CHAPTER 1
Guardian Angel: The Escape
I was born in Iuka, Mississippi. It is a small town located in the northeast corner of the state. Iuka is a Chickasaw Indian word. The town is known for its Indian heritage and mineral spring water.
In the fifties, downtown was the hub of activity. Many of my childhood days were spent playing in Mineral Springs Park, visiting the soda fountain in the drug store, and going to the theatre on Saturday afternoon.
When we ate at the cafe, I usually got a slug burger. My grandmother paid fifty cents for two slug burgers and a small bottled coke. After sixty years, eating slug burgers still rekindles warm feelings of security and love.
Some of my earliest memories are of playing on the porch of a big bungalow house. The lights from a car lot lit our front yard.
Dad worked at the Pan Am, our town's most popular gas station and garage. My family lived in the house with my grandmother for six years. The children in my family were all born in that house.
In 1955 my grandmother remarried. To my amazement, she left me and moved in with her husband. I liked that man, until he took my Maw Annie away!
How could she leave me and move in with him? I was not the only one that missed my grandmother. Suddenly, my parents had four kids to care for alone. Their cook and full time babysitter was gone.
My grandmother sold the house in Iuka. Mom didn't want to keep it. We moved to Daddy's old home place in the Sardis community. A big house with a dog trot hall and a porch across the front, it was built out of unpainted wood. The house was located eleven miles out of town on a gravel road. Most of dad's family lived in the area.
Mom contributed the money she got out of her parents' house. Dad added the land he inherited. After tearing the old dwelling down, they built a new house on the farm. With a little help from Dad's brothers, they did all the work themselves. This young couple was so proud of their new home.
My mom got a job at a new shoe factory that had just opened in Iuka. She was one of the first women in my dad's family to work outside the home.
It really bothered him, because mom felt she had to support the family. Dad farmed and did odd jobs. He raised pine trees, cut firewood, raised cattle, and planted crops. Basically he made a living the same way his parents had.
The farm was also a wonderful place to live. I had cousins. Jack and Jim were just a year older than me. When they weren't busy doing things together, I got to tag along with them. They could fish, hunt, and swim. I helped with their chores and learned all about the animals.
Having an extended family was nice. We were with them, almost every day. My aunts and uncles took us to church on Sunday and to town on Saturday. They helped us as much as they could. They realized their brother was neglecting his family.
Dad did not manage the farm well. His brothers were not rich, but they made a good living farming their land.
My dad had always been known as a hard worker. He was very talented in most of his endeavors. Since he was the baby of the family, he had more advantages than his brothers.
I guess mom knew the reason dad was changing. The man that worked hard to buy us things. The man that protected us, and took care of all of our needs. The man that loved us, and showed his love every day. That man was gradually disappearing.
My daddy had been drinking for about three years. It didn't help that we lived next door to the local bootlegger.
Our county was dry, which meant alcohol was not sold in stores or restaurants. If anyone wanted to drink beer, they had to drive across the state line to Tennessee or Alabama. Both states were only one county away and only a few miles from our town. Meanwhile a few bootleggers did a booming business. They supplied whiskey to the Mississippi dry counties.
Mom thought moving to the farm would get dad away from the whiskey, but it didn't!
Dad was gradually becoming an alcoholic. He started drinking more and working less. Drunken binges came pretty often. And with each one, he seemed to get more abusive. Several times he was so abusive, Mom had to leave him. We usually went next door to one of his brothers' houses.
He was the youngest of nine children, many of whom lived on neighboring farms. My daddy was the only bad egg of the family! His brothers and sisters were good Christian people. They would do anything they could, to help their brother. They would sober him up and help him to get in control of himself. Then we would come back home. Daddy would be so sorry. Life would be good for a while. Then it would happen again. It began happening more often.
I was six years old and in first grade at Pleasant Ridge School. School was out for the Christmas holidays. Our Christmas tree was up. Presents were under the tree.
Mom took us to a Christmas party at Genesco Shoe Company. Santa Claus was there. They had toys for all of the employees' children.
It was not just a little something. They had the best toys I had ever seen! I got a Tiny Tears Doll. It was the most popular doll that Christmas. She cried real tears. My sisters also got nice toys: a red wagon, dolls, an iron with its own ironing board. We got fruit baskets, candy, and a ham. It was the best Christmas ever!
We were so happy with the toys we received. Mom said, "Let's put them under the tree. You can play with them Christmas morning." There they sat. I'm sure they were the nicest toys under the tree.
Momma had been cooking Christmas cakes and a ham. The house smelled good, with aromas of cedar and sweets. My grandparents were coming!
I should have been excited because it was Christmas — but I wasn't. How could you care about Santa or toys when your whole world was crumbling around you?
I worried about adult problems. Going to school, meant I had to leave my baby brother and sisters with Dad. I worried about them every time I had to leave.
I remember the teacher asking, "What do you want for Christmas?"
I told her I wanted a doll because that's what most of the girls said. The things I wanted, Santa couldn't bring.
Problems robbed me of my childhood that entire year. My mind was never on childish things like playing, looking pretty, or making friends. That kind of stuff was so unimportant to me.
Daddy had been drinking for a couple of weeks. Holidays seemed to be the worst for him.
He came in that Christmas Eve in a rage. I don't remember what set him off. He started yelling, cursing, and pushing Momma around. He yanked the tablecloth, and spilled all of our Christmas dinner on the floor.
I had seen Daddy drunk before, but I had never seen him like this. He didn't look like the same man. His eyes were dark and full of rage.
We watched him take an axe and chop our Christmas tree and presents into pieces. The whole time he was doing this, he was screaming threats at us. He didn't stop until he chopped furniture, windows, anything he came to.
I don't know how long this rage lasted, but it seemed like a long time. He did calm down a little, and then he would be crazier than ever.
Next he turned on momma. We watched him slap her, and knock her to the floor. Both hands were full of hair. He yanked it out, when she tried to run.
There seemed to be no end to the beating she was getting! She didn't even try to fight back. She just tried to endure each blow and shield herself from the next one.
Then he threw her on the floor. He held her there by sitting on her. Bouncing up and down, he let all of his weight fall on her stomach.
Every scream Momma cried out, seemed to fuel his rage. She quit crying out. She may have passed out from the pain, or she may have lost her breath when he jumped on her. I just remember thinking she was dead.
Suddenly, he calmly stopped and sat there a while. It was as if he was straddling a log on the creek bank. Everything was silent. We thought the rage was over, because he got quiet. He stopped screaming profanity and threats.
In a few minutes, he took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it. Taking drags on the cigarette, he smoked until it was half gone. He made sure it was burning good. With the butt of one hand on momma's chin, her head was pulled back. With the other hand, he stuck the burning cigarette to momma's throat.
I'll never forget how she screamed. Every time I see a pack of Camel cigarettes, that scene flashes in my head.
I was the oldest of four children from ages one through six. We all watched Daddy hurt our mom that day. Three little girls pounded him with our fists. "Please, Daddy, don't hurt momma. Please — stop!"
Daddy usually turned his anger toward Mom. This time he turned on us. Roughly, he pushed us to the couch. He threw Mom down beside us. "If any of you move or say one word, I'll blow your brains out."
Daddy always kept a shotgun on a gun rack in the hall. He took the shotgun down and loaded it in front of us. As he touched the loaded gun to my head, he looked at my mom and said, "Run and I'll kill every one of them."
We sat there in silence for a long time — terrified! After a while he told us, "If you move off of this couch while I'm gone, I'll come back and kill you." He picked up the gun and walked out the door — going to get more whiskey, I'm sure. In a few moments, we heard his truck start up, and he drove away.
A voice told me, "Hurry. run and don't stop running until you get away. Run — now! Get up and go now!"
I looked at my mom, who was frozen with fear. I said, "Mom, we have to go!" She finally picked up my baby brother. I took my sisters' hands, and we ran out the back door. We didn't stop to pick up anything.
As we ran, we could hear Dad's truck going up and down the road. He was hunting us. We hid in ditches and stayed off the road. After walking a mile, we came to Mr. Kenan's barn.
From the barn, we watched as dad went from door to door looking for us. We didn't stop at my uncles' houses. We were afraid they would tell Daddy where we were. They would never believe their brother would hurt us like this.
Mom asked Mr. Kenan to take us to my grandmother's house. He didn't have enough gas to make the fifteen-mile trip. Back then, gas stations were closed on Sundays and at night. He siphoned gas out of his tractor to get enough to make the trip. Mom was fearful he wouldn't help us. Most people didn't want to get involved in family problems.
The Kenan's raised a large family. He was a farmer and a preacher. You could tell they were a godly couple. I guess they saw how desperate we were. They also saw the shape my mom was in. They assured us, "Pete will not hurt you in our house".
Mr. Kenan drove us to my grandmother's house. I think he was expecting daddy to stop the car. He put his shotgun in the trunk.
After we arrived, mom asked," How much do I owe you?" She did not have any money, but my grandmother would pay him. He said, "You don't owe me anything. If my girls ever need help, I hope someone cares for them."
That wasn't the last we saw of my daddy. He was at my grandmother's house the next day. First he begged and pleaded for us to come home. When that did not work, he threatened us.
We never went back. After a few months, mom got a divorce. That did not keep him away.
That day, I heard a voice within myself speak up. It caused me to take charge and make my family flee. After all, I wasn't a child. I had been responsible for my brother and sisters for a year. I assumed it was natural for me to take control.
A six-year-old child did not have the ability to handle that situation. We only had a small window of time, that it was even possible to get away. How did I know the right time to leave? I feel sure my daddy would have killed us if we hadn't left, when we did. Of course, the thought of an angel never crossed my mind when I was six years old.
CHAPTER 2
The Car Wreck, 1968
My second odd experience happened just after I got married. I was eighteen years old.
I got a job assembling telephones at a factory in Corinth, Mississippi. My second shift was from three to eleven o'clock at night.
Working those hours allowed me to go to college in the daytime. Three days a week I drove to school, and from there I drove to work. For several months, I drove home alone. I couldn't carpool because no one had my schedule.
My husband, Harvey worked the day shift at the local plastic factory.
He asked me to be extra cautious while driving home at night. "Always lock your doors. Never let anyone in the car with you. Don't speed." He also wanted me to watch for deer. They are bad to jump out in front of you at night.
I know he was concerned with my safety, but he also worried about his car. I was driving his pride and joy.
His first new car was a graduation present. He picked out just what he wanted; a 1966 Chevrolet Impala.
Even though it was precious to him, he chose to drive the old truck and let me drive the Impala.
The drive home was thirty minutes on a two-lane highway. I usually got home before midnight. Being cautious, I always did what Harvey said. I never drove over the speed limit, and I always locked my doors.
Then something strange happened.
Nothing stressful happened at school that day. My grades were good. I was getting enough sleep.
I had dinner with Harvey that night. He often picked me up during my lunch break. It was the only time we saw each other, since we were on different shifts.
At work, production was good. I chatted with my co-workers. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, until I clocked out.
I came out of the factory and got into my car. It was as if I were in a trance. I could not feel my feet touching the ground. Everything was in complete silence. I felt like I was watching myself in a dream.
As I drove out of the Corinth city limits, my foot pressed on the accelerator. I watched the speedometer climb sixty, seventy, eighty, ninety.
A white horse jumped a fence and ran across the road in front of me. At a high rate of speed my car collided with the horse.
The car came to an abrupt stop. There were no skid marks. The brakes were not touched.
When I hit the horse, it was thrown on the roof of my car. My windshield shattered. The top crumpled until it touched the top of the seats.
Harvey's car was totaled. It could not be repaired.
The car had a lot of damage to never leave the highway. I heard people saying, "How did she get out of that alive?"
I went to the hospital and had x-rays. I didn't have a scratch on me. The glass didn't cut me, and I didn't have a concussion.
I thought, There's got to be something that didn't show up in the x-ray! I probably have a serious head injury! Maybe that caused my brain to play tricks on me.
Maybe I just imagined I was driving crazy! Is it possible that this could have been a normal drive home until I hit the horse?
The doors on my car were not locked when the first responders got me out. I had not locked them before I left work, which was something I always did.
When someone called home to tell Harvey I was at the hospital, he wasn't there. My mom picked me up and took me to her house.
Harvey had been out drinking with some buddies. That was unusual. He liked to go fishing with his friends. He never left with them, without telling me where he was going and when he would be back.
It was hours before he finally found me.
I don't know if he was more hurt because he lost his car, or because he had not been there for me. He promised, "Doll, I will never do this again."
That was one promise he kept. We were married twenty-six years, and he never went out drinking with his buddies again.
I thought what happened to me was strange, but I didn't have a clue as to what caused it. I thought it had to be from the head injury.
I was so scared and traumatized by the wreck that I didn't think about what happened until weeks later.
Could I have been drugged? I could not think of anything that I drank or ate that gave anyone the opportunity to drug me. I had not taken any medicine.
This strange trance started, the exact moment I walked out of the factory. I do not think drugs could be that precise.
I never told anyone exactly what happened to me that day, not even Harvey.
CHAPTER 3
My Renter's Baby: Premonition
I have managed real estate since 1984. My husband was a home builder. He used his work crew to build or remodel rental property. That's how he kept his crew busy when the housing market was slack. Our rental property kept me in the business for thirty years.
During that time, I had a lot of experiences with renters. Most were good, some not so good. Some I would like to forget. I had one experience that I will never forget.
It was July. I rented an apartment to a young couple from Huntsville, Alabama. They came to our area to work on the Tennessee Tombigbee Waterway. The government was digging a canal to connect the Tennessee River and the Gulf of Mexico. It brought a lot of workers to our area. The husband, Joseph was a heavy machine operator. The girl, Pat was seven months pregnant. She was not working at the time.
