnie grabbed me and shook me. ‘Why didn’t you answer us when we called you?‘ I said ‘Couldn’t. I was a chicken and I couldn’t cackle until I laid an egg.’” <br />
<br />
On the dance floor, he made Willie Mae feel like she was a wonderful dancer and was meant to be his partner. By the time he walked her to Ruby’s door, Willie Mae was smitten. She dreamed that night of his face: laughing hazel eyes, high cheekbones, prominent nose, dark complexion contrasting with light brown hair. She’d indeed hit the jackpot with this blind date.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
The rest of the summer was a whirlwind of work on the farm, including helping to hoe Ennis’s maize crop and to haul water to the plants. The small harvest was better than many Dust Bowl farms managed that year. One night a windstorm covered the fence to the cow’s pen with sand. Molly the cow walked over the fence and the family had to go looking for her in the neighboring fields the next morning.<br />
<br />
One evening the week after their blind date, Joe visited Willie Mae. They sat on a bench under a cottonwood tree in the yard. Sharing stories of their families and growing up on Texas farms, they found similarities and differences in their lives.<br />
<br />
“I grew up on a farm on the Salt Fork of the Brazos River, where my dad raised horses. Since this drought started, there’s no grass and he can’t afford to buy hay, even if you could find any. He’s practically giving away horses to whoever can afford to feed them.” Joe laughed. “Luckily, my niece’s husband could give me a job this summer, but looks like that might not last long. Farmers can’t pay for their gasoline until their crops come in, and the crops don’t look good. I’m warning you, Bill, I’m going to be poor for a few years.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae snuggled as close to his broad shoulder as she could get. “Don’t worry, Joe. I think you’re going to do just fine.” It was true. Something about being with him made her feel secure. “Tell me about your niece and her family. What‘s her name?”<br />
<br />
“Eula Mae. Her mother, my oldest sister, died when she was four. She’s just six months younger than me. My mother took her to raise until Mama died when we were 16. Eula Mae’s father had the neighboring farm, so she was back and forth between the two places. Since I’m a lot younger than my brother and sisters, she’s the one I grew up with.”<br />
<br />
“I like her middle name,” Willie Mae joked. “How about her husband? Is he good to work for?”<br />
<br />
Joe smiled “Yeah, he is. Last week, Eula Mae got mad at me and said I was fired. She has quite a hot temper. I said something she didn’t like when I was home for lunch. I didn’t go back to work, and her husband, Tiny Magness, came to find out why. I said, ‘Your wife fired me.’ He said, ‘I do the hiring and firing for my business. Now get back to work.’” Joe laughed.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Ruby told Willie Mae that Joe had gone with Tiny’s sister Marie for a time. “C.F. thinks she broke up with him because he wouldn’t go to the Baptist church with her.” Ruby paused. “He is a little wild, isn’t he?”<br />
<br />
“I guess he is, but I really like him. He seems honest and I’ve never had so much fun in my life. He actually told me about Marie, after I met her. He took me to Eula Mae and Tiny’s house for supper last week, and Marie was there. She’s awfully pretty.”<br />
<br />
“Well, Joe seems crazy about you, now. You two look great on the dance floor.” <br />
<br />
They’d returned to the Clovis Hotel to dance several more Saturday evenings. One night, Jewell and Ennis left the children with neighbors and went along. That was the night that Joe drank enough to slur his words when he talked. When Ennis and Jewell left the dance, Jewell stood next to Joe’s chair, shook her finger close to his face and said, “Joe Hale, you’d better take care of this girl,” indicating Willie Mae. Joe laughed, but later said, “Your sister-in-law doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.” <br />
<br />
Willie Mae denied it, but had an uneasy feeling it might be true.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, she was in love with Joe and believed, based on his attentiveness toward her, that he returned her love.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
When Doyle started to school and the harvest was in, Willie Mae knew it was time for her to leave. They hadn’t said anything, but Ennis and Jewell didn’t need another mouth to feed in such hard times. She made the decision early in September and let them know she‘d need a ride to the bus on Saturday.<br />
<br />
That night, Joe looked gloomy as he got out of the car. Willie Mae dreaded telling him she was leaving, and when she saw his face, her dread deepened. Was he going to break up with her?<br />
<br />
She went to meet him.<br />
<br />
“Hi, Bill.” He bent to kiss her lightly on the lips. “Tiny finally had to lay me off. There‘s just not enough money coming in for him to pay me.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, no.” Willie Mae cupped his face in her hands. “I hate for you to look so sad. What will you do?”<br />
<br />
“I’ll go live with Pop in Sagerton. I’ll write you, and come to get you as soon as I can so we can get married.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae’s heart leapt to her throat. “I’m going home, too. I’ll write you every day, Joe.” She kissed him tenderly. “I’ll be waiting. Impatiently.” She laughed.<br />
<br />
“You know we’re going to be poor, don’t you? I just hope I can find some kind of job by Christmas. I want us to be married by then.”<br />
<br />
Never had Willie Mae felt so happy and sad at the same moment. She finally knew what Shakespeare meant by “sweet sorrow.”<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
Back in Floydada, Willie Mae spent time every day writing letters to Joe. He answered with interesting letters telling her the news of his dad, Wiley Hale, whom the family called Pop, and his sister Juanita, called Nit, who lived near them.<br />
<br />
In November, he wrote, “I still can only find odd jobs, but we‘re getting by. This week I’m unloading coal from the train. I want to come get you on December 20th. We’ll drive to New Mexico and get married. We can live with Pop until I find something more. I hope you’ll say yes, Bill. I miss you so much.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae replied by return mail, filling two sheets of paper with the word “yes”. <br />
<br />
<br />
</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-21953545273582769962011-08-03T11:34:00.000-07:002011-08-03T11:34:48.116-07:00Mother's Story, Chapter 6<span lang="EN">In June of 1932, a few days before her 20<sup>th</sup> birthday, Willie Mae’s north-bound bus stopped in Hart, Texas Her sister Aileene farmed near there with her husband, Jack Smitherman. Four months earlier, Willie Mae stayed for two weeks to help Aileene when her baby girl, Patsy, was born. She took care of Patsy’s two-year-old sister, Polly. She’d love to see the babies today and always enjoyed visiting her adored older sister. Nevertheless, she decided to go directly to Friona to start her new job assisting Charlotte Putnam.<br />
<br />
Hurt by her involvement with Fred Jenkins, this was the first time since then that Willie Mae anticipated her future. Excited and nervous, Willie Mae doubted she’d ever live with her parents again. After watching six siblings leave home and make their way in the world as adults, her time had come.<br />
<br />
Elma, the fun-loving brother nearest her age, was just 19 when Dad signed papers allowing him to marry Vivian Sterling, who was not yet 18. Elma finished an accounting course and now lived in Canyon with Vivian and their two-year-old daughter, Elma Lynn.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae’s brother A.D., who taught her world history in high school, was now superintendent of schools in Floydada. He and his wife, Rose Stewart, expected their first child soon. They were in Illinois, where A.D. was finishing a Masters Degree in education.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae put the depression of her high school years and the heartbreak of Fred Jenkins behind her. She was at last on her own path.<br />
<br />
The flat fields she watched from her bus window seemed alarmingly dry and dusty. She couldn’t remember when it had last rained. She picked up the newspaper Dad handed her as she got on the bus. Skipping the news of the presidential campaign, Willie Mae read about seventeen-thousand unemployed ex-servicemen who were living in tents near the White House. They had bonus certificates from World War I, and were trying to get a law passed forcing the government to cash them. More interesting to Willie Mae was the story of Amelia Earhart’s solo flight across the Atlantic. Most electrifying was that Jackie Mitchell, a 17-year-old girl, signed as a pitcher for the Memphis Lookouts, a minor league men‘s team. Jackie struck out the great Babe Ruth in four pitches and Lou Gehrig in three, in an exhibition game. Willie Mae felt optimistic. Women could do things they’d never been able to do before. <br />
<br />
She folded the paper, thinking of her future. She’d asked Dad and Mama to send her to nursing school last year, but Mama said no, explaining, “I can’t stand to think of my daughter giving men baths.” Her new job helping Mrs. Putnam would be a little like nursing. Maybe it would lead to other opportunities.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
“Give me a Cummings Kiss,” her brother Ennis held his arms out as Willie Mae stepped down from the bus. Behind him, his wife Jewell held Dorothy Sue, who was almost 4, in her arms. Doyle, 8, waited beside his mother. Willie Mae stooped to hug her sister-in-law, who was much shorter but able to extend an infinitely warm embrace. Her arms enfolded Willie Mae along with the little girl she carried on her left hip.<br />
<br />
“Hi, Dorothy Sue. Look how you’ve grown!” Willie Mae kissed the soft cheek the child offered. Turning to Doyle, Willie Mae hugged him and they exchanged kisses on both cheeks. Warm happy greetings were a Cummings tradition.<br />
<br />
They all drove the ten miles to Ennis and Jewell’s farm over a bumpy caliche road, leaving a trail of white dust hanging in the air behind the car. Willie Mae was again struck by the dryness of the fields surrounding them.<br />
<br />
“When do Mr. and Mrs. Putnam want to leave for New Mexico?” Willie Mae was anxious to know more about the couple she’d be working for.<br />
<br />
“I’m not sure. After supper, we’ll go over to their house and find out their plans.” Ennis turned into a lane bordered by small juniper trees Jewell had planted. Willie Mae was impressed at how hard her sister-in-law must’ve worked for that bit of beauty in the flat landscape. The long lane led to a tiny house the couple had built on this homesteaded land. <br />
<br />
The house had just two large rooms. Half of the front room held the kitchen stove, ice box, pie safe, a small section of cabinets, a counter top with a sink and a homemade table with six chairs. The front door led to the “parlor” quarter of the room. Two easy chairs flanked a wind-up record player. Farther back were two beds and a chest of drawers. Both beds were cot-sized with cotton mattresses folded in half over flat metal springs. When more sleeping space was needed, the springs could be extended and the mattresses unfolded to make double beds. One of them had been folded out and fitted with fresh, ironed white sheets. Ennis and Jewell’s bedroom was in back.<br />
<br />
“Bill, you’ll share Dorothy Sue’s bed.” Ennis put her suitcase on top of the dresser that stood between the two beds.<br />
<br />
“Oh, good. I get to sleep with the prettiest girl in the world,” Willie Mae gave the child a hug.<br />
<br />
Dorothy Sue blushed and smiled. “Will you sing to me?” The nephews and nieces seemed to love hearing Willie Mae’s large repertoire of songs and dramatic readings.<br />
<br />
“I sure will. Here’s a chair where we can sing together.” Willie Mae touched a rocker near the children’s beds. <br />
<br />
The delicious aroma of beans with ham hock simmering on the coal stove greeted them. Willie Mae set the table while Jewell made cornbread and opened a jar of chow-chow, a green tomato relish. They cooked corn-on-the-cob and sliced luscious ripe tomatoes from Jewell’s garden. After supper, everyone piled back into the car and drove about a mile south to the Putnams’ home. Jewell introduced Willie Mae. “This is Ennis’s sister, Bill.”<br />
<br />
Orville extended his hand. “How did a pretty girl like you get the name Bill?”<br />
<br />
His good-natured smile put her at ease. “My name is really Willie Mae. I had a lot of older brothers. I’m not sure which of them first called me Bill, but I seem to be stuck with it. I’m happy to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Putnam.” <br />
<br />
“Please, call us Orville and Charlotte.” Orville gave her hand a hearty shake and turned to his wife, sitting in a rattan chair with wheels. Her legs were wrapped in a quilt despite the warm weather. <br />
<br />
Willie Mae shook Charlotte’s extended hand and returned her smile. “I hope I can be helpful to you.”<br />
<br />
Charlotte squeezed Willie Mae’s hand, then lowered her brown eyes. Her skin was pale in contrast to her dark hair, but Willie Mae thought she was pretty.<br />
<br />
Orville spoke up. “I’m sure you’ll be helpful. The doctor said that a few weeks of mineral baths at Hot Springs might dissolve the blood clot that is keeping Charlotte from walking. We thought it was certainly worth a try. I need to stay here to keep up the farm work. If you’re ready, I’ll take you over there tomorrow and then come on back. If I don’t haul water for my cotton crop every other day, it’s not going to make it.” Turning to Ennis, he asked, “How’s your maize?”<br />
<br />
“Same thing. Thank goodness there’s still water for the windmill to pump. Did you read about the terrible dust storms in Nebraska? They say their topsoil is turning to dust and blowing away.”<br />
<br />
Dread was palpable in the room. Willie Mae knew that banks hadn’t granted loans to farmers since the 1929 stock market crash. It was a hard time to be a farmer on the plains.<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
The Putnams and Willie Mae left early the next morning. By that evening, Willie Mae and Charlotte were settled in The James, one of 40 hotel spas in Hot Springs, New Mexico. Orville made arrangements for their food and lodging, gave Willie Mae the doctor’s recommended schedule for Charlotte’s bathing sessions, and by mid-afternoon he’d started home.<br />
<br />
The hotel dining room was set with large tables where guests sat together. Willie Mae was excited to see that there were quite a few other people her age. A beautiful blonde girl sat across the table from her. Willie Mae couldn’t take her eyes off of her. She caught Willie Mae’s eye, smiled and said, “Hi. My name is Dorothy. What’s yours?”<br />
<br />
“I’m Bill. This is my employer, Mrs. Putnam. Are you here for treatment?”<br />
<br />
“No. I’m a singer at the La Paloma Hotel. Can’t afford to stay there myself.” She seemed to enjoy the macaroni and cheese, green salad and biscuits she was eating. “You’re welcome to go with me tonight. The dancing starts at seven-thirty.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was elated to get this invitation. The room where she and Charlotte were staying was adequate, with twin beds, a hot plate for making tea or coffee and an adjoining bathroom, but it would be nice to go out and give her employer a little privacy. She looked at Charlotte.<br />
<br />
“Feel free to go, if you want to, Bill.” Perhaps Charlotte was having the same thought about their room. “Once you help me get settled for the night, I’ll be dead to the world. I’m very tired.”<br />
<br />
“How much does it cost? I don’t have very much money.” Willie Mae blushed. “Don’t worry.” Dorothy made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The friend who is picking me up is staying there with his employer. He can sign for your cover charge and drinks.”<br />
<br />
“Are you sure? What will he think? Won’t he mind me tagging along?”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry,” Dorothy repeated. “Walter is a sweetheart from Muskogee, Oklahoma. He works for a Cherokee Indian who struck oil on his land. Walter drives him around wherever he wants to go in his Cadillac. We’re not a serious couple but we have a lot of fun together. Walter will be happy to have someone to talk to and dance with while I sing.” Dorothy laughed.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae felt doubtful, not sure she’d feel comfortable dancing in a strange place with someone she’d never seen before. She was glad that she’d practiced the latest dance steps with Ina Rae and their girl friends. That comprised most of her dancing experience.<br />
<br />
Charlotte spoke up. “You should go, Bill. I don’t want you to be stuck with me all the time. It’ll be nice for you to meet some other young people.”<br />
<br />
“All right then.” Willie Mae felt elated once the decision was made. <br />
<br />
As soon as she helped Charlotte into bed, Willie Mae ran a comb through her permed blonde waves. She quickly changed into the party dress she’d made earlier in the spring, grateful that she’d packed it. It was an ankle-length mauve taffeta with a boat neckline and large puffed sleeves of a deeper hue. She knew it made her blue eyes even bluer. She put on lipstick and a little rouge and hurried back downstairs. Dorothy arrived in the lobby at the same moment.<br />
<br />
“You look nice.” Dorothy smiled.<br />
<br />
“Thank you.” Willie Mae thought her homemade dress looked pathetic next to Dorothy’s elegant ivory-colored satin halter dress. Willie Mae took a deep breath and put that thought out of her mind. She looked all right. She wasn’t going to be on a stage. <br />
<br />
Dorothy’s friend, Walter Brown, arrived shortly. After a quick introduction, they hurried to the big car waiting at the curb. Walter took a paper bag from under his seat, pulled a cork out of a bottle inside and asked the women if they’d like a drink of whiskey. “My boss has a good bootlegger. This is smooth stuff.”<br />
<br />
“No, thank you.” Willie Mae had tasted whiskey once and knew she didn’t like it. “I already feel a little tipsy, from just smelling the cork,” she laughed.<br />
<br />
Dorothy also declined. Walter took a swig from the bottle and returned it to its hiding place. Willie Mae felt relieved that he drove conservatively. When Dorothy started singing “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You,” Willie Mae joined her. “Hey, you’ve got a good voice, Bill. Let’s practice this. You carry the melody. I’ll harmonize.” By the time they arrived at the large hotel on the main town square, the duet was close to perfect and Willie Mae was elated.<br />
<br />
The La Paloma was a Spanish-style adobe building with a tiled roof, arched colonnades across the front and elegantly carved woodwork in the lobby and ballroom.<br />
<br />
The three young people sat at a table near the bandstand. The seven-piece orchestra played “Mood Indigo“ and “April in Paris.” The piano player rose, placed a microphone in the curve of the grand piano spoke into it. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome our beautiful songbird, Dorothy Jones.“ Dorothy slowly ascended the three steps to the platform as the musicians started playing “Night and Day.“<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was entranced. It seemed she had landed in a dream. Dorothy had the crowd in the palm of her hand. When she said, “I’d like to ask my new girlfriend to sing with me,” Willie Mae couldn’t believe her ears. “Her name is Bill Cummings. Yes, I said girlfriend, and her name is Bill. We can accept that, right? Come on up, Bill. Let’s sing ‘Sentimental Journey’.” The crowd applauded as Willie Mae ascended the step. It didn’t sound bad. She was elated.<br />
<br />
Walter asked her to dance the next number, “Walkin’ My Baby Back Home.” She was glad it wasn’t a slow one, and Walter led her in the Charleston, allowing her to keep her distance and still have a good time. Several other young men asked her to dance. By the time Walter and Dorothy dropped her at her hotel, she was exhausted but happy. <br />
<br />
For the next four weeks, after Willie Mae helped Charlotte get dressed, they went to the pool for Charlotte’s bath appointments, Willie Mae helped her with a routine set of exercises to help Charlotte increase her stamina. A therapist taught them this routine the first day and came on the following Mondays to evaluate Charlotte’s condition and progress. The two women had lunch in the hotel dining room. Charlotte rested in the early afternoon while Willie Mae played dominoes with other guests or read. After another exercise session in the pool, dinner and helping Charlotte into bed, Willie Mae went out with Dorothy and her group of friends. Charlotte assured her she didn’t mind. She was an avid reader and enjoyed her solitude, though she loved hearing reports of Willie Mae‘s evening exploits. <br />
<br />
She had a grand time. Dorothy invited her to sing with her more than once. Sometimes Willie Mae couldn’t believe that she was the same girl who’d been so depressed all through high school, the same one who felt broken hearted just a month before.<br />
<br />
This was a dream job for Willie Mae at the time, but in later years she would say, “I wasn’t worth a flip as an employee.” Still, it launched her into adulthood.<br />
</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-19811309130179020162011-06-21T17:28:00.000-07:002011-06-21T17:31:37.368-07:00Chapter 5: Heartbreak as a Rite of Passage<span lang="EN">Willie Mae’s parents were having the most carefree time of their lives. Her dad sold the lots where the elevator had stood, and with the insurance money bought several rent houses. He was appointed to finish the term of a county commissioner who died in office, and was later elected for several more terms. He took Mama with him to county-wide events as well as political trips to the state capital in Austin. The drought that caused Dust bowl was just beginning. The Wall Street crash of the previous year made credit harder to get, but hadn’t yet significantly affected the local economy.</span><br />
<span lang="EN"><br />
Glad she could make herself useful, Willie Mae cared for the house and garden while her parents traveled. She even did laundry for herself and Ina Rae. Most of her high school friends were at college or working on farms, so she often felt at loose ends during the week, but still went to parties and the movie theater on Saturday. <br />
<br />
One day when she and Mama went into the Baker Hannah Hardware Store, they were both struck with the dark good looks of the man behind the counter.<br />
<br />
Mama was never at a loss for words. “Are you new? I hope Mr. Baker is well. I‘m Mrs. Cummings. This is my daughter, Willie Mae.”<br />
<br />
The young man acknowledged them with a nod of his head. “How do you do. I’m Fred Jenkins and yes, I’m new in Floydada. Mr. Baker, my mother’s cousin, hired me to manage the store. He’s well, but is ready to slow down a little. I just finished business school in Abilene and am grateful to have this job.”<br />
<br />
“My brother, Clyde, went to business school in Abilene.” Willie Mae stopped, realizing she was almost shouting. It had been years since Clyde finished school and she felt foolish. Not many new people moved to Floydada. Fred Jenkins looked like a movie star in a gray business suit with a starched shirt and bow tie. A well-trimmed mustache decorated his upper lip.<br />
<br />
He turned to her, flashing a brilliant smile. “Is that right? Where is he now, Willie Mae?”<br />
<br />
She blushed and lowered her eyes, “Everyone calls me Bill.”<br />
<br />
Her mother spoke up. “He works in the post office on Galveston Island. Welcome to Floydada, Mr Jenkins. Have you found a church home here?“<br />
<br />
“I’m afraid I haven’t had time yet.” Fred Jenkins looked regretful.<br />
<br />
“Well, then, you’re invited to the Church of Christ, where our family goes. It‘s just down Park St. two blocks.” She pointed. “If you can go Sunday, we’d like to have you join us for dinner after church.”<br />
<br />
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Cummings. That’s very kind of you. Please call me Fred. I’ll meet you at church and then follow you home. People in Floydada are certainly friendly and hospitable, just as my mother said they’d be.” He was speaking to Susie, but smiling at Willie Mae.<br />
<br />
That evening, Willie Mae went into her sister’s bedroom. “Oh, Shorty, there’s a new young man in town. He works in the hardware store, and Mama invited him for dinner on Sunday. Wait till you see him. He’s <u>so</u> handsome.”<br />
<br />
“Let’s plan what you’re going to wear, Bill.” Ina Rae went into her sister’s bedroom and looked through her closet. She pulled out a blue crepe dress with white trim around the collar, cut slender with a flare at the hem, which also was trimmed with white. “You look great in this. Whoever this handsome dude is, he won’t be able to resist the way this color makes your eyes even bluer.”<br />
<br />
Blushing, Willie Mae laughed. “When he sees you, he won’t look at me any more, although he did seem interested today.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t care how handsome he is. I really like Jim Dougherty. We’re going with a bunch of other kids to the movie tomorrow night. Want to go?”<br />
<br />
“No, thank you. Your friends are nice, but since I’m not in school, I don’t fit in any more.” <br />
<br />
On Sunday, Fred Jenkins waited in front of the church when the family arrived. He introduced himself to Dad, shook hands with Mama, nodded to Ina Rae when she was introduced, then turned to Willie Mae, offering his arm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and they followed her parents and sister into the church. There wasn’t room on the same pew for all of them, so Willie Mae led him into the one behind Mama and Dad. She felt like everyone was staring, but ignored the feeling, smiled into Fred’s handsome face and whispered small talk until the service began.<br />
<br />
Fred was not the only guest at the Cummings’ home for dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Orman and their son Otto joined them.<br />
<br />
After the meal, the adults went to the parlor to visit. Ina Rae and Willie Mae washed and dried the dishes while Otto and Fred Jenkins watched from the wide arch between the dining room and kitchen. Otto spoke up. “I wish we could make ice cream like we used to.”<br />
<br />
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Ina Rae laughed. “If you ask Mama, she’ll probably let us.”<br />
<br />
The girls listened as the young men asked their mother.<br />
<br />
Mama smiled, “That would be nice, but we don’t have extra ice and the ice house closes early on Sunday.”<br />
<br />
“I can bring some from the store,” Fred offered. “We have an ice box in the back, and I can get enough to make a freezer of cream, if you’d like.”<br />
<br />
Everyone looked to Mama for approval. “Very well,” she laughed. “Mrs. Orman and I will mix the cream while Mr. Jenkins gets the ice.”<br />
<br />
The girls finished in the kitchen and walked out onto the porch, following Fred and Otto. Fred’s roadster was in front of the house. He turned to Willie Mae. “Would you like to go with me?” Looking at the others, he apologized. “Sorry, Otto and Shorty, there’s only room for one passenger.” <br />
<br />
Willie Mae told her parents that Fred had invited her to go with him, expecting one or the other to object. Mama smiled broadly. “Go along. Enjoy yourself,” Dad looked doubtful.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae didn’t wait for Dad to speak. She ran out and jumped into the passenger seat and the roadster sped away. Ina Rae rolled her eyes at Otto. “So Bill has an admirer.”<br />
<br />
“He seems nice enough,” Otto said, watching the car drive away. “Great car.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae enjoyed the ride in the flashy Chrysler. They parked in the alley behind the hardware store. “Come in with me,” he insisted. The dark hallway seemed a little creepy until Fred opened the door to the office and turned on a light. In the hallway, right next to the door, was a large ice box. When Fred opened it, there were two blocks of ice, one large and one that had melted to half-size. As Willie Mae looked inside, he turned, held her face between his hands and tried to kiss her. <br />
<br />
She pushed his hands away, turned and went out the door, saying, “I’ll wait in the car.”<br />
<br />
Fred came out with the ice wrapped in brown paper, strapped it to the pull-down luggage rack on back of the car, and got in beside her. “Sorry, Bill. You’re so pretty, I just couldn’t resist.”<br />
<br />
“You’re a little fast for me. I hardly know you.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t worry. You will.”<br />
</span><br />
<span lang="EN"><div align="CENTER">* * *</div><br />
For the next few months, Fred asked her out every weekend and visited her at home during the week.<br />
<br />
“Still,” she complained to Ina Rae one night as her sister was helping her wave her hair, “I feel I hardly know him. He acts like a perfect gentleman in front of Mama, who thinks he hung the moon. When we’re alone all he really wants to do is pet, and you-know-what.”<br />
<br />
Ina Rae arranged Willie Mae’s hair into deep waves held with curved metal clamps. “Do you think you might marry him, Bill? You make such a cute couple. You’re so fair and he’s so dark. All my friends have a crush on him.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t know why, Shorty, but I don’t trust him.” She picked up a framed photo from her dresser and read the inscription: <i>To Bill, With all my love, Fred Jenkins.</i> “Who signs a love note with his last name? I admit he's exciting and I like being seen with him, but something about him isn’t right.”<br />
<br />
A few days later, when the family sat down for dinner, Mama raised her eyebrows at Willie Mae. “Have you talked to Fred this week?”<br />
<br />
“Not since we went to the movies Saturday night.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, Daughter, but I have bad news. When I asked after Fred in the hardware store, Mrs. Baker took me aside and whispered that her husband discovered that Fred embezzled money from the store.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, no.” Willie Mae gasped. “Is he in jail?”<br />
<br />
“No. The Bakers decided not to go to the law. But when they confronted him, he confessed to them that he’s supporting a woman and child in Abilene.. Imagine that! I thought he was such a fine young man.” Mama’s voice trembled.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae flushed. “Well, I think you liked him better than I did, Mama. I feel furious.” She rose from her chair abruptly, making it fall to the floor behind her, and ran to her room.<br />
<br />
When Ina Rae followed, she found Willie Mae with Fred’s picture in her hands, the frame on the floor. “This is what I think of all your love, Fred Jenkins.” She tore the picture into small pieces and dumped it into a trash can beside her dresser. “Oh, Shorty, I’m so embarrassed. How can I show my face in Floydada after going with such a skunk? What am I going to do?” She sat heavily on the bed, her face in her hands.<br />
<br />
Ina Rae sat and embraced her. “It’ll be okay, Bill. Our wise brother A.D. says the truth is always good news. They sat there for awhile trying to think of options for Willie Mae’s future. Finally, Ina Rae went to her own room to do homework and Willie Mae, feeling miserable, went to bed.<br />
<br />
The next day, as if in answer to an unuttered prayer, a letter addressed to Willie Mae arrived. It was from her brother Ennis, who farmed with his wife Jewell in Friona, Texas.<br />
<i></i><br />
<i> Dear Bill,<br />
Our friend, Orville Putnam, is looking for someone to accompany<br />
his wife, Charlotte, to Hot Springs, New Mexico, to take mineral baths <br />
in the hope it will strengthen her legs. A blood clot has rendered her hardly <br />
able to walk. The doctor isn’t sure the baths will help, but don’t think they<br />
will hurt. Orville will pay your passage, room and board plus a small salary.<br />
<br />
Please let me know if you want to take this position and when you could <br />
be here. Please give my regards to Mama, Dad and Shorty.</i><br />
Below Ennis’s signature, Jewell had written, “<i>Bill, when you get back from Hot Springs, you can stay with us as long as you like. We can use your help and would enjoy having you. Love, J.”</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Two days later, Willie Mae hugged her Ina Rae and her parents goodbye and caught a bus going northwest. <i> </i><br />
<i></i></span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-65461590911201698062011-06-14T09:01:00.000-07:002011-06-14T09:02:37.694-07:00Mother's Story Chapter 4: Floydada High School<span lang="EN"></span> <br />
<div align="center">Chapter 4<br />
</div>Unhappy attending the large high school in Floydada, Willie Mae found it difficult to make friends. In Roseland, she knew everyone and was quite popular. She rarely had to form new relationships. She didn’t know how.<br />
<br />
One golden fall day after school, Willie Mae took refuge in the room she shared with her sister. When Ina Rae came in, she found her crying.<br />
<br />
“What’s the matter, Bill?” Ina Rae placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder.<br />
<br />
“Oh, Shorty. I don’t think people here like me. I try to be friendly and funny, but everyone already has their pals. I just don’t fit in.” Lying on one of the narrow beds in their room, Willie Mae turned her face to the wall, crying even harder.<br />
<br />
Ina Rae sat beside her on the edge of the bed and rubbed her back. “I’m sorry. I thought you were excited about being in the pep squad.”<br />
<br />
“I was, but the other girls were going to Blanche Hilton’s house after school to practice yells, and they didn’t invite me.” She turned back to look at Ina Rae, her tear-filled blue eyes full of resentment.<br />
<br />
“Well, I don’t think you need a special invitation. Come on. We’re going over to Blanche’s house right now.” Ina Rae’s eyes blazed with blue fire. “If you’re in the pep squad, then you have to assume that you’re invited. You need to learn those yells. Now wash your face and comb your hair. I want to learn the yells too.” Her pretty face settled into a coaxing smile.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae, who adored her younger sister and was in awe of her spunk, obediently did as she was told. They walked the few blocks to the Hiltons’. As they approached the low brick house with broad lawns, they could hear girls voices in the back yard. Willie Mae started up the porch steps to knock on the front door, but Ina Rae motioned for her sister to follow her around the side of the house.<br />
<br />
In the back, they found seven girls in a line, kicking and side stepping to the rhythm as they chanted,<br />
“You’ve got it, now keep it.<br />
Doggone it, don’t lose it.<br />
Your pep! Your pep!”<br />
<br />
Ina Rae marched up to Blanche and announced. “Bill’s sorry she’s late. She has to take care of me, her little sister, after school, so she couldn’t come till I got home. Mind if I join you?” She lined up with the other girls and motioned Willie Mae to do the same, which she did.<br />
<br />
Blanche blinked, then shrugged as Ina Rae started the chant again and all the other girls fell back into step.<br />
By the end of the practice session, Willie Mae laughed with the rest of the girls when she missed a step, purposely escalating the misstep into a fall on the grass, then rolling over and sitting up with a goofy look on her face. As she and Ina Rae left, Blanche walked between them to the front of the house, holding hands.<br />
“Do you want to meet me at the corner in the morning? We could walk to school together.”<br />
<br />
Secretly thrilled, Willie Mae nodded happily.<br />
<br />
The next morning, she and Blanche practiced their yells and marched in rhythm all the way to school. This was a start, Willie Mae thought, thankful for her bold little sister.<br />
<br />
Through music Willie Mae made more friends and felt good about herself. All her life she liked to sing and had a sweet soprano voice. The a cappella singing at church prepared her well to participate in the school choir. She was chosen for the girls’ sextet, a niche where she really felt at home. Her favorite song was “My Blue Heaven.”<br />
<br />
Her mother sometimes worried about Willie Mae’s moodiness. “You’re either too happy or too sad,” she told her. This surprised her. She didn’t think she was ever really happy since leaving Roseland. Some days she had no interest in anything. Willie Mae learned that if she clowned around at least she didn’t feel so sad. She guessed that’s what Mama meant when she said she was too happy.<br />
<br />
She did well in language arts and social studies. Her brother, A.D., was her teacher for tenth grade U.S. History, which she liked well enough. However, Roseland school had not prepared her well for math and science. “I’m pitiful with algebra,” she groaned to Ina Rae. “And chemistry might as well be Chinese for all I understand about it.”<br />
<br />
“Who needs to know that stuff anyway?” Ina Rae paused. “Are you going to go to college?”<br />
<br />
“If I ever finish Floydada High School, I never want to sit in a classroom again.” It was one of those down days when Willie Mae seemed to be in a dark tunnel with no light at the end.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>Willie Mae learned to drive, and one night her dad let her drive his Model T Ford to take Ina Rae and two girlfriends to a baseball game in Lockney. She parked by the board fence outside the field. They met some boys inside and had a good time.<br />
<br />
After the game, they found that one of the taillights on the car was broken. Dad was angry when she told him, and Willie Mae couldn’t convince him that she didn’t know how it happened. She never got over the horrible feeling that her dad didn’t trust her and thought she was lying. It changed their relationship, and she grieved for the days when they were so close.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div><div align="center"><br />
</div>One night A.D. came to the Cummings’ house in the middle of the night. A light sleeper, Willie Mae heard the car drive up and the front door open. She went out into the hallway to see her brother tapping on her parents’ bedroom door.<br />
<br />
He spoke in a low, urgent tone. “Dad, wake up. The elevator is on fire.”<br />
<br />
Sid opened the bedroom door. His hair stood on end. He’d put on trousers and was pulling on a shirt over his undershirt. Suspenders hung beside his legs. He patted A.D.’s arm as he walked past. “Thanks, Son. I’d better get down there.”<br />
<br />
A.D. followed him. “I’ll drive you, Dad. My car’s out front.”<br />
<br />
As the two men hurried out the front door, Ina Rae came out of her room in her white flannel nightgown, rubbing her eyes and frowning. “What’s the matter?”<br />
<br />
“A.D. said the elevator is burning. Come on, let’s see if we can see it.” Willie Mae ran to the front window with Ina Rae following. Mama was already standing there, her hand over her mouth, looking at an orange glow, making a silhouette of the water tower that stood between their house and Dad‘s business.<br />
<br />
The girls burst into tears. “Mama, what will Dad do?” Willie Mae had never felt the kind of fear that gripped her chest as she watched the brightness and the black smoke billowing into the sky that was beginning to lighten into dawn.<br />
<br />
“I don’t know what we’ll do, Girls. Let’s just wait and see what your Dad says when he comes home.” She put an arm around each of them. “God will take care of us. He always has. There’s not much we can do here. Do you want to go back to bed for a bit, or do you want a cup of hot cocoa?”<br />
<br />
“I couldn’t sleep now. I’ll make the cocoa, Mama. Do both of you want some?” Willie Mae walked ahead of them to the kitchen.<br />
<br />
The three of them were mostly silent as they drank the sweet beverage and waited for Dad to come home.<br />
Two hours later, he and A.D. came in as Mama was getting a pan of biscuits out of the oven. She poured each of them a cup of coffee. They washed their blackened hands and faces in the sink and sat down at the table. Mama put plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits and plum jam in front them. They both mumbled a grateful, “Thank you,” and started wolfing down the hot food.<br />
<br />
Ina Rae and Willie Mae came in quietly and sat at the table. Unlike their dad and brother, they had little appetite. Finally Willie Mae got the courage to speak. “What happened, Dad? How did the fire start?”<br />
<br />
A.D. spoke up. “Sometimes stored grain just starts burning by itself. It’s called spontaneous combustion. That’s probably how it started. We tried to get the account records out of the office, but they‘re all charred.”<br />
Dad looked up. “Well, all the farmers know how much they owe me. I’m not worried about them paying. If I forget any bills I owe, I’m sure the businesses will let me know.” Seeing the girls’ somber faces. “Don’t worry, girls. Everything will be all right. I’m thankful no one was hurt.”<br />
<br />
Mama stood up and walked around behind Dad and rubbed his shoulders.<br />
<br />
“Thank goodness you got that fire insurance policy.” She bent over and kissed his cheek.<br />
<br />
A.D. pushed his chair back. “We’d better get ready for school, right, girls?”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae nodded, amazed that this day was going to be very much like any other school day, after such a strange night.<br />
<div align="center">* * * </div><br />
<br />
At last Willie Mae reached eleventh grade, which was the senior year in Texas schools in those days.<br />
About this time her sister Felicia moved to a farm near Floydada with her husband, Lee Rogers, and their children, R.K., Sidney Lee and Joyce. With only their two youngest daughters left at home, Dad and Mama loved to drive their automobile out to visit their oldest daughter and her young family. Willie Mae and Ina Rae enjoyed going along to see their adored sister. They played with her slightly younger children and helped them with their homework. Joyce was a beautiful girl, and her two young aunts loved dressing her up and arranging her long dark hair into elaborate do’s. <br />
Driving home from such a visit on a warm March Sunday, Mama turned to Dad. “I’m worried about Sis. She’s hasn’t felt well for several months.”<br />
Dad frowned. “I noticed she looked poor. She didn’t eat much for dinner but she’s always been picky. She was sick all last summer.”<br />
Mama nodded. “I asked her to let me take her to see Doctor Johnson. Thank goodness she agreed. I’ll get an appointment tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
Later in the week, Willie Mae arrived home from school to find Felicia asleep in her bed. She went to the kitchen to look for her mother. “Mama, why is Sis here? Is she all right?”<br />
<br />
Mama turned from stirring a pot of beans on the stove, with a very serious expression. “No, she’s not well. She’s going to stay with us for awhile. You won’t mind sharing a room with Ina Rae again, will you?” Seeing Willie Mae’s worried look, Mama hugged her, then stood back with a smile and ran her hands over her daughter’s carefully-waved short hairdo.<br />
<br />
“I don’t mind at all, Mama. It’ll be fun, but what’s wrong with Sis? Who’s going to take care of her kids?”<br />
“Their dad went with us to the doctor today. Lee said he could manage the children during the week while they’re in school. They can come here on the weekends to be with Sis.” Mama shook her head. “I just hope I can get her to eat more. The doctor thinks she has Pellagra.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae gasped, her hand over her mouth, remembering a letter several years earlier telling them that her mother’s aunt in Georgia had died of Pellagra. At the time, doctors thought the epidemic was caused by tainted corn.<br />
<br />
Ina Rae walked in just in time to hear the last sentence. “Oh, no. I read about that in my nutrition book in Home Ec class. They’ve now discovered it’s a vitamin deficiency, niacin, I think. Why would Sis have that? Isn’t she eating?”<br />
<br />
“She has no appetite and she’s too thin. Doctor Johnson said twice as many women as men have pellagra. He thinks something isn’t right with her female hormones that keeps her body from getting what it needs from her food.” Mama’s voice quavered as she turned back to the stove, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.<br />
<br />
Felicia’s illness continued to worsen. Her hands and feet were covered with a red rash. She was sick with diarrhea and sometimes didn’t even recognize her family members. The family felt devastated when Sis died on May 2, 1930, at the age of 33.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was supposed to graduate later in the month, but didn’t have the credits she needed in algebra and chemistry. School didn’t seem important. She decided to “quituate”.Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-87814621293513886692011-06-07T12:50:00.000-07:002011-06-07T12:50:32.307-07:00The Cummings Move to Floyd County - Back Story for Mother's StoryFor this material,<strong><em> </em></strong>I relied on stories my uncles, Clyde and Elma Cummings, had thankfully left for posterity. The genre of this writing is <em>creative nonfiction. </em>The descriptions and dialogues are from my imagination, based on my uncles' narrative accounts. I decided I should start the book with Mother's birthday, but still hope to include this material at some point.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">***</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><span lang="EN">On July 1, 1912, as Sid Cummings awaited the birth of his seventh child, his mind wandered back over his 39 years of life. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know and love Susie Griffin. Their families had migrated together from Georgia to Cass County, Texas when he and Susie were small children, in the 1870’s.<br />
<br />
When he was 19, Sid moved farther west to Collin County, to work for Mr. Shipman on a farm. He saved his money for three years, and in 1895, he returned to Cass County and married Susie Griffin. For a short while they lived with Sid’s brother, Jim.<br />
<br />
Mr. Shipman helped Sid get some farm land in Collin County, so the couple returned to live there. Susie missed the piney woods of her childhood, but enjoyed the flowers she grew in the wonderful soil of their new home. It was a very small farm in the community of Climax, boasting a post office, grocery store and school. Their first children, Felicia, Ennis and Clyde were born and started school there. Their third son, A.D. was also born there, but before he started to school, a friend of Sid’s told him of a wonderful opportunity to get a larger farm on the plains.<br />
<br />
“My brother got half a section for the price of a wagon and two horses. It’s virgin farming country.”<br />
<br />
By train, Sid and his friend went to see for themselves. When Sid arrived home after ten days, Clyde, Ennis and A.D. rushed to grab his legs. The family act like I’ve been gone for ages, he thought. He had fun playing out a little drama, setting down his valise, opening it with a flourish, reaching in and bringing out a plum for each child. To Susie, he offered a large bunch of grapes.<br />
<br />
“Look at the size of this head of Kaffir corn, this Milo maize and this sweet corn. I think we should move out there, Susie. I found a home we can buy in Lockney County.”<br />
<br />
“I’ve heard it’s very cold in the winter and that there are no trees there. And it’s so far away from Mama. Maybe we should wait until this baby is born.” Suzie touched her swollen belly.<br />
<br />
But Sid’s mind was made up, and Susie had little say in the matter. They started planning what to take and what to leave behind and making preparations for the move.<br />
<br />
The move was difficult but exciting. They loaded all their belongings on an immigrant car, with livestock in one end, a few pieces of furniture, personal effects and farm implements in the other. Sid and Susie, Felicia, 8, Clyde, 6, Ennis, 4, and A.D., 2, rode in a passenger car toward the front of the train. A seventeen-year-old farmhand named Wes rode with the livestock.<br />
<br />
Now Sid wondered whatever happened to Wes. He was like a part of our family in those days, he thought. I’d like to know where he is and what he’s doing.<br />
<br />
On Clyde’s seventh birthday, September 3, 1905, the family arrived in Canyon City, Texas. Coming from the muggy east Texas late summer, everyone shivered in the high, dry air as they changed trains in Amarillo.<br />
Sid remembered the shock when Mr. Hartman, whom Sid had hired to transport their goods to Lockney, arrived. They went to the railroad stock yard to get the Cummings’ cattle and found a lock on the gate with a seal stating it was a violation of the law to break. Sid shook his head, remembering how certain he’d been that all his charges had been paid in McKinney at the beginning of their journey. The bill of lading said that the money he’d paid was <u>on</u><b> </b>the charges, and he’d have to pay the balance in Canyon City. Once that was cleared up, they loaded their goods on four wagons, covered with wagon sheets. The few cattle were herded along with them as they started for their new home, 75 miles to the south.<br />
<br />
The next day, ominous clouds arose in the north. It rained so hard they had to stop in the Tulia wagon yard for two days until the rain stopped.<br />
<br />
Sid was enchanted with the huge vistas. The grass moved like waves on a large body of water, and they glimpsed deer, antelope, badgers, coyotes and jackrabbits along the way. Susie was less enthusiastic. She was a people person and was missing the home she left behind, besides being close to delivering a baby.<br />
<br />
After five days, they arrived at the farm Sid had bought to find that the Bonners, from whom he had purchased the place, had been unable to vacate the house because of the prolonged rain. After two weeks of staying in a boarding house in Lockney, they were finally able to move in. Susie arranged their belongings into four small rooms. There was a half-dugout room in the back used for storage. To their horror, the house was infested with bed bugs. Susie used coal oil to combat them, but it was a continual battle.<br />
<br />
Aileene was born in October. Susie and Sid welcomed their second daughter, but the long cold winter that followed was very hard for Susie. She was lonely and cried often. Sid finally promised her that they would return to Collin County as soon as he could find a buyer for their farm.<br />
<br />
By the time a buyer was found, Susie had made friends with church people in Lockney. They bought a nicer home on the edge of town, and decided to stay in Floyd County.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-73054517787617645682011-05-31T12:49:00.000-07:002011-05-31T12:49:18.214-07:00Mother's Story, Chapter 3<span lang="EN"> Willie Mae cherished her life in the Roseland Community. The neighbors were all friends. The men in the community helped each other with butchering hogs or building projects, scheduling their time for it. In times of illness, neighbors stepped in to help.<br />
<br />
One Friday, Ina Rae waited for Willie Mae in the schoolyard when the older children emerged to join the lower grades for recess. When she caught sight of her sister, Ina Rae ran to her, crying.<br />
<br />
“What’s the matter, Shorty?” Willie Mae pulled a hanky out of her pocket and wiped her sister’s eyes.<br />
<br />
“Lolita got appendicitis and died.” The words burst out between sobs.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae hugged her, trying to comprehend the reality. A beautiful, vivacious red-haired child, who had been at school two days earlier, was gone. Ina Rae wailed, “She was my best friend and I’ll never get to play with her again.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae cried with her as this news struck home.<br />
<br />
Back in class, Miss Alta Lee told the children that Lolita’s funeral would be the next day. “Girls, if you have a white dress, please wear it to the service. Lolita’s mother, Mrs. Robertson wants you to be flower girls.”<br />
This was the first time that death struck close to Willie Mae. She lay awake for a long time that night, considering the possibility of her own doom, her fingers stroking her right side where she’d been told the appendix lay. Before the school year was over, two more students in Roseland would die, another girl from appendicitis and a boy in Willie Mae’s grade from a lightning strike. <br />
<br />
The whole community came out for Lolita’s funeral. Willie Mae and Ina Rae, in their white organdy dresses, carried baskets of blossoms down the aisle of the church and scattered them around the small white casket. The congregation sang “Asleep in Jesus.”<br />
<br />
After the service, tablecloths were spread on the lawn where the women placed their favorite dishes. Pews were brought out of the church building and placed in a square for the congregation to sit while they shared a feast.<br />
<br />
“Come on, Shorty,” Willie Mae said after she and Ina Rae filled their tin plates. “Let’s go sit in the buggy to eat.”<br />
<br />
The younger girl looked at the delicious food on her plate: fried chicken, potato salad, fresh green beans cooked with a little bacon for flavor. “This is almost like a party for Lolita, only she’s not here.” Her voice wavered and she fought back tears.<br />
<br />
“I know. The preacher said it’s a celebration of her life, that she was an innocent child and is in heaven now. Still, her mother cried so hard it made me cry too.” Willie Mae held both their plates while her sister climbed in the buggy, then handed them to Ina Rae while she got settled. “Come on, Shorty, don’t be sad. Lolita would want you to eat this good food. There’s all kinds of cakes and pies, too.”<br />
<div align="center">* * * </div>Willie Mae loved the farm, cultivated on virgin prairie land. When they moved there, it had only the house, windmill and some barns. Sid and the boys built fences around the hog pasture, cow pasture, vegetable garden and the yards around the house. They dug a cellar not far from the back yard, constructed a chicken house and a smoke house for curing meat. Later, the family planted an orchard with peach, plum and apple trees.<br />
A black walnut tree grew over the big concrete horse tank. The water often overflowed the tank, and the tree grew large and produced big crops. In the fall, Ina Rae and Willie Mae sat under the tree, placed hard-shelled nuts on a flat rock and cracked them with a hammer, then used a nail to extract the meat. All her life, whenever Willie Mae cracked a walnut, she thought of that tree, and how she and her little sister relished the wonderful snack.<br />
<br />
The farm livestock were dear to the girl: horses, mules, hogs, cows, chickens, especially the cute baby animals. To her, the flat countryside around the farm was beautiful. Dad assigned her the job of walking down the lane between two fences to bring the cows to the barn for milking. She loved the walk, looking for treasures, such as pretty rocks and Killdeer nests. The mother birds sometimes startled her with their noisy cry. The mother would run away, dragging a wing. The first time Willie Mae saw this, she tried to catch the crippled bird, but it flew away, not crippled at all.<br />
<br />
When she got back to the milk shed with the cows, she told Dad about this curious behavior. “I thought the bird was hurt. I was going to keep her in the house till she got well.”<br />
<br />
Dad chuckled, a sound she loved. “You must have been close to her nest. That was an act to lure you away.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was puzzled. “Why would a bird build a nest on the ground anyway?”<br />
<br />
“Well, you have to admit there aren’t many trees around here.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae and Ina Rae liked to play in the building Dad called the granary, with its partitioned sections holding cotton seed, wheat and maize. One day the girls lay in the wheat bin, enjoying the way the grain conformed to their bodies. They were surprised when their dad found them there and was angry. “Get out of there, Girls. This is not a place you should play. You’ll have the grain scattered everywhere.”<br />
Sid didn’t scold them often, but when he did, they knew he meant it. One time, Willie Mae tried to help him get a calf into a pen. They nearly had him in when he suddenly turned and ran away from the gate.<br />
<br />
Exasperated, Willie Mae said, “Oh, you darn calf.”<br />
<br />
Dad frowned. “Willie Mae, don’t ever say that word again.”<br />
<br />
One day after school, Ina Rae said, “Let’s go see Mrs. Bybee. She’s probably lonesome.” The Bybees’ farm was the next place west of the Cummings. The woman they wanted to visit was the mother of the owner. The girls liked her because she was like a grandmother, conversing with them and showing a real interest in their concerns. <br />
<br />
“We’d better ask Mama.” Willie Mae started toward the house.<br />
<br />
“No. It’s all right. We won’t be gone long. She won’t even know we’re gone.” Ina Rae started across the field.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae followed. The girls walked the half mile, knocked on the door and were pleased that Mrs. Bybee seemed happy to see them. She told them she’d been cleaning house and explained to them how she did it, sweeping the walls first. The girls had never heard of that. Their mother swept the spider webs down, but not the whole wall. They had a drink of lemonade and some cookies and decided they’d better get home.<br />
“Thank you, Mrs. Bybee.” They returned her hugs and pats on the back.<br />
<br />
“You girls are welcome to come see me anytime,” the kind woman said with a chuckle. “Tell your mother I said hello.”<br />
<br />
As they crossed the field, Mama met them and they soon realized she wasn’t in the mood for cheerful greetings. She had a switch off a peach tree and spanked them all the way home. “You had me worried to death.” After that painful end to their adventure, they always asked their mama when they wanted to visit Mrs. Bybee.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>Every evening, the large family gathered in the dining room at a long table with a bench on one side. The table was laden with a big hot supper that Aileene helped prepare. The children had to be clean and quiet when they came to the table. If they got boisterous, their dad would clear his throat meaningfully and they would settle down.<br />
<br />
After supper, it was Willie Mae’s job to take the butter and milk to the well house beside the windmill. Wonderfully cold water flowed from deep underground into a barrel, then into a trough where milk and butter were kept. In the winter, when it got dark early, Willie Mae would talk Ina Rae into going with her. They were both scared of the dark and stayed close together. One evening, their youngest brother jumped out from behind a bush and yelled, “Boo!” They screamed and Ina Rae dropped the butter.<br />
<br />
Crying, Ina Rae felt on the ground for the cloth-wrapped bundle. “Look, Elma. You made me drop the butter.” Finding it and brushing it off, she caught her brother’s infectious laugh and her tears stopped. Still, the girls dreaded every trek out in the dark.<br />
<br />
One day when Willie Mae and Ina Rae arrived home from school, Willie Mae ran to her mama’s huge garden. Her little sister stopped and waited. “What are you doing, Bill?”<br />
<br />
“You’ll see.” Willie Mae bent and pulled up two young onions, brought them back and grinned as she pulled off the outer skins to get rid of the dirt. “I’m going to make us some onion sandwiches.”<br />
<br />
Ina Rae looked skeptical, but followed her into the kitchen and watched as she took two breakfast biscuits out of the oven, broke the crusty tops from the bottoms, cut the onions and put the pieces between the crusts. She handed one to Ina Rae and bit into the other one. “Isn’t this delicious, Shorty?”<br />
<br />
Her sister tasted, nodding with real appreciation. This came to be their favorite snack when they arrived home hungry after school.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>The Church of Christ was an important part of the Cummings family life. In Floyd County, there were congregations in Cedar Hill, Lockney, Lone Star and Floydada. Sid and Susie took their children to meet and worship with each one at various times.<br />
<br />
After church most weeks, friends would go home with one another for Sunday dinner. Willie Mae especially loved when her family went home with the Ormans, whose daughter Bessie was her age. Bessie’s brother Otto was in her brother Elma’s class. <br />
<br />
One summer Sunday at the Ormans’ after church, the two families ate a delicious meal of roast beef with mashed potatoes, fresh garden greens, tomatoes and homemade rolls. Mrs. Orman said, “We bought some ice while we were in town for church. If you girls will mix up some cream and you boys will turn it, we’ll have ice cream with our chocolate cake. Miz Cummings and I will even wash the dishes while you do that.”<br />
<br />
The girls squealed with delight. Bessie and Ina Rae nodded when Willie Mae said, “That’ll be two treats in one: we don’t have to do dishes and making ice cream is fun.”<br />
<br />
Dad and Mr. Orman went to sit in the front porch rocking chairs. They smoked their pipes and discussed farm matters and politics. Mama and Mrs. Orman stacked the dishes and carried them to the kitchen to wash.<br />
<br />
On the other side of the kitchen, the girls talked and laughed as they mixed Mrs. Ormans recipe for vanilla ice cream. They heated enough thick cream to dissolve the sugar, then stirred in more cream, a little salt and vanilla. “Otto, bring the freezer,” Bessie called out the back door. The boys had brought the freezer from the cellar, rinsed it off at the windmill. They’d stopped to wrestle on the grass, but came through the screen door eagerly when Bessie called.<br />
<br />
“Step aside, girls. This is a man’s job.” Elma grinned. He carried the bowl of cream mixture to the back yard and poured it into a metal canister. Then he put in a slotted paddle whose central post extended through a hole in the lid. Otto carefully placed on the lid, which had raised gears around the central hole. Elma put the canister into a large wooden bucket. Otto fit a geared bar with a crank on the end over the lid, and clamped it down.<br />
<br />
The girls had ice mixed with rock salt ready, and helped the boys place it in the bucket around the canister. Otto brought an enamel dishpan and placed the freezer in it to catch the salt water that ran out a hole in the side of the bucket as the ice melted. “Dad says the salt water will kill the grass.”<br />
<br />
The girls sat on the lawn in the shade of a large cottonwood, watching the boys take turns on the crank. The canister rotated clockwise, the paddle inside went counter-clockwise. When the cream started to freeze and the crank became hard to turn, Elma said, I need someone to sit on top of the freezer so it won’t move when I try to turn the crank.” <br />
<br />
“I want to.“ Ina Rae jumped up and ran to the kitchen for a towel to put over the freezer, and sat on it. “This is the best job on a hot day.”<br />
<br />
When neither boy was able to turn the crank, Otto declared, “This ice cream is officially done. Call out the grownups, Bessie.”<br />
<br />
Their parents joined them on the lawn to enjoy the smooth, delicious ice cream with rich chocolate cake.<br />
Mrs. Orman looked serious. “Since the split, our group at church is so small. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to agreement with those who insisted having Bible classes at church on Sunday morning.”<br />
<br />
“I’m sorry, too, but if they’d just read their Bibles, they’d see it doesn’t say anything in the New Testament about the church having classes.” Sid’s voice went up in volume. “Besides that, they have individual cups for communion. Matthew, Mark and Luke all state clearly, ‘He took <b><i>the</i> cup and blessed it.’”</b><br />
<br />
Mr. Orman nodded. “Yes. Next they’ll be getting a piano or organ. If we’re going to restore New Testament Christianity, we have to speak where the Bible speaks and be silent where the Bible is silent.”<br />
<br />
The others looked shocked when Susie confessed, “I really don’t think there’s anything wrong with classes and individual communion cups. I just have more confidence in the families that stayed than the ones who split.” Susie was more interested in people than doctrine.<br />
<br />
“It’s sad not to see them very often.” Mrs. Orman persisted.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae agreed with Bessie’s mother. She missed her friends whose parents built the new church across town in Floydada. The two congregations were still called the Church of Christ, but they couldn’t agree on the details of what that meant.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>One summer day in 1926, Willie Mae and Ina Rae felt excited as they dressed to go to a revival meeting.<br />
<br />
“Elma said there’s a huge tent with no sides on it set up in the park.”<br />
<br />
“They call that a tabernacle. We’re going to get to go every night for ten evenings in a row.” Willie Mae loved singing songs about heaven, hearing the dramatic sermons and seeing her friends at the meetings. “We’ll stay at A.D.’s house with Elma. The meetings start at 6:30.”<br />
<br />
A.D., their older brother, had graduated from West Texas State Teachers College in Canyon. He returned to teach Ancient History at Floydada High School. When Elma started high school, he lived with A.D. in his rented house in town during the school week.<br />
<br />
Each night of the revival, Brother Clark urged people to obey the gospel, after which the congregation would stand and sing an invitation song. On the third night, while the congregation sang “Why Not Tonight?”, Willie Mae watched her brother Elma walk up the aisle to the front of the tabernacle. A thrill seemed to pulse along the whole row of girls with whom she and Ina Rae sat. She looked from face to face and in the next moment, seven girls, including Willie Mae, also walked to the front.<br />
<br />
After the invitation song, the congregation sat down with an expectant hush. Brother Clark, the preacher, stood before Elma, the first person on the front row. Willie Mae’s heart raced as she waited for her turn. Brother Clark asked her brother to stand, “Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the son of God?”<br />
<br />
Elma swallowed, squared his shoulders and answered, “I do.”<br />
<br />
Willie Mae looked back and saw Mama wiping tears from her eyes, Dad’s arm around her shoulders. Dad was watching Elma, his eyebrows raised, looking very pleased.<br />
<br />
The congregants moved en masse to Judge Duncan’s house on the edge of Floydada. The girls’ mothers went with them to one of the bedrooms where they changed from their church clothes to baptismal gowns, simple unbleached muslin shifts with weights sewn to the bottom to keep them from floating up in the water, possibly exposing the girls’ legs. Willie Mae knew Elma would wear a pajama-like garment made from the same fabric. She shivered with excitement and nervousness, glad she was third in line to be baptized. The congregation only had three gowns, so the last four girls would have to put on wet ones. They all gathered around Judge Duncan’s horse tank.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae watched as Elma stepped in the water. His eyes got big and the water turned green as algae swirled around his legs. Brother Clark stood outside the waist-high tank with his right hand in the middle of Elma’s back, a clean handkerchief in his left hand. “Upon your confession of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, I now baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, for the remission of your sins.” He put the handkerchief over Elma’s nose and held it while he lowered the boy under the murky water and brought him back to stand as before. Elma opened his eyes, smiling broadly. Willie Mae had to stop herself from clapping her hands in excitement.<br />
<br />
When it was her turn, she was shocked by the feel of the slimy moss on the bottom of the tank. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. By this time, the long summer sunset had ended and the Milky Way shone overhead. One of the men held a kerosene lantern up, but she was glad it wasn’t bright enough to see how the water must look by now. Still, the simple ceremony filled her with awe. “I love Jesus and I’m glad that he loves me,” she thought as Brother Clark lay her down in the water and brought her back up again.<br />
<br />
She and the other girls discussed what it would mean to be Christians as they all changed into dry clothes after the service. She said, “I’m going to try to live right and do what the Bible says.”<br />
<br />
Vera Wilson looked disgusted. “Don’t think I’m not going to have any fun the rest of my life.”<br />
<div align="center">* * * </div>When Willie Mae graduated from Roseland, Sid decided to move the family to town. He sold the farm and bought the Floydada Mill and Elevator, where they made wheat flour, corn meal and feed for livestock. For the first time ever, the Cummings family didn’t live on a farm.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was used to being “a big fish in a little pond”, and was overwhelmed by being in a large school. She and Ina Rae went to different schools for the first time. Though it was only a few miles away, they suffered terrible homesickness for Roseland.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-21977568727868213902011-05-23T11:22:00.000-07:002011-05-23T11:48:30.272-07:00Mother's Story, Chapter 2<span lang="EN"> </span><br />
<div align="center">Chapter 2</div>Willie Mae’s father, Sid, traded farms often. He moved the family to a new place in Memphis, Texas, in Hall county, in 1913. They stayed there only a year because Susie didn’t like the bad-tasting water. They called it gyp water.<br />
<br />
He traded again for a half-section of land with a house on it, 10 miles south of Claude, in Armstrong County. Sid and Susie’s last child, Ina Rae, was born there on December 8, 1914. Their first child, Felicia, married Lee Rogers at home two weeks later.<br />
<br />
This was the best house the family had lived in, up to then. There was no indoor bathroom or water supply. A coal stove heated the living room and coal range served in the kitchen. Kerosene lamps were used for light.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae was only 17 months old when her little sister was born. Ina Rae was charismatic from the beginning, and Willie Mae sometimes found it difficult to get her share of attention.<br />
<br />
Sid made good cotton crops on this farm, but in 1915, dirt and tickle grass got into the cotton. Prices were so low that he left the crop in the field and moved back to Floyd county after trading farms.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>Susie Cummings was a remarkably energetic and hard-working wife and mother. Besides keeping the house and cooking, she raised a vegetable garden, raised laying hens and chickens for frying, helped with the milking and churned butter. On Mondays, she heated water in a big cast iron pot over a wood fire behind the farmhouse and did the laundry for the week. She made her daughters’ and her own clothes from patterns she created. She struggled with the harsh wind and weather of the Texas plains. Awaking one windy spring morning, Susie went to check on her newly hatched chicks and found several tiny fluffy yellow bodies stuck in the chicken wire, blown there by the night wind. She tried to raise flowers, but the wind often whipped them to pieces as soon as the blossoms emerged.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae loved the time after dinner, when the family sat in the parlor. Susie told stories and sang in her sweet, high voice. Willie Mae loved to sing and learned many songs from her mother, her brothers and at church. Sometimes she went to bed feeling quite sad about the tragedies of the children in her mother’s melodramatic songs, such as this one:<br />
<i>Mother, oh why did you leave me alone,</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div><div align="center"></div>When the first Monday in September, 1918, arrived, Willie Mae was awake early, excited about her first day at school. Aileene, now 13 years old, helped her dress. “Be still, Bill, so I can brush your hair.” Perhaps with so many older brothers and sisters, it was inevitable that Willie Mae would be called Bill.<br />
Giggling, she jumped up and down. “I can’t be still. I’m too excited. Finally, I get to go in the buggy with you and Elma and A.D. to school.” She stopped and her face turned somber. “I wish Ennis and Clyde still went to Roseland.”<br />
<br />
Aileene smiled at her little sister. “Silly. You know they’re too old. Roseland School only goes to ninth grade.”<br />
<br />
After graduating from Roseland, children in the district went to Sunset for another year. Clyde had graduated from Sunset, and then to Draghan’s Business College in Abilene.<br />
“Isn’t it exciting that Clyde has a job in a bank in Abilene? I can hardly imagine living that far away from the family.” Aileene sighed.<br />
<br />
Willie Mae stuck out her lower lip. “I miss him. And why are Mama and Dad mad at Ennis?”<br />
<br />
“They wanted him to finish school, but he just wants to marry Jewell Newman and start farming. Hold still so I can tie your sash. Ennis says he’s going way out west of here to farmstead in Parmer County. Dad says he’s too young, but he’s saving money from his farmhand job to buy a car and go. I think it’s very romantic.” Aileene sighed, then lowered her voice to a whisper, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Last night after church, I heard him singing to Jewell around the side of the building.” She sang:<br />
“<i>With someone like you, a pal good and true,</i><br />
<span lang="EN"><em>I’d like to leave it all behind and go and find</em><br />
<em>A place that’s known to God alone,</em><br />
<em>Just a spot to call our own.</em><br />
<em>We’ll find perfect peace where joys never cease</em><br />
<em>Somewhere beneath the starry sky.</em><br />
<em>We’ll build a sweet little nest somewhere in the west</em><br />
<em>And let the rest of the world go by.”</em></span><br />
Willie Mae sighed with appreciation for the romance and Aileen’s sweet soprano voice, laughing clapping with delight. A second later, a frown formed on her chubby face. “I hated it when Dad yelled at Ennis and kicked him in the seat of the pants.”<br />
“I did too, Honey. Dad was mad because Ennis quit school. It’ll be okay. They’ll both get over being mad at each other. Now, let’s go eat breakfast. Mama made biscuits and gravy for us. I’ll have to hurry to fix our lunches and then help the boys hitch the buggy.” Giving Willie Mae a hug, she said, “You’re starting to school today, in Miss Alta Lee’s class!”<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>In the buggy on the way to school, Elma tried to scare Willie Mae by telling her there were German soldiers behind the hedge planted beside the road as a windbreak. “They have long knives on their guns and they kill everyone in their path.”<br />
Willie Mae’s eyes grew large and she moved closer to Aileene, who spoke sharply. “Stop that, Elma. You know the war is all the way across the ocean.”<br />
“But I had a bad dream about it last night. Maybe they will come here.” Elma didn’t give up easily.<br />
“Just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean you should scare your little sister. Don’t worry, Bill. They wouldn’t come here.”<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>On November first, Clyde gave up his job in Abilene. He’d received orders to report to the U.S. Army on November 15, so he returned home to see the family before leaving. The Armistice was signed on November 11, so he was released from his orders. He got a job with the Farmers Exchange Grocery Store in Floydada. <br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>In 1920, when Willie Mae was eight, there was a guest at school from Plainview, Texas, a larger town in the adjoining county. The young man landed a small plane in a field near the school. The whole school went out to watch the plane take off, fly around the vicinity and land. It was the first time most of the children had seen a plane.<br />
<br />
The younger children were kept back from the landing field. The older students were being treated to a short flight above Roseland. Willie Mae was transfixed in horror as she watched her adored sister Aileen putting on ear muffs, goggles, a leather jacket. A man was helping her into the plane. Willie Mae started crying loudly.<br />
Her teacher hurried over. “What’s the matter, child?”<br />
“My sister is going in the plane. I may never see her again. What if it falls?” she wailed.<br />
“No, it’s not going to fall. You’ve seen it take off and land several times. Don’t worry, Willie Mae. Your sister will be all right.”<br />
For the full 25 minutes of Aileene’s flight, Willie Mae was a nervous wreck. When the plane landed and the ecstatic Aileene emerged, her little sister felt weak with relief.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>After A.D. graduated from Roseland, Elma, the youngest boy, liked to ride his horse to school. Aileene, Willie Mae and Ina Rae went and returned in the buggy, which was drawn by Old Nellie, their mare. One day, they were happily riding toward home at the end of the school day. They passed a number of students who lived nearby, walking home. One boy yelled at them, waving a shiny syrup-bucket-turned-lunch pail in the bright sunshine. The movement and flash scared Old Nellie. The mare neighed in alarm, shied away from the boy and started running as fast as she could. <br />
Aileene was handling the reins of the harness. “Whoa, Nellie, it’s all right.” As she talked, trying to calm the horse, she pulled hard on the reins to slow her. The right rein snapped in two, which caused the horse to turn left. They sped down the fence row, the wheels of the buggy hitting every post and demolishing the two left wheels. When the buggy turned over, Old Nellie broke out of the shafts and ran home. Aileene and Ina Rae jumped up, suffering only minor wounds. Willie Mae was unconscious on the ground.<br />
When Willie Mae regained consciousness, she was at home in bed. She said, “What happened?” She looked around, surprised to see her teacher, Miss Anna Sims, sitting by the bed holding her hand. Mama was standing behind Miss Sims looking worried and holding Ina Rae, who was crying. When Willie Mae noticed a bandage on Ina Rae’s arm, she also started to cry. “Are you all right, little sister?” <br />
Miss Sims patted her hand. “Oh, Willie Mae, I’m so glad you’re awake. I found you and your sisters by the wrecked buggy as I was driving home from school in my car. Aileene and Ina Rae got some scratches and cuts, but were mostly scared and worried about you. You fell across the wheel and bumped your head, I think.”<br />
Ina Rae bent over and held out her arms toward the bed. Mama put her beside Willie Mae, and the two girls cuddled and comforted each other, each using the other’s nickname.<br />
“Are you all right, Bill?” Ina Rae patted Willie Mae’s cheek, inhaling raggedly.<br />
Willie Mae fingered the compress on her forehead gingerly. “My head hurts, and it hurts when I breathe in, but I think I’m all right. Are you hurt, Shorty?”<br />
Ina Rae nodded and showed all her scrapes and lifted the corner of the bandage to show a deep abrasion on her upper arm. Seeing it, she started whimpering again.<br />
Willie Mae made sympathetic sounds and kissed Ina Rae’s cheek. Then looking around, she asked, “Where is Aileene? Is she hurt?”<br />
“She hardly had a scratch.” Mama sat on the side of the bed, touched by the girls’ sympathy for each other and relieved that Willie Mae was awake and talking. “The Smitherman boy, Jack, caught Old Nellie and got her settled down and brought her home. After we put merthiolate on Aileene’s scratches, she went out to the barn, to talk to Jack and Dad about how to get the buggy home. I think she is quite taken with Jack.”<br />
She turned to the teacher. “Thank you so much for your help.”<br />
“Not at all. I’m so glad no one was seriously hurt.” Miss Sims smiled, then her expression turned serious. “I have to talk to the children who walk about being careful not to startle the horses on the road.” <br />
<div align="center">* * *</div>Sid and Susie taught their children to behave well at all times, especially to obey teachers or others in positions of authority. The school’s rules of conduct for the students extended to their journey to and from classes. One rule was there must be no fighting.<br />
One morning, Elma got into a fight with a neighbor boy on their way to school. When it was reported to the teacher, she ordered the boys to come to the front of the class to receive their punishment. She got out a paddle to give them a few licks on the seat of their pants. The other boy went first, and started crying loudly after the first blow. The teacher stopped hitting him immediately.<br />
Elma walked forward for his turn. “Well, I’m not going to cry.” he muttered. The teacher started whipping him.<br />
Willie Mae put her head on her desk, not wanting to watch. She lifted it to look through tears, wincing as each blow landed, whispering, “Cry, Elma. Cry.” She watched in horror as the hard licks kept coming. When the teacher’s count reached 12, Elma’s head dropped and tears shone in his eyes. The teacher stopped immediately, tears shining in her eyes as well.<br />
Willie Mae was afraid Elma would get another whipping when he got home, but the teacher’s note must have said he’d been punished enough. After Susie and Sid read the note, Sid scolded Elma for fighting, but Willie Mae breathed a sigh of relief when that ended the matter.<br />
<div align="center">* * *</div><br />
Willie Mae liked Mr. J.B. Allen, the Principal of her school, but she was nervous around him. One day when the teacher was absent, he taught the younger grades. He seemed to take special interest in Willie Mae. He had her come and stand beside him while he read poetry to the class. She obeyed, very uneasy. He was such a good reader, making the poetry come to life. Willie Mae especially loved one poem. It was about a spelling bee. A boy misspelled a word and the girl next to him spelled it correctly, passing ahead of him. Willie Mae remembered some of the lines for more than 90 years:<br />
<i>I’m sorry that I spelled the word</i>.<br />
<i>I hate to go above you<br />
Because (her brown eyes lower fell)<br />
Because, you see, I love you.<br />
Still in memory to this gray-haired man,<br />
That sweet girl’s face is showing.<br />
Dear Girl, the grasses on her grave<br />
Have forty years been growing.<br />
He has lived and learned in life’s hard school,<br />
How few who pass above him<br />
Lament their triumph and his loss<br />
Like her, because they love him.</i><br />
<br />
Willie Mae memorized words easily. She took declamation lessons and remembered the pieces she recited always. Some were serious, but she loved the silly ones:<br />
<i></i><br />
<i>I never saw a purple cow.</i><br />
<em>I never hope to see one.</em><br />
<em>But I can tell you anyhow,</em><br />
<em>I'd rather see than be one.</em><br />
<br />
And<br />
<br />
<em>Once upon a time, upon the deep, dark, stormy shores <br />
of Africa, there sat a band of robbers around a campfire. One<br />
of the robbers arose and said, “Captain, tell us a story.”<br />
The old captain arose and said, “Once upon a time,<br />
upon the deep, dark, stormy shores of Africa, there sat a band<br />
of robbers around a campfire. One of the robbers arose and <br />
said, “Captain, tell us a story.”<br />
The old captain arose and said,</em><br />
<em>etc., etc., ad infinitum.</em><br />
<em> </em>Willie Mae and Ina Rae would keep this story going for a long time, giggling at the humor every time.<br />
Eventually, Willie Mae won the speech contest at the county fair, for reciting “The Ship of State”<em> </em>by H. W.Longfellow. She went on to Lubbock to compete again, but only got a 3<sup>rd</sup> place there.<br />
<br />
After all the older siblings graduated from Roseland, Willie Mae rode her horse to school, with Ina Rae behind her in the saddle, her arms around Willie Mae’s waist. Willie Mae loved to run her pony, winning races with other children by jumping ditches and taking shortcuts. Ina Rae was terrified, hanging on for dear life and screaming for her sister to slow down. After her little sister fell off one time, Willie Mae would let Ina Rae get down before she raced, then come back and get her.Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-38913087155230385142011-05-11T14:02:00.000-07:002011-05-11T14:03:56.634-07:00Mother's Story<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">This is the first draft of the first chapter of my new project, writing about my mother's life. She'll be 99 this summer, and I hope to have the story finished by the time she turns 100. Then we'll start a new chapter.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm hoping my brothers and cousins will give me some feedback on this fictionalized history. Actually, I'd love to have feedback from anyone at all. This is a game. Play with me! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN">Chapter 1</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN">July 1, 1912</span></div>Albert Sidney Cummings, six feet tall, large-boned and handsome, waited confidently on the porch of the farmhouse. He had reason to be confident in his wife Susie’s strength and resilience in childbirth. They had six strong and healthy children, two daughters and four sons. Even Harrell, the boy who died as an infant, was healthy and strong at birth.<br />
Sid thought of the day their first baby was born. <br />
“Let’s name her Mary, after our mothers,” he’d suggested.<br />
Susie shook her head, smiling at Sid with contentment. “I like Felicia. It’s beautiful and it means happy. That’s my wish for her.” <br />
Felicia, 16 years old now, provided competent help for this latest birth.<br />
That morning, Susie woke Sid early. “The baby will come today. Tell Aileene to get Elma dressed. You can take them to Mrs. Barton’s on your way to fetch the doctor. She said they could stay with her for a few days.”<br />
Sid jumped out of bed and pulled on a chambray shirt and dungarees. He went to the room where Aileene, seven years old, was sleeping with Elma, three. “You have to wake up now, Daughter. The new baby is coming today.” <br />
Aileene rubbed her eyes looked around. “Where is Sis?”<br />
The second bed in the room was neatly made. Sid smiled. Susie got her way with Felicia’s name, but the family always called her Sis. “She’s fixing our breakfast.”<br />
“ Get up now. You and your little brother will stay at the Bartons while Mother is lying in.”<br />
Aileene didn’t move. Her eyes widened. “How long will that be?”<br />
Sid picked Elma up from beside her and rocked him in his arms. “It depends on what the doctor and Mother decide. With this boy, it was only ten days.” Sid rubbed his stubbly chin against the top of Elma’s head, further tousling the blond hair.<br />
“That’s a long time, Daddy.” Aileene stuck out her lower lip as tears welled in her eyes.<br />
Sid sat on the bed, shifted Elma to his lap and pulled Aileene close to his side, hugging her shoulders. “You probably won’t be there the whole time. Don’t cry. If Sis can manage everything, you can come home sooner.”<br />
Aileen wiped her eyes, brightening. “Oh, Sis can do everything, Daddy.”<br />
“I think you’re right. We’ll see. Now, put your clothes on and dress Elma. Gather what you’ll need for tonight. I’ll come get you tomorrow to see the new baby. Then we’ll decide how long you’ll stay at the Bartons. Help out there, mind your manners and take care of your little brother.” Sid put the boy down on the bed and stood.<br />
Entering the next room, Sid found that Clyde, 14, was already getting dressed, his narrow bed made. Ennis, 12, and A.D., 10, were stirring in the double bed across the room.<br />
Sid paused a moment, thinking, <i>Guess we’ll need to get another double bed for this room and move Elma in with these boys. If the new baby is a girl, we’ll have a girls’ room and a boys’ room</i>.<br />
“Get up, boys. The new baby is coming today. I’m going to fetch the doctor. You boys will do the milking and tend to the stock this morning. Bring the team and hitch the wagon, Clyde. Sis’ll have breakfast ready soon.” Sid left the room to check on his wife as soon as the younger boys groaned, stretched and got out of bed.<br />
<div align="center">* * * </div>That afternoon, waiting on the porch as the doctor and Felicia attended Susie, he looked south across the fields toward Lockney, the nearest town. To the west clouds rose behind a grain elevator. He sniffed the air and thought he could smell rain. He walked to the end of the porch and looked north. Sure enough, low dark clouds streamed rain onto his neighbors’ cotton and maize crops. White billows plumed out above. His heart lifted, again taking in the delicious smell of wet earth. This was another thing to celebrate, as soon as he was sure Susie and the new baby were safe and well.<br />
Focusing on his own pasture, he saw a herd of antelope grazing with the cows. Beautiful, he thought. He’d come to love this west Texas farm country. The small amount of rain they got fell in the summer, when it was most needed. The wind blew almost constantly, so he could count on the windmill to supply sweet groundwater all year. <br />
Sid’s thoughts were interrupted by the lusty cry of a newborn. He went to the window. “Sis, tell me.”<br />
Felicia came to the open window with a red, wrinkled, furious-looking baby wrapped in flannel. “I have to clean her up, Dad. It’s a girl. Isn’t she beautiful?”<br />
“Yes, she is. Like all our babies.” Raising his voice a bit, he called, “Are you all right, Mother?”<br />
When she didn’t answer, he felt alarmed. “Is she all right?”<br />
Felicia answered, “She’s just tired. I think she fell asleep. You can talk to her in a little while.”<br />
Sid went into the parlor adjoining the bedroom. He sat in his oak-framed rocking chair to wait for the doctor.<br />
When Dr. Pennington emerged, he shook Sid’s hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Cummings. Your wife is remarkably strong, and the baby is a big healthy girl.”<br />
“Thank you, Doctor. Everything tolerable?”<br />
“Yes, yes. No problems. I just need to fill out the information for the birth certificate and I’ll be on my way.” The doctor sat at a small desk near the bedroom door, smoothed his long black beard close to his chest and took a heavy paper from his inside coat pocket. He unfolded it and wrote with the pen that stood in an inkwell on the desk.<br />
“Monday, July the first, 1912,” the doctor said aloud as he wrote.<br />
Sid walked past him into the bedroom, bent and gently kissed his wife’s forehead. She opened her eyes and mumbled, “Another girl.” She lifted the light quilt to show Sid their new daughter, who was lustily nursing.<br />
“Oh, Susie. She’s beautiful.” Brushing the short, downy hair back from the baby’s face, he smiled. “Hello, Daughter.”<br />
From the door, the doctor asked, “What will you name the baby?”<br />
“I defer to my wife on that. What do you want to name her, Mother?” <br />
“Willah Mae,” Susie answered in her soft Georgia accent.<br />
The doctor wrote, “Willie Mae Cummings.”<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">Thus began my mother’s life.</div>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-44582628973230245722011-04-27T15:37:00.000-07:002011-05-11T13:52:15.420-07:00AFRAID<em>Like a small burrowing animal,</em><br />
<em>Safe in its cozy earth home,</em><br />
<em>Feeling the first tremor, my heart pounds.</em><br />
<em>Hearing the roar of approaching doom,</em><br />
<em>Time slows and only terror remains,</em><br />
<em>Forming a hard lump in my throat,</em><br />
<em>Girdling my belly like steel.</em><br />
<em>Not know what is coming,</em><br />
<em>Unable to flee or fight,</em><br />
<em>I wait.</em><br />
<em>Knowing only the inevitability of change.</em><br />
<br />
This poem introduces chapter one of<strong><em> </em></strong>my memoir about lymphoma. It wasn't a mack truck or a grizzly bear that scared me. It was a just a lump of flesh at the base of my neck. Of course that "first tremor" isn't the end of the story. I like to put this poem with "Transformation", which you can read on my September 24, 2010, blog, or in chapter fifteen of my book. Fearful events, such the storms in Missouri last weekend are not the end of the story. How timely the Easter season is, to remind us that calamities precede transformation.<br />
<br />
A free book excerpt is at <a href="http://booklocker.com/books/5100.html">http://booklocker.com/books/5100.html</a>.Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-8937621493493818522011-03-28T11:09:00.000-07:002011-03-28T11:10:58.567-07:00Old Friend<span lang="EN"><em>Body, my host,</em><br />
<em>My home, my harbor,</em><br />
<em>Graciously you welcome</em><br />
<em>My spirit within.</em><br />
<em>Happily you transform yourself for me:</em><br />
<em> small to large,</em><br />
<em> thin to fat,</em><br />
<em> pregnant to barren,</em><br />
<em> sick to well,</em><br />
<em> young to old.</em><br />
<em>Safely you shelter my heart,</em><br />
<em>Secure from devastating storm.</em><br />
<em>Anchored in the present moment,</em><br />
<em>I thank thee, faithful friend.</em><br />
<br />
My late husband Fred was born about 12 miles from where I sit, 79 years ago today. I was thinking of him this morning in twilight consciousness and was again struck by the awesomeness of life and death, of how I miss his body that comforted me in so many ways: having him beside me in church or theater, his beautiful voice, his hand to hold or to feel on the small of my back as we entered.<br />
<br />
Perhaps saying goodbye to my own body won't be as difficult as saying goodbye to Fred's. It's just one more transformation, And perhaps I'll recognize his spirit, waiting for mine. Until then, I'll remember him on his birthday, be grateful and have a happy Aries day. </span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-23782685597573128922011-03-03T13:14:00.000-08:002011-03-03T21:08:53.299-08:00Muse<span lang="EN"></span><br />
<div align="center"></div><em>Your crashing waves come like a lover,</em><br />
<em>Ask me to manifest thought,</em><br />
<em>From the energy you bring.</em><br />
<em>Your boundless power is reborn as</em><br />
<em>Tracks on a white page.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Your presence inspires the nurture of</em><br />
<em>Earthy islands of matter.</em><br />
<em>With time and endless patience,</em><br />
<em>The islands become ecosystems,</em><br />
<em>Alive, firm and sound.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Your dancing flames draw air from my mind.</em><br />
<em>Words become fiery storms that</em><br />
<em>Whirl into passionate force</em><br />
<em>With potential to cleanse every thing,</em><br />
<em>And light a new world.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Your loving strokes nurture me wholly,</em><br />
<em>Only freedom between us.</em><br />
<em>I respond with minute points,</em><br />
<em>Tell small stories of my joy and pain.</em><br />
<em>And of forgiveness.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Infinite, you crush my finitude.</em><br />
<em>With overpowering love,</em><br />
<em>You call me to cross frontiers.</em><br />
<em>Afraid, inadequate to answer,</em><br />
<em>Yet I answer. Yes.</em><br />
<br />
As I strive to gain the discipline to write every day as well as fulfill all my other vows, I'm often left with frustration. But the reconstruction of this poem, written about 15 years ago, left me inspired and breathless once again. I love it. Hope you do, too.<br />
<br />
<div align="center"> </div>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-29159774381925259722011-02-23T15:11:00.000-08:002011-02-24T20:58:53.900-08:00A Numinous Experience<span lang="EN"><em>Gaining the mountain top,</em> <em>I climbed the old Blue Ridge lookout tower.</em><br />
<em>Dwarfed by the giant microwave towers around it,</em><br />
<em>It still gave a clear vista.</em><br />
<em>The sun was doing its daily magic,</em><br />
<em>Glowing Homer’s Nose, Dennison Peak, Moses and Maggie</em><br />
<em>Into a deep rose,</em><br />
<em>Moving a dark shadow up their flanks</em><br />
<em>As the opposing magician sank behind the coast range in the west.</em><br />
<br />
<em>The full moon sprang up behind Maggie,</em><br />
<em>Like a smaller sun, glowing orange.</em><br />
<em>I was caught in the enchanted place I knew from childhood stories:</em><br />
<b><em>East of the sun and west of the moon.</em></b></span><br />
<span lang="EN"><em>The enchantment so filled me that I forgot to breathe.</em><br />
<em>Lost in beauty, every cell rejoicing,</em><br />
<em>Privileged to be in that exact place at that exact moment.</em><br />
<em>Closing my eyes, I still feel the cool breeze bathing my body.</em><br />
<em>See the rosy glow all around me. Hear the silence.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Could it be that on each full moon,</em><br />
<em>At certain points around the Earth,</em><br />
<em>Unsuspecting chosen ones witness this magic,</em><br />
<em>This enchanting moment when</em><br />
<em>Mother Earth turns,</em><br />
<em>Grandmother Moon springs into view,</em><br />
<em>And Father Sun looks on, smiling,</em><br />
<em>As he dips beneath the western horizon,</em><br />
<em>Dramatizing the blessing of being human?</em><br />
These are the moments that sustain us when being human doesn't seem so wonderful. My laundry room sink sprang a leak, evidently weeks ago, wetting the floor beneath the tile, unnoticed until the water wicked up the walls. Now the room is gutted, the insurance adjuster has come and gone and tomorrow the demolition of the kitchen flooring starts. I definitely hadn't planned this, but I know it is time to purge in order to rebuild in my consciousness, so perhaps this is another exterior drama to illustrate a spiritual truth, like the beautiful moment on top of Blue Ridge.</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625652667252098931.post-81473089947590344172011-02-21T16:52:00.000-08:002011-02-21T16:52:06.835-08:00Letting Go<span lang="EN"> <em>This is the way we let go in life.</em><br />
<em>The terms of surrender are given.</em><br />
<em>We must accept the terms.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Dark night follows day.</em><br />
<em>We let go of the light</em><br />
<em>And accept the darkness.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Soft colors of spring end with summer.</em><br />
<em>We let go of the softness</em><br />
<em>And accept the bright heat.</em><br />
<br />
<em>We pass from childhood and let go gladly,</em><br />
<em>We become independent,</em><br />
<em>Embracing our youth.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Youth ends. We’re powerless once again.</em><br />
<em>Acknowledging the signs of age,</em><br />
<em>We must let go.</em><br />
<br />
<em>It is no wonder that we want to stop</em><br />
<em>This continual surrender,</em><br />
<em>This unceasing good-bye.</em><br />
<br />
This is a spring housecleaning poem. I'm doing a ceremony tonight to symbolically let go of persons, places and things that keep me from being fully in the present moment, as part of the <strong><em>21 Day Consciousness Cleanse</em></strong> by Debbie Ford. Today is Liberation Day. Hope to follow up the ceremony with a thorough purge of things in my house that no longer serve me or help me to serve the world. Or as Saint Kris Kristofferson says, " Freedom's just another world for nothing left to lose."</span>Jann McGuirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08260165979317185696noreply@blogger.com2