The Neighborhood Bully

When I was very young, there was a boy, a few years older than I, in the neighborhood who was the local bully. He took pleasure in tormenting others, especially the girls. He was caught touching young girls inappropriately on a few occasions. He lived around corner from us in the house next to his father's undertaker business. One year they were enlarging their business and there was a huge pile of dirt from the excavation there. All of the kids were climbing the dirt pile pretending it was a mountain. The bully showed up in his full nastiness. He held me down and put worms down my back. Of course, I went running home screaming.

Sometime later all of the kids were playing in my front yard. The bully again showed up with a rope. He swung the rope at us. The rope wrapped around my legs. He gave a mighty yank and the rope pulled off of my legs leaving large, painful rope burns.

He seemed to take pleasure in tormenting me. He used to hide in the bushes when I was walking home from youth group at the church on Sunday nights. When I got near him he would jump out at me and scare me. It got so I was afraid to walk home by myself at night. He always seemed to know when I was on the way home.

The last straw was an incident that was witnessed by my father. I was riding my bike on the street in front of my house and minding my own business. The bully appeared from behind a bush and knocked me off my bike. Dad saw it happen and was in a rage. He caught the bully by the scruff on the neck and yelled, "If you ever touch my daughter again I will beat the crap out of you. And if you don't like that go tell your old man and I will beat the crap out of him also." That was the end of my torture by that bully. He was so afraid of my father that he never bothered me again.

Incidentally, he grew up to be a decent young man and took over his father's business.

Listen to your mother!

There were many ways we could get to school when I was in elementary school. There was no bus service to those who lived in the town so we walked, rode our bikes or used our roller skates. Our skates were not like the ones we have today. They were all metal and hooked onto our shoes. On the front of the skate was a pair of hooks that attached to the front part of the shoe and in the back there was a strap that went around the ankle. We carried a skate key on a string around our necks so we could tighten the hooks if they came loose. One morning, when I was in the fourth grade, I asked Mom if I could skate to school. She told me she didn’t want me to skate that day, but I could ride my bike or walk. I really wanted to skate because some friends and I were going to go skating after school. I sneakily tucked my skates in my school bag and walked to school that morning. After school, I gathered with my friends and put on my skates for the trip home. When I got about 3 blocks from home I was skating pretty fast along the sidewalk. I came to a curb, jumped off the curb, and hit gravel. My feet went out from under me and I fell on my right arm. You can probably guess the rest. I broke my arm in 2 places. Since I was in front of a friend’s house, her mother tied a scarf around my arm and neck to hold my arm in place and sent me home. Dad took me to the doctor to have my arm set. The doctor sat me in a chair and dad held my arm while the doctor pulled on it to let the bones set into place. I have never since felt such pain. The doctor thought that Dad would faint because he turned white when he heard my screams. I was upset with the doctor because he used only a wooden splint and gauze to hold my arm in place. I had wanted a plaster cast. Anyway, the moral of the story is, when you Mom says no listen to her. She might be right.

Do I have to do that again?

I remember the first day of elementary school. Mom walked me to school that first day. When I walked into the classroom I saw little circle cats and rabbits on the blackboard and said to Mom, "Do I have to do this another year?" I had been to nursery school and kindergarten for 2 years and knew my numbers and letters, could print my name and could read a little. I knew that I would be super bored. So, everyday, when I was walking to school with the neighborhood kids, I would stop to play in the leaves, watch the ants and bees, and in winter, play in the snow. Consequently, I was late for school every day. The teacher would tell me to go to the cloak room and take off my coat and put my lunch on the shelf. I would take my time and, after hanging up my coat, would smell everyone's lunch box to see what they all had for lunch. The teacher would have to come in the cloak room to get me and I would sit at my desk and daydream. The teacher, Miss Scally, had about enough of that and for several days sent a note home to my parents at the end of the day. I put the notes in the bottom of my school bag, and forgot about them. One morning, after arriving late again, Miss Scally asked me where was the note from my father. I told her that Daddy didn't write a note. She told me she would send me home with a 6th grader. I said, " I know the way home", but she insisted on giving me an escort. I was sure that I could get around mother because dad was at work. I had the surprise of my life because mom had been sick that day and Dad had stayed home. When I came up the stairs to our apartment, Dad was in the bathroom sharpening his razor on a razor strop. He saw me and asked me what I was doing home. I said," I don't feel so well", which was true because I was afraid I had been caught. Dad asked me to empty my school bag and about 6 notes fell out. I hadn't had the sense to throw them away. Dad read the notes, unhooked the razor strop from the wall and gave me a sound spanking. Guess what!! The next day I was late for school again. The teacher finally discovered that I was bored and began giving me some books to read and worked with me individually when she had a chance. She ended up being my favorite teacher and followed her 1st grade class through the 2nd grade the next year.

There are lots more school stories, but I will save them for another time.

The Boogie Man

Aunt Helen and Uncle Vernon and their three sons, Brian, Benet and Barry, spent a lot of time at our house, so Bobbi (my sister) and the boys and I spent many hours playing together. Brian and Bobbi were about the same age and Barry was the youngest. (At the time of this story Barry was about 3 or 4 years old.) One evening, after a day of rain we were playing on our large wrap-around porch because the grass was too wet for playing. There was a door to the front of the house and another one on the side of the house. It was beginning to get dark and Brian and Bobbi were teasing Barry and telling him that the Boogie Man was going to get him. He finally went in the side door and told Uncle Vernon that they were scaring him. Uncle Vernon told him that he would take care of it. He went out the back door, quietly sneaked around the side of the house, and crawled under the bushes by the front porch. Since the bushes were wet, he put a white handkerchief on his head to keep his hair dry. He peered through the porch railing and, in a mournful voice said, "Ooooh." Bobbi and Brian saw the face peeking through the railing, saw the white handkerchief and heard the moan and thought the Boogie Man had really come. In the meantime, knowing that it was his father, Barry went around the side of the porch and in the side door. Brian and Bobbi both started screaming and running for the front door. However, the door wouldn't open because one of them was pulling on the door and the other one was pushing on it. It was a sight to behold. They were screaming and dancing there by the door until, upon hearing the racket, our Dad opened the door from the inside. Both of them continued to scream and cry until they were convinced that it was just Uncle Vernon and not the Boogie Man. Bobbi's face was drained of all color. I have never seen anyone so frightened. Uncle Vernon felt so bad about scaring them that way, but they never teased Barry about the Boogie Man again.

A Visit from Aunt Alice

Whenever folks came to visit Aunt Gladys or my grandparents, they would all congregate in Aunt Gladys' room. One time Aunt Alice (granddaddy's sister) came to visit us from NC. She was very thin, tall (6'5"- I always thought she was an 8 ft giant), had short, curly, gray hair and had a big,deep voice. One afternoon during one of her visits, she was taking her daily nap on Aunt Gladys' bed in the front room. Now a nap for her meant getting on her nightgown and laying across the bed. She slept so soundly that if she hadn't been snoring you might have thought she was dead or in a coma. Midway through her nap there was a knock at the door. It seems the preacher had come to visit Aunt Gladys. Panic ensued. Grandmother asked the preacher to have a seat on the porch for just a minute. She hurried into Aunt Gladys' room and shook Aunt Alice saying,"Alice, Alice, get up and go dress, the preacher is here to see Gladys." Aunt Alice opened one eye and replied in her deep southern accent," Aw, tell him to come on in, he don't bother me none." So, grandmother threw a blanket over Aunt Alice, ushered in the preacher and he visited with Aunt Gladys in spite of the snores that came from under the blanket.

A Time Remembered

Well here goes. I am going to attempt to write some of the memories from my childhood. Maybe some day my grandchildren or great-grandchildren will put them in a book. Most of the stories that I will write took place in the 1940's and 50's. That was a time when a dollar would give you a half tank of gas, five cents would buy a Hershey bar that was twice the size of the Hershey bars today and you could go to the movies for 25 cents and see a cartoon, a serial, the weekly news and a full length film. You could even stay and watch the whole show over again if you wanted. These were good times for kids. We didn't have TV so we spent our time outside, playing in the woods, running in the fields, riding our bikes and just having general good fun.
Our family consisted of mom, dad , my sister (who was 4 years yonger than I) and myself. We lived in an apartment on the second floor of a house owned by my grandparents. Grandmother, granddaddy and an invalid aunt lived on the first floor. There was a room in the attic that was inhabited by several folks over the years. The first I remember was a nurse we called Aunt Bert, who was not really a member of the family.

Through the years several family members lived in the house. Jean, a cousin, who was the product of a broken home, an aunt and uncle and their three boys, my great-grandmother(Dad's grandmother, my other grandmother(Mom's mother) and various other visitors. It seems that grandmother's table always had at least 10 places set at one time, many times there were more.

Our Aunt Gladys, who had MS for years and coiuld not walk, was confined to a rocking chair in the front room of the house. That was where everyone congregated. My sister and I loved to go downstairs to her room and visit with all of the friends and relatives there. There is something positive to be said for an extended family living in one place. There were good times and bad times in that house. I hope that over the next few weeks or months I will be able to make you understand what wonderful things happened there.

It's been a long time

It has been a long time since I have blogged. Never considered myself a writer. But...I have been reading Ernest J Gaines books and after reading "Mozart and Leadbelly" I have been inspired to write once more. I am in the process of writing the memoirs from my childhood. So many of my family have heard the stories, but I thought I should write them down for the future generations. Sat down and wrote about 5 pages this afternoon. Never believed I could write, but the words just came. Every once in a while I will write some of it on this blog. Some of the stories are very funny , some of them are pathetic. Keep an eye out for the first installment soon.
I wouild suggest anyone who is interested in the conditions in the South between 1930's and 1970's read Ernest J Gaines' books..especially "The Autiobiography of Miss Jane Pittman" and
" A Gathering of Old Men". Don't know how I missed reading these before.

Will write the first installment of my memoirs in a few days.