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We Didn't Know We Were Poor Until Somebody Told Us: The Legacy of Growing Up in the South - Softcover

Smith, William Lynn

 
9781491809778: We Didn't Know We Were Poor Until Somebody Told Us: The Legacy of Growing Up in the South
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1491809779 ISBN 13: 9781491809778
Publisher: AuthorHouse, 2013

Synopsis

This book is a compilation of the stories William enjoyed and cherished over a lifetime, stories that are factual, somewhat factual, or just out and out tall tales. They recount his family's life during the depression era, the war years and the fabulous fifties and sixties. These stories mostly told by his father describes the trials and joys of growing up in the rural south. To some the descriptions will bring memories flooding back. To others it will present a definite human view of that time in history.

"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

We Didn't Know We Were Poor Until Somebody Told Us

The Legacy of Growing Up in the South

By William Lynn Smith

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2013 William Lynn Smith
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4918-0977-8

Contents

Prologue...................................................................vii
Introduction to my Daddy...................................................ix
Part 1: The Depression Wasn't Always Depressing............................
The Haunted Place..........................................................3
The Mean Ol'Truck Driver...................................................8
Mr. Andy's New Pickup Truck................................................13
The Launching of Hebo......................................................17
The Sour Mash Pit..........................................................21
Part 2: From Western Valley to Normandy and Back...........................
The Soldier's 23rd Psalm...................................................29
Big'un.....................................................................30
The GI at the Roller Rink..................................................36
The General's Car..........................................................39
Capn' Davey and the Tiger Tank.............................................43
A Tank Makes a Terrible Blanket............................................49
Lou and the Short Truck....................................................56
Part 3: They Told Us We Were Poor But We Didn't Believe 'Em................
The Wreck..................................................................65
Your Emergency May Not Be My Emergency.....................................69
Tall Tales from Short Stools...............................................73
Mr. Henry's Fish Camp......................................................81
Keary and the Monkey.......................................................87
Jesse, Paw and the Computer................................................92
The Mystery of the French Medal and PFC Smith..............................96
Part 4: The Legacy Continues...............................................
The Corvair and the Rock n' Roll Singer....................................103
Incoming!!.................................................................106
A Welcome Miracle Doesn't Always Have to be a Big One......................109
Don't Even Let it Cross Yo' Mind...........................................111
The Curious Buffalo........................................................113
Taxi!......................................................................116
Backwards and In High Heels................................................118
The Encounter..............................................................122
Epilogue...................................................................127


CHAPTER 1

The Haunted Place

* * *

As Dad and his brothers grew up along the bottoms and bluffsin west Tennessee they were like any other young people of thatera. There were no automobiles or parents with automobiles tocarry them places. If they wanted to go to a function of some sortthey either walked or rode a mule. Even though riding the mulesounds like a better option, taking care of him before, during andafter the trip definitely made it less attractive. Most of the timethey just walked.

Timing was a real issue as well. To Paw, day light during the week,Monday through Saturday was for work. That left very few hoursin the day for visiting or going to town. So Dad and the other kidsbecame very adept at traveling in the evening and not staying toolate before heading home.

There was a place however that even the stoutest spirit amongthem hated to go. It was over a bridge on the road betweenThree Points and Fulton. That bridge spanned a creek thatpassed through the old breast works, fortification trenches,at Fort Pillow. Fort Pillow was a fortification built on the bluffsoverlooking the Mississippi by the confederates during the civilwar. The confederates had built an extensive system of trenchesto protect the side away from the bluff.

There were three horrific battles fought around the fort. The fortwas lost, taken back and lost again by the confederates. Duringthose battles and retreats, there were atrocities visited on bothsides by opposing forces.

Close to the bridge I spoke of earlier in this account, there was ahospital built by the confederates. It was outside the confines ofthe fort to apparently to allow for easy access to the water in thecreek. Dad said that it was always believed that the confederateshad dug an escape tunnel from the hospital back through thebreast works into the fort in case they were overrun by Yankeescoming up from the road to the landing at Fulton. Although I haveheard this story many times from Daddy, I have never read aboutit from any other source.

Dad said that during the initial battle with Grant's forces thehospital was evacuated. The surgeons and patients entered thetunnel and went to the fort. When the Yankees entered the threeroom building they found no one and claimed it for their use.Apparently they did not find the entrance to the tunnel. The fortfell and the Yankees became the defenders. History notes thatconfederate forces took back the fort and lost it again severaldays later. Dad never was clear on exactly what point of thebattle that the confederate doctors re-entered the hospital butit is integral to the story. It is related that they again were goingto evacuate. However enemy forces had taken the fortificationsand had blown up the end of the escape tunnel. The surgeons andpatients were now in the tunnel when the Yankees entered thehospital. Upon seeing the entrance to the tunnel and not knowinghow many rebel soldiers may be hiding in there, they simplycollapsed the entrance effectively burying them alive.

The story passed that on moonless nights the voices of thetormented surgeons and rebel soldiers could be heard from thebridge over the creek. Imaginations would construct pictures ofghoulish figures in uniforms and surgeons smocks creeping upfrom the nether regions to accost the hapless souls traveling by.Pretty spooky stuff.

On this particular Saturday night the boys had been to a danceat a house just this side of Fulton. In those days a dance was notsuch as we have today. It was usually held at someone's house.Any refreshments that were provided were the responsibilityof the guests. To create a dance floor, the family would move allthe furniture out of the front room onto the porch. Sometimessaw dust was scattered about to enhance the foot action ofthe dancers. There were always musicians of sorts. Someonewould bring a guitar, a fiddle or maybe even a squeeze box. Dadalways prided himself on playing the jug. This was accomplishedby blowing across the open mouth of a one gallon crockery jugproviding the bass or beat.

The dance had been fun but it was late and they had a long walkhome. All the kids that lived along the road back to Three Pointsand Western Valley were walking home in a group. The youngerkids rode a mule that someone had brought along. The old muleplodded along with the group. There was no moon and the nightwas blacker than pitch in a bucket of oil. There were a few carryingkerosene lanterns, very few because kerosene costs almost adime a gallon and a dime was not easy to come by. The closer thegroup got to the bridge the more the older kids told stories aboutthe ghostly soldiers grabbing folks off the road. After being drugaway, except for hearing their voices with the others in torment inthe night, they were never seen or heard from again.

Dad described the next scenes with great detail. He said that thegroup began to cross the bridge. Everything was still, deathlyquiet except for the sound of their own footsteps on the boards.The ones straggling began to hurry along to get closer to the onescarrying the kerosene lanterns. Unbeknownst to the travelers, avery large screech owl was watching their passage from the treesoverhanging the bridge. Apparently the lights agitated him andhe let out a long scream. His scream was answered by a chorusof screams as the kids began to run toward Three Points. Therewas no looking back, just pick them up and put them down. Dadsaid that he thought his lungs would bust. Every time they wouldbegin to slow down something behind them would begin to closeand they would pick up the pace rather than allowing it to catchup. In their collective minds they could just see the skeletonsdressed in rotting clothes coming out of the darkness.

After a while the physical exhaustion began to override primalfear and the group began to slow down. They were feeling saferbecause they were close to the Macklin place, the first house onthe road. After looking around, the group reasoned that the littleones on the mule must be the noise that they heard from behind.In all the confusion they left the mule and now he was trottingbehind them trying to catch up. Apparently he was in no hurry.After all, what did a mule know about spooks?

They had a good laugh at themselves until they walked up to thehouse and the mule with the small ones on board was standingbeside the front porch. Leaving them to wonder exactly whatwere the noises behind them. They all spent the night there.

CHAPTER 2

The Mean Ol' Truck Driver

* * *

My grandfather, Paw, was a farmer in west Tennessee. He owneda couple of hundred of acres north of Memphis where he raisedmostly cotton, cows and later on some soy beans. During the falland winter months he and his six boys augmented their incomeby logging the river bluffs and bottoms along the Mississippi andHatchie Rivers. Paw was one of many such loggers that worked tosupply the large hardwood industry in Memphis.

Dad and his brothers worked at various tasks while logging withPaw. They not only cut down the trees and "limbed" them, theyalso worked teams of mules to pull or "snake" logs out of thewoods to where they were loaded on trucks. At the loading place,a diesel driven mechanical winch was rigged to pull the logs ontothe trucks for the trip to the mill. Cables with tongs were attachedto the logs and they were pulled or rolled up a ramp and over ontothe trucks.

One of the truck drivers that worked with Paw in that area wasJ.D. Canfield. To use today's description, he was not a "peopleperson". In fact, if you looked in the dictionary under mean andugly, you would have found J.D.'s picture in both places. J.D.drove an old rusty Reo log truck that must have been red in betterdays. He always wore the same overalls and long sleeve khakishirt every day. Hygiene was not one of his strong points.

The reason no one liked J.D. was because he apparently didn'tlike anybody. You could say he was an equal opportunity hater.Not a whole lot was known about his personal life but he had anasty habit of "cuffing" or slapping around those smaller and lessable to defend themselves. Dad never related whether or notJ.D. drank but from the story it appears that he might have beenbedeviled by a hang-over. On this particular day Dad was workingas a "cable monkey" or the person that had to take the tongs atthe end of the winch cable down to the logs. After it was clampedon to a log, the winch man would pull the log across the ground,up the ramp and onto the trucks. He had been working all day andhe said that J.D. had already slapped him around once.

Dad was standing on top of the dirt pile that had been built up bysnaking the logs into the area. He looked up the track and notedin the line of trucks waiting to be loaded was the old rusty redReo. "Man, I really don't want that ol' man to hit me no more"kept going around in Dad's head. It had already been a badenough day. Not only the earlier incident with J.D. but he hadbeen dodging a large yellow jacket nest that had been disturbedat the edge of the log pile. Yellow jackets are a flying wasp typeinsect with a serious problem with their attitudes. They differfrom regular red wasps or hornets in that they bite with theirmandibles and hang on while they sting multiple times with theirstingers. That nest must have been as big as a watermelon andit was only because it was cool in early October that they wereless active. He made a mental note that he would wait until it gotcooler this evening before attempting to destroy the nest so hewouldn't get stung so bad.

It was at that point that the plan of all plans suddenly burst forth.He quickly ran down to the winch motor where there were severalcans of diesel fuel. He grabbed one and liberally doused his legsfrom the mid thigh to his shoes. He then sprinkled the fuel acrosshis chest and arms. He watched the winch operator signal thetruck before J.D. to pull away.

Dad said as he picked up the tongs he looked at J.D. scowling athim through his old dirty cracked windshield. Dad said he staredback in mock defiance as he pulled the cable back toward the logpile. He had to be careful because after all J.D. was a grown up.At that time in history, at least in the south, kids did not back talkgrownups regardless of what kind of a jerk he or she was. Backtalk was a good way to find out just how pain tolerant you were.

After stopping the truck, J.D. stepped out on the running boardand yelled "What're you lookin' at brat?" Dad said he didn't lookback; he just kept pulling toward the logs. When he got near thelog closest to the yellow jacket nest, he pulled slack on the cableand placed the tongs on the log. He then turned and looked atJ.D. "Mr. J.D. you'd better not come up here!" he shouted. J.D.was not elderly and he was almost on Dad in two or three bounds.As J.D. closed on him, Dad kicked the nest with his foot. He saidthat the insects spilled from the damaged nest like dried beansfrom a sack.

J.D. first cuffed Dad on the side of his head and then grabbed himby the bib and suspenders of his overalls. Even though his ear wasringing he looked directly into J.D.s old yellowed blood shot eyes."Boy, I am going to enjoy thrashin' you within an inch of your life"J.D. hissed. "I'm gonna, beat your skinny little....".

J.D's fierce focus on Dad was suddenly replaced by a slack jawedstare at nothing in particular. His tobacco stained lips quit formingwords and began to run down like a wheel on an overturnedvehicle after a roll over wreck. Dad said J.D.s eyes slowly felltoward the ground where he noted thousands of black and yellowinsects swarming and slowly advancing up the legs of his overalls.Dad felt J.D.s grip loosen on him and he stepped back. The yellowjackets were repulsed by the diesel on Daddy. After all, havingtheir home ruined by the loggers and being kicked around bysome kid that smelled like a refinery, it appeared that the yellowjackets were going to take all their anger out on J.D. He lookedback up at Dad and for the first time Dad said he actually cameclose to feeling sorry for ol' J.D. As he stared at Daddy J.D. slowlyreached up with both hands and purposely placed his thumb andfore finger at the catch of the suspenders on each side of his bibs.J.D. made a sort of animal like half whimper half growl and swunginto action.

Daddy said that J.D.s actions over the next few minutes wereworth all the pain suffered prior to and all that will be sufferedafter this incident. He said that ol' man made moves that wouldmake a dance teacher from New York City envious. With one flipof his hands the overalls were released like a parachute on a skydiver. Simultaneously he sort of jumped or actually appearedto levitate out of them. In the same move J.D. pirouetted (spunabout) and began to accelerate like the Panama Limited leavingCentral Station in Memphis. He was making about the sametype of noise as the steam engine on the head end of that train.Dad, the yellow jackets, the mules and all the other loggers wereawed by J.D.s sudden display of physical prowess. It was a sightto behold as a terrified half naked man covered the hundred orso yards to the creek just a second ahead of a swarm of angryinsects. However when J.D. reached the creek he hesitated todecide whether jumping in was an option. The arrival of theyellow jackets removed all doubt and made that decision for him.

I have never known of an incident where yellow jackets actuallykilled a human being, similar to the Africanized or killer bees.However Dad ended this story with a mystery. He nevermentioned that mean ol' man in later stories. I believe if he haddied or been injured in any way Dad would have included that.However, come to think of it, by the time he described J.D.saction Daddy was laughing so hard and trying to catch his breaththat I was never sure of the outcome. Apparently the moral of thestory, if you will, is that the yellow jackets did effect a change inol' J.D. This was evidenced by the fact that none of Dad's otherstories ever included any mention to the old man again.

CHAPTER 3

Mr. Andy's New Pickup Truck

* * *

Down the road from Paw's place was the farm owned by Mr. Andy.I am sure he had a last name but I never paid attention to it. Hewas the consummate southern farmer of the time. Dad said thathe never saw Mr. Andy dressed in anything but a sweat stainedkhaki shirt and trousers. He was a large, round, red faced man.Indeed, in my own memories of Mr. Andy before his passing, I canstill see his sun reddened face, red hair and a cap of untanned skinwhere his straw hat sat.

Dad said that in those days Mr. Andy was more red faced becauseof his health rather than the sun. He would get worked up aboutsomething and apparently his blood pressure would sky rocket.Dad said that Mr. Andy would get so mad he would take off hisstraw hat, throw it down to stomp on it and somehow wouldalways miss. It was also said that Mr. Andy was not very free withhis money and good straw hats weren't cheap, even then.

Mr. Andy was like most all the other folks in the community inthat he would not hesitate to help someone in need. When therewas sickness, a house fire or some other disaster, he was one ofthe first to pitch in and help. He always used his prosperity like atool in that regard. However there was another side to Mr. Andy.He loved to show Paw and all the other folks in Western Valleyanything he had gotten new; especially if no one else had one.Tractors, hay bailers, buildings or stock. If he had it, he braggedabout it, especially to Paw.

One Sunday afternoon in late fall, Paw was sitting on the frontporch watching the boys play baseball in the pasture between thehouse and the road. The game stopped as a brand new Model TFord pickup truck turned off the road and pulled up in the frontyard. Dad said it was Mr. Andy and he had come to visit Paw toshow off his new truck. He was also sporting a new straw hat hehad purchased. A real fancy one with a wide brim, basket weaveair vent holes in the crown and a shaded "see through" plasticvisor.

Dad related several versions of the encounter between mygrandfather and Mr. Andy and I have put together this exchangefrom those memories. Paw stepped off the porch and walkedaround the vehicle nodding appreciatively. "Where'd you get it,Andy?" "Ordered it from Detroit and I picked it up from a dealerin Memphis. Me and Ma took the Panama down to Memphis lastweek, walked down to the dealer's office and picked it up". "Reallylooks nice, Andy, you can still smell the fresh paint a 'burnin' onthe engine" "I'm telling' ya' Frank (that's grown-ups called Paw) itrides smooth as glass and quiet as the inside of a box of cotton"

Now, Dad and his brothers weren't mean kids, ordinarily. But, youknow, there comes a time when a lesson needs to be given—andsome fun to be had. Mr. Andy excused himself and walked aroundback of the house to the outhouse. The boys swung into action.Several of them lifted each back wheel of the little truck whileDaddy placed a piece of stove wood under the axle just inside therear wheels. When the truck was lowered onto the wood, the tiresjust touched the grass and gave the illusion that it was sitting onthe ground.


(Continues...)
Excerpted from We Didn't Know We Were Poor Until Somebody Told Us by William Lynn Smith. Copyright © 2013 William Lynn Smith. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.

Publisher
AuthorHouse
Publication date
2013
Language
English
ISBN 10 
1491809779
ISBN 13 
9781491809778
Binding
Paperback
Number of pages
140