97 years ago today, in the woods of Alabama a child was born in a log house with a dirt floor. They say he was a tiny child and in those days a birth was a solemn occasion racked with fear for the mother and new born. It was all to common for one or both of them to die in the process or over the next few days. There were several children to be lost in this family over the years, but today the “middle’ son was born to survive.
He grew in dire poverty, but would say many years later he wasn’t really aware of it till he was grown and on his own. He would later take pride in the shoes on his feet as a man, but went many years before he ever owned a pair. The boy spent most of his child hood helping the family survive as did his brothers and sisters. Work was common to even the youngest if they could walk. It was hard raising enough food for them all to eat and raising enough cotton to hopefully one day escape the lowness of their life. What couldn’t be raised had to be shot or caught, and this led to the few pleasures in life for the child. Well, at least until the day he accidentally shot a younger cousin in a hunting accident as a teenager. This ended his days hunting for food or for pleasure.
What money the family could depend on was a small pension his grandfather received for his service in the Civil War. When the old man died in his 90’s was staying the boys room in the old clap board house they lived in at the time. This shook the family and without the pension the boys had to leave home to fend for themselves. The mother and father separated and she took the younger kids while the two oldest boys headed out for the west to find work and a new life.
The best means of escape for the coal mining region of Alabama was the train. With no money to ride as paying passenger the boy, the boys oldest sister’s husband help him jump a freight train. They rode together for along ways until the brother in law had to return home. They boy now 19, rode on alone to Texas where there was some relatives and stories of plenty of work. The ride ended when he was kicked off the box car by a “rail road bull”, a heavy handed person hired by the railroad to clear the trains of “hobos”
The boy grew into a man in Texas, married and had a lot of kids. His life was filled with ups and downs but it lasted until 1988. Into his 70’s he still had a child’s twinkle to his eyes, when he grinned.
Was he a success you ask? Well, not the way most measure it. He had escaped poverty all right when he left Alabama and had some pretty good years. But in the end he only had a couple of used cars and a little brick house in the suburbs paid for. About a week before he died he told me, “ I can’t ask for much more in life… I have had a good time, have kids I love and who love me and grandkids to boot. I’ve known a lot of friends and most of them big troubles looks so small now…..God has really been good to me.”
This a lot more I could say about him, and volumes I could write. But the memories are to sweet to write through the tears still today. He was as close to my soul as a man could be.
Papa, I still miss you…. Happy Birthday
No comments:
Post a Comment