My First 24 Years
The First 24 Years sub-section will describe the first 24 years of my life. It has 10 chapters.
My Early Years
I was born on August 16, 1947 in Red Bay, Alabama in a dog-trot style log cabin. In December of that same year, our family moved to Bertrand, Missouri. My father and grandfather had bought adjacent farms from the Delk family. Harold and Mary Delk had moved into town. They later established a small grocery store. The property had two houses located about 150 yards apart on it. One house was a larger, nicer house and the other one was a “run down” smaller house. My grandfather and grandmother moved into the larger home and my family moved into the smaller one. Upon first visiting our new home, my mom immediately began to cry. If it wasn’t already enough to uproot her young family of four, including a four-month old baby, add the fact that she was moving to this terribly cold place called Missouri in the middle of December. The dilapidated house only increased her heartache. Yes, she longed to return to Alabama! She did realize, however, that making a living as a farmer in the rolling hills of Alabama was tough. To appease my mom, my father promised to build her a newer and better house “soon.” (“Soon” turned out to mean ten years later!)
Our farm was located about a mile southeast of the small village of Bertrand. The village was platted in 1859 and named after a Mr. Bertrand, a railroad promoter. A village post office has been in operation since 1874. The village is located between Charleston and Sikeston and is about 20 miles west of Cairo, Illinois and 35 miles south of Cape Girardeau, Missouri. The population in 1947 was approximately 390. The 2010 census indicated that the population had more than doubled to 821.
As a baby and toddler, I was a chubby little soul. My mom informed me that I was a crybaby, drama queen, and a mama’s baby – no one else was to hold me! Of course, I cannot remember much to share about my first five years other than that they must have been uneventful. I will, however, include a few photos from my early childhood.
As a four or five year old lad, I can remember that I liked to build roads with my toy road grader and land leveler. I had fictitious friends that worked with me. Probably, my best fictitious friend was “Old Joe”. “Old Joe” and I were very close as he was very quiet like me and shared my passion for building roads. I suppose one could say that I had a very normal early childhood, if one considers talking to fictitious friends and eating mud pies as normal! Hey, I was shy and my fictitious friends did not intimidate me like the real kids did. Furthermore, I could be the boss. That is “Old Joe” in the picture above in this paragraph. Wasn’t he a handsome little fellow?
As I was looking at some old pictures, a memory popped into my head that related to my road building activities. My neighbor to the west of my house used to stop by and try to talk to me about the roads that I was building. He always called me “Pinochle Joe.” I am certain that I never made eye to eye contact and probably never said more than yes or no in kidspeak (uh uh and unh uh). I really liked this man as he frequently brought me a cup of ice cream, the kind with a wooden paddle attached to the cup.
There were two things, however, that always bothered me about this man. First I was troubled by the fact that he never brought ice cream for “Old Joe”, so I had to share mine. Second, I was concerned that he must have confused me with “Old Joe” as he always called me “Joe”. My name was not “Pinochle Joe”, it was Glen! Bothered or not, that early interaction was the start of a lifelong friendship with that man and his wife until their deaths. Of course, my dad and mom had known them since the days that both families lived near Red Bay. My friend, Claude L. Williams, died in 1981 and his wife, Nova Lee, passed in 2011 at the young age of 100 years.
Yes, I loved Claude and Nova Lee Williams. The Williams happened to be the grandparents of ten of my 34 first cousins and the parents of two of my aunts. My dad’s brother and my mother’s brother married the Williams sisters (Aunt Margaret (Raymond) and Aunt Eulene (Ray). Until I left for Illinois in 1972, I visited Claude and Nova quite often, as I adopted them as my third set of grandparents. I also can remember Claude and Nova Lee living at four other homes during my first 24 years. I can remember them living about three miles farther south on the same road that we lived on; on their farm near Marble Hill, Missouri; in the Dogwood Community south of Bertrand; and in the house that they built next door to my Aunt Margaret’s home on the I-55 frontage road. They were wonderful people!
When I was about five or six years old, I can remember a short conversation that I had with my dad. One summer, my dad hired day-laborers from Charleston to cut the weeds out of our soybeans. My dad and I would pick up the workers in the morning at 8:00 AM and would drive them back to town each day at 5:00 PM. There were usually eight or ten workers evenly divided between male and female. One day, while driving the workers back to Charleston, I made my dad blush with an innocent question that I posed to him. My simple question was “Dad, are these people good hoers?” He turned red and responded with a very simple “yes” and explained to me that that was not a very nice word. Then, he abruptly changed the subject. I was confused, but I let it go. I later learned (not from my dad) that they should be called “choppers” and not “hoers”!
Another favorite thing to do was building “toad frog” houses after it rained. Have you ever heard of “toad frog” houses? A “toad frog” house is constructed by putting wet sand or dirt over your bare foot and slowly pulling it out very carefully so as not to destroy the integrity of the landmark that you just have completed. “Old Joe”, my sister, and I actually would build a whole city of these houses. And, sometimes, we would actually have a “toad frog” visit one of our structures.
(As an aside, my wife tells me that these creatures are really toads and not “toad frogs”.) Okay, she is a Yankee and the kids in Iowa probably did not build these “whatever you want to call them” houses! How deprived can one be?
My Parents
My parents were both hard working. My dad was a farmer and my mom was a farmer’s wife. That suggests long, hard days with both getting up at 4:00 or 5:00 AM and going to bed at 9:00 PM. My mom had several medical issues with her heart, kidneys, stomach, back, and legs and was frequently in the hospital when I grew up. She was the picture of extremely poor health, but she seldom complained. Her pain tolerance level is that of what I only could dream. She was a tough cookie! (My pain tolerance is on the other end of the scale.) My dad’s running joke was that there were wings in the Delta Community Hospital in Sikeston and both hospitals in Cape Girardeau that he had personally paid for. Frequently, I would begin sobbing as I knew my mother was in such pain. I offered many prayers asking God to comfort her.
My dad suffered a farm accident in 1969 that completely changed his life. He was never the same physically, mentally, or emotionally. I think his last 20 or so years were very painful for him in many ways. He could no longer do the things that he previously could do and he focused on that inability. It was a blessing that my father passed in 1993 more than four years prior to my mother, as he was so dependent on her. I really do miss them both.
As a child, my family’s social activities revolved around the First Baptist Church of Bertrand and a few friends outside that circle. We did not travel very often with the exception of going to Alabama to visit my mom’s side of the family twice a year. I do not remember staying in a hotel until I was probably 15 years old. When we did travel, we usually ate at a roadside picnic table. That was a combination of my dad wanting to get to Alabama “right now” and his frugal ways.
Some of my best memories were our family get-togethers whether they were at my grandfather’s house in Bertrand, Missouri; or my grandparent’s home in Thorsby, Alabama; or at Reelfoot Lake; or at Kentucky Lake; or at our farm on Wolf Island. These family reunions were held about the same time every year. Those in Missouri were held on July 4th and in November on the Sunday closest to my grandpa Morrow’s birthday on November 20th. Those in Alabama occurred during the first two weeks in August and the week of the Christmas holidays.
Most of the July 4th events were held on the farm on Wolf Island and usually had 35 – 50 people attending (relatives and friends). There was a lot of food and drink. By drink, I mean soda, tea, kool-aid, milk, and coffee. There was never alcohol at any of these events. (In fact, I never saw anyone drink alcohol until I was in college!) The only downside was the hungry mosquitoes that were as big as horses. “Off” was very popular at this yearly event! All kids and adults, including the females, played softball and the guys and a few gals played football.
I suppose one could argue that I have lived a sheltered life. I am almost 73 years old, spent four years in college, and two years in the military and have never tasted of beer! Drinking alcohol was just not one of my family’s practices. I just have never really even considered it. If I live another three years, my dad and my years of teetotalism will add to 150.
I still cherish those days of the family get-togethers. Unfortunately, the ones in Missouri stopped when grandpa died in 1978. The ones in Alabama stopped when my siblings and I left Bertrand in the late 60’s. The annual reunions were events that everyone always looked forward to. I really miss those days! In today’s world everyone’s life appears to be so much busier and more hectic than it was back in the more innocent years of our youth.
In Alabama, we would have about 20-25 people at our family gatherings, particularly when the Ray Spearman family would make the 50 mile trip south to Thorsby from Birmingham. Those wonderful reunions occurred about ever year of my childhood. These events were so special as we cousins saw each other so infrequently. We seemed to always have some friends of the family join us at these reunions. Oh! What memories were made!
1963 Comet.
My parents bought our first car when I was 15. It was a brand new 1963 Comet. Prior to that, our only vehicle was a 1952 GMC farm truck. We traveled everywhere in that truck. My sister and I would cover our faces anytime that dad drove us through Bertrand. We simply had too much pride. My dad was never embarrassed. As my mom never had a driver’s license, he always said that we never needed a car as he was the only driver in the family and the truck was good enough for him. I do not think that money was the issue as much as the practicality of it. On the other hand, the Great Depression had done a number on my father and he was a frugal man. As I think back about it, he actually bought my brother a car in 1959 before he bought himself a car in the fall of 1962. And, I have not forgotten that he bought me a 1963 Oldsmobile in 1966 when I was a sophomore in college.
I did have growing pains in my early life. I struggled with shyness, confidence, and self-esteem. (I call them the three amigos!) In my younger years, I really struggled as I was completely inept at completing simple common or mechanical tasks. My dad had practical skills in carpentry and woodworking and I inherited none of those. Unfortunately, he was not very understanding or patient with me. His continuous belittling of me for that ineptness only exacerbated my problems with confidence and self-esteem. My mom was always there to encourage me. I eventually learned that God gives each of us a set of unique skills that we must identify and improve upon.
Below is an excerpt from a video that discusses the growing pains and negativity issues that I had to address in my childhood. I was totally inept at performing any tasks relating to mechanical skills. It was disappointing for my Dad and devastating to my psyche. Watch Video 2 Growing Pains.
I did not want to be like Tim Allen’s character in Home Improvement and try to be something that I was not. That often ends up as a comedic experience. Good examples of my ineptness were my futile attempts at welding (simply making a bead was difficult for me) or trying to build a simple bird-house in Vocational Agriculture. I was certainly more comfortable with writing stories or playing baseball – things that I was confident that I can do relatively well. I, sometimes, run into people, who appear to be able to do it all. Rather than being envious, I try to celebrate their skills. I just try to build upon the skills that God has given me.
My dad was vehement about my getting the good education that he was unable to get. It was settled early for me and with no drama. I was going to college, if my father had any say about it. I really do appreciate his less than gentle persuasion. It certainly was the right course of action for me! I almost blew the whole thing with my lack of maturity. Two years in the military made me realize how stupid that I had acted. I made up for that stupidity by continuing my education throughout my entire adult life. “Son, get an education!” “Son, get an education!” I called it my dad’s mantra.
My Profession of Faith
I went to church summer camp at Unity Camp Grounds near Benton, Missouri from ages 8-12. At my first camp, I responded to the altar call accepting Christ as my Lord and Savior. One week later, I was baptized in Wolf Hole, a swimming place in the Bement community. That decision was the most important decision that I have ever made. The Lord never promised me a rose garden. He simply promised me that if I fall, he will pick me up. My journey may be long and hard, but I will never travel it alone.
One of my favorite times was early morning before leaving to attend services at First Baptist Church of Bertrand. As a family, we would watch and listen to two or three southern gospel music shows on TV. My favorite of those shows featured “Jake Hess and the Imperials”. Jake had been the lead singer for the mega-gospel group, Hobie Lister and the Statesmen. There also was a show called “The Gospel Caravan” that showcased the many popular groups of that era. Favorites from those shows included The Lefevres, The Happy Goodman Family, The Prophets, The Stamps Quartet, The Speer Family, and The Florida Boys. That was a special time for my family. As an aside, I was fortunate enough to meet Jake Hess at one of the Bill Gaither concerts in Champaign-Urbana, Illinois in the 90’s. As expected, he was a very nice man.
Faith in the Lord has always been very important to me and a major part of who I am. Below is an excerpt from a video relating to my accepting Christ as my personal savior. Watch Video 3 My Conversion.
My First Friend
My first “live” friend prior to leaving Bertrand for college was my first cousin, Fray Morrow. Fray’s family, the Raymond Morrow family, lived about 100 yards west of our house. Fray, three years my junior, and I were constant companions every day of the week. In the summer months, we were particularly active, playing baseball, riding our bikes, hunting, fishing, or skipping rocks on the pond.
He was not as fanatical about baseball as I was. (Was anyone?) I can remember giving him a hard time when he did not embrace playing catch or taking batting practice. Fray and I did build our own personal baseball field. It had a great screen and a manicured grass infield. Unfortunately, our Ieft field had extremely short dimensions, even for a Little League park; therefore, we tried not to pull the ball to left field. Eventually, I was hitting the ball too far in center field and was hitting my uncle Raymond’s house with some of my long flies. This meant that if we were going to play baseball on Morrow Field, we had to hit the ball to left-center. That probably had an effect on my never being a pull hitter. I typically hit the ball to the gaps in both fields no matter how fast an opposing pitcher threw. Quite often, our neighbors up the road, Sonny and Danny Alcorn would stop by and we would either play work-up or Team Fray and Danny versus Team Glen and Sonny. Those games were fun.
It finally got to the point that we could persuade the girls, my sister, Kay, and Fray’s sister, Sharon, to play whiffle ball. Sharon and I really could beat up on Fray and Kay. After a while, the girls actually could hit the whiffle ball, but we would have to tell them which direction to run! I don’t think Kay and Sharon ever really enjoyed it, but somehow we were able to talk them into playing the game. I am sure they played only to appease their big brothers.
Later, Fray and Sharon’s little brother, Steve, came along. I do not recall him playing much baseball with Fray and me; however, when he reached six or seven years old, Fray and I demanded that he play football with us. He would be the quarterback for both teams, as Team Glen and Team Fray would go at it. We would take turns being receiver and defender. As I was much bigger and three years older, I would like to think that I got the best of that competition. Again, that was a lot of fun.
As we got older, Fray and I would venture farther away from home with our bikes. We really enjoyed riding down the road about a quarter of a mile to a place that I referred to as Mockett Woods. This place was very serene and had a very a nice pond. It was great for fishing and hunting small birds with a BB gun. There were all kind of creatures at this pond including rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, beautiful common birds, and some unusual water birds. We would go down to these woods and sometimes spend the whole morning just waiting to see what creature would next appear.
In the winter months, Fray and I would play basketball until one of us was called for supper or it just got too dark. We would play one–on–one, or 21 (long and short), or h-o-r-s-e. Our backboard was wooden and had been around since my brother played on it in the middle 50’s. The rim was much too thick and stiff; therefore, one must hit the basket cleanly, since the ball would really carom off that rim. The court was grassy and uneven. Eventually we wore the grass down. Wow! I made a lot of baskets on that old goal.
Our own pond was a special place for us growing up. We would fish (would not eat the fish) and, in the winter months, we would play ice hockey when it would freeze. The neighbor boys (Harold and Johnny Mack Fodge) would come down to play hockey with Fray and me. They were much smaller and younger. Actually, I do not think we did anything but shoot the puck (small stick) at the goal – each of us taking his turn as the goalie. No, we did not have hockey sticks, real pucks, or ice skates!
I can also remember Fray and I building a raft. I think that I had just completed reading Huckleberry Finn in one of my classes. Well, on its maiden voyage, it sank. I do not know how it failed, but it did. Fray and I also built several wooden go-carts by attaching old lawn mower wheels to pieces of wood scraps that we found. We actually could ride on our finished product; however, we never mastered the steering system. As long as one did not want to turn, it worked well. The last disaster that I will share is the underground clubhouse that Fray and I built near our baseball field. We cleverly disguised it so that no one knew it was even there. Unfortunately, we too cleverly disguised it, as one of our fathers drove a tractor into the hole. I cannot remember what our punishment was for that.
We had a misadventure with smoking. Kay, Fray, Sharon, and I decided that it might be “cool” to smoke cigarettes. One time when Fray and Sharon’s parents were gone, we hoisted Sharon (the smallest) up to an unlocked kitchen window that she could easily raise and slip through. Uncle Raymond kept a carton of Winstons in his bedroom closet. Sharon grabbed a pack and returned to the window where we helped her escape. Off to the cornfield we ran to “partake of our recently obtained prize”.
It was not as glamorous as we had envisioned. I absolutely abhored the taste of smoke and particularly the aftertaste of those awful things. (I am certain that I did not inhale!) We ate grass hoping that our moms would not smell it on our breath. All was well for a while. One night my mom called Kay and me into her room. Do either of you know anything about the pack of cigarettes your dad found in the combine bin? Oops! Neither of us could lie to our mom. I cannot believe that I had forgotten where I had hidden that pack of cigarettes!
Our punishment totally cured Kay and me from ever wanting to smoke again. What was this severe punishment that you speak of? Our mom actually threatened to tell our pastor about our wrongdoing. Oh! That would had become the most scandalous story in Bertrand! I do not think either Kay or I ever touched another cigarette. I still do not know what Fray and Sharon’s punishment was, but I do know that I felt bad for encouraging little Sharon’s delinquency. I am not admitting in any way, however, that it was my idea!
There was one detail that I had completely forgotten. My sister, Kay, reminded me that somehow in this misadventure, Sharon’s hair got caught on fire. I do not remember this important detail. I am surprised that we did not set the dry cornfield on fire. I cannot wait to ask Sharon to refresh my memory about this near catastrophe.
I am certain that Fray and Sharon’s youngest sibling, Angela, really regrets that she was too young to participate in some of our misadventures, as she was at least twelve years younger than me. (She actually could be as many as 15 years younger!) Steve, on the other hand, was fortunate enough to participate in a few of Fray and my shenanigans even though he was about ten years younger.
Baseball
I began playing Little League baseball when I was eight years old. Technically, one has to be nine to be eligible for Little League. I can recall the local Little League manager, Noah Strickland, stopping by our house and asking my dad’s permission for me to play on the Bertrand Little League team, if I so desired. I was reluctant as I was so shy and lacked confidence. He agreed to pick me up for all the games.
That first year I was awful as I had never really done anything except play toss with my brother or dad. Since I was the youngest, smallest, and least skilled player on that team, I was stuck in right field. Did I say I was awful? I probably struck out or walked every at bat – never taking the bat from my shoulder. The routine was to take the pitch, look at the umpire, smile if he called it a ball, and frown if he called it a strike. If you took four pitches called balls before taking three strikes, then run to first base. If you took three pitches called strikes before taking four balls, then run to the dugout. That is not an atypical scenario for new little league players. I hope that I was considered a hustling player as I either ran hard to first base after a walk or ran hard to the dugout after a strikeout.
In later years, I improved after moving to the infield. In fact, I became a pretty good shortstop and a decent hitter. For some unexplained reason (very likely the result of our own park’s short left field dimension?), I never was a pull hitter; however, I did have good gap power. Although I was not a speed demon, I hit a lot of doubles and triples. Defensively at shortstop, I had good hands, a good first step, and a very good arm. I played with many good baseball teams in Bertrand at the different levels including Little League, Pony League, and Connie Mack League. I also played with many good athletes in Bertrand including, but not limited to, Galen Harper, Charlie Naile, Johnny Merrick, Mike Adams, Donald Lynn, and Max Smith. (I apologize to all the good athletes that I have forgotten and left off this list!)
Baseball was king in Bertrand in the summers. The lights were on almost every night at the field. For such a small town, we had very good attendance and some super fans. What else does one do in Bertrand on a beautiful summer night? (I am not sure if there is a baseball field in Bertrand in 2020.) How sad!
We would travel 30 miles or more for games. I can remember riding in the back of pickups and being miserably cold. Also, one really had to hold on to his cap on these trips. Speaking of hats, my hat goes off to all the men that participated in our playing of the game in Bertrand. For me, that group included Noah Strickland, Charles Lee McKinley, Chick Wilmuth, James Howell, Larry Miller, and O.D. Harper. These men really gave their all to the youth of the community. Of the six men that I mentioned, I think only Mr. Howell and Mr. Miller are still living. May God bless them all.
I must give the late O. D. Harper a huge shout-out as he was my manager in Pony and Connie Mack League for five or six years. He was so giving of his time and money. Not only was he our manager, he drove us to all our games. His daughter Martha was part of the package as she was our score-keeper and main cheerleader. Martha was like a big sister to me and I loved her.
Driving Miss Trudie
My mother’s non-driver status was always an issue for our family. My mom hated being dependent, but she had little choice. We had to rely on my Aunt Margaret to drive us places that we absolutely needed to go (like doctor, appointments, grocery shopping, etc.) Aunt Margaret, who lived next door, was always willing to take us to those places. Also, she would often invite my mom to go shopping with her to Charleston, Sikeston, Cape Girardeau, and Paducah. For that, we were always grateful. I am happy to report that Aunt Margaret is 89 years young in early 2020. She is my only surviving aunt or uncle.
My Aunt Margaret was a great cook. For me, her two greatest dishes were desserts. One was a cake and the other was a pie. Her caramel cake not only had gobs of caramel on the outside and between the layers, it also was chocked full of pecans. The second great desert that she made a few times was Charlotte Russe pie. That pie was the best pie that I have ever tasted. It was so rich and so delicious. Those are two very memorable desserts. I would kill to taste Margaret’s caramel cake or Charlotte Russe pie one more time. (Actually, “kill” may be too strong of a verb! Maybe, I would just “maim”.) My mouth is watering!
I am going to share a couple of funny stories relating to my Aunt Margaret and our trips with her. About every summer, she would invite us to go to pick blackberries in the backwoods of Marble Hill, Missouri. Picking blackberries was hot, tiring, and painful (thorns). We would always pick to 12:00 PM. (I guess that there was something magical about that particular time.) There were seven or eight of us including Aunt Margaret; my mom; cousins Fray, Sharon, Steve, and possibly Angela; my sister, Kay; and me there to pick that day. The kids decided that it was too hot and that we were hungry. One of us, I do not know who, decided that we would each turn our watches up one hour. So when all our watches read 12:00, we pointed the time out to Aunt Margaret and convinced her that her watch was off by one hour. It actually worked! I think that she actually knew in her heart of hearts that we were conning her but she just appeased us. It could have been me that came up with that idea as I was the oldest and obviously the most clever. But, I am not sure that I could have really been that devious?
After picking the blackberries, we would go swimming in a local stream. It wasn’t that anyone liked swimming that much, as it was that we wanted to try to drown the chiggers that had dug into our skin. One time, we had not been in the water for more than five minutes, when we saw this branch floating down the stream toward us. As it got closer, that branch turned into a water moccasin. You probably have never seen eight people skedaddle from the water as quickly as we did that day. I do not even have to say it, but we never swam in that stream again!
A second incident happened in the late 50’s or early 60’s. We stopped at a fast food place in Cape Girardeau and ordered burgers. Our carhop delivered our order. Aunt Margaret opened the wrapper on her burger and told us all to hold off on eating our burgers. She, then, called the carhop over and told her that bugs had infested the buns. The carhop looked at her strangely, smiled and said these words, “ma’am those are sesame seeds!” That was a new thing to us hillbillies. We were from the boonies and had never heard of such a crazy, newfangled thing. I thought that it was totally absurd to add seeds to a bun! In the future, it will not surprise me if they decide to add sprouts to bread as an encore. We all love our Aunt Margaret and hope she, like her mother, reaches 100!
Fun in Alabama
I love reminiscing about events that took place during my childhood. Sometimes, I get very emotional just thinking about the old days. Here I am in 2020 and it has just occurred to me that I personally have known several people who actually lived in the late 1800’s. Am I really that old? Yes, both sets of my grandparents meet that criterion. Robert and Sarah Morrow were both born in 1886 while Lee and Lee Etta Spearman were born in 1888 and 1895, respectively. Both sets of grandparents were born in either Alabama or Mississippi more than 125 years ago. I really wish I had a time machine so I could go back and see for myself what life was like in the 1880’s and 1890’s. I am certain that I would want to return to the 1900’s and 2000’s very quickly. (Possibly, I would not want to return to 2020 with the virus and the rioting!) It would, however, be very interesting to have a short visit during the late 1800’s and “walk a mile in their shoes”.
Almost every August and during the Christmas holidays, our family would take a trip to Thorsby, Alabama, to visit my maternal grandparents, Lee and Lee Etta Spearman, and other relatives. My mom’s father, mother, sister, and brother and their families lived either in Thorsby or in Birmingham, Alabama, when I was a young child. When we visited, we would typically stay two weeks in the summer and one week during the Christmas holidays. From 1954 to 1957, all five in my family would make the approximate 450 mile trip to Thorsby. After 1957, only four of us went to Alabama for the two week summer vacation as my brother began playing baseball away from home during the summers.
In most of the years, we were able to spend time with both sets of uncles and aunts (Derris and Delcia Shackelford and Ray and Eulene Spearman). That also meant that we were able to see all eight of our Alabama maternal cousins. That was the case until the oldest cousin, Doreen Shackelford, married her husband, Clifford. Those are precious memories that I treasure and would not trade for anything. I am amazed that those memories are still in my depository as I tend to be more forgetful each day.
Bob, Kay, and I always referred to the Alabama grandparents as Paw Paw and Maw Maw Spearman. They always appeared to know at what time to begin looking for us to arrive at their house. I am certain that was because they knew my dad was a stickler about time. My dad would dictate that we were going to leave our home in Bertrand at 5:00 AM so that meant that we would arrive in Thorsby around 2:00 PM (give or take 15 minutes). Mom would get up at 3:30 or 4:00 AM to fix breakfast and prepare our lunch that would be taken on the trip and we would either stop at a roadside table or eat in the car. Maw Maw and Paw Paw would always see us as we were driving down their lane and would be standing on the front porch to greet us. (We could not sneak up on them!) They always had such a big smile on their face. We had so much catching up to do since we only saw them twice a year; thus, there was always a lot of joyous chattering during the first hour.
There were two wonderful and unique smells that I have always associated with Thorsby, Alabama. As a young lad, I can remember the fragrance of the pine trees in the summer. In the winter, the smell of wood burning was prevalent. Wood was the source of heating for almost every house in the community at that time. I will never forget how those two sweet smells indicated to my sister and me that we were getting close to our destination. (I really cannot explain how that was so, but you can ask my sister if that is not the truth.) Maw Maw and Paw Paw’s house was set about 200 feet off the highway; therefore, to get there one had to travel down a tree-lined lane. A very old inoperable pickup always sat at end of the lane and in the northwest corner of their yard. A mannequin was always propped-up in the driver’s seat.
Soon after we arrived, Maw Maw would telephone my Aunt Delcia, who lived in the house next door (east of their house), which was about 500 feet away. (Actually, in the years prior to my grandparents having a telephone, my aunt would start watching for our car outside her window at 2:00 PM.) My aunt would soon come over and she and my mom would always share an embrace that was wonderful to observe.
Paw Paw and Maw Maw’s house was an old two-story structure with two bedrooms downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. Usually, the adults slept downstairs while the children slept in the bedrooms upstairs. One of my most vivid memories was how cold it was upstairs in December. My brother and I would share a bed. It was so cold that we had to cover with several heavy quilts. To turn over in the bed, my brother and I had to coordinate. Otherwise, it was almost impossible with all that weight on top of you.
It was cold because there was no heat upstairs. Another issue was the possibility that nature might call during the night. If that happened, one would have to grab the flashlight, traverse the very steep, creaky stairs, and visit the outhouse about 75 feet behind their house. In other words, there was no indoor plumbing in that house until I was at least in my teens. As a seven or eight year old boy, I can remember going to their well to draw water for drinking, bathing, washing dishes, and washing clothes.
The only heat in the house was a pot-bellied stove that burned coal during the first few years that I can remember. Later, the source of energy was wood. Their stove was located in the living room; therefore, if one wanted to be warm he needed to be within 10 feet of this stove. I can remember, as a nine or ten year old boy, going to the wood stack in the backyard and bringing in armloads of wood for burning.
My grandparents liked to “pitch silver dollars” or “pitch washers”. It was a very competitive game with several 2-person teams. The washer pitching tournaments would often continue until bedtime. I can remember the adults stringing lights outside just for these tournaments. It was really nice that all, including the children, could participate in the competition. It was great fun!
Paw Paw Spearman was quite the story-teller when I was a very young child. He shared many stories relating to Little Johnnie (his younger sister) and him when they were youngsters. I remember one of his stories had something to do with their stealing peanuts, but I cannot recall the specifics. He liked to recite riddles and spin yarns to entertain the grandchildren. Unfortunately, he became senile in his advanced years. It is sad, but in his last few years I never heard him speak. (I may be wrong, but I am thinking that his difficulty lasted through his last three or four years).
When I was very young, I was always fascinated by a story Paw Paw shared about the Wild Bill Place. All I know is that there was a cabin in the woods on his property called the Wild Bill Place. I do not know if my fascination was only because I was aware of someone named Wild Bill Hickock. I do remember a creek near that old cabin where my grandfather and others often fished. I also can remember watching beavers at work in that creek. As often as I had heard that term, “Wild Bill Place”, I never really knew its significance. Dear Spearman cousins, my curiosity is getting the best of me. I need your help in solving the mystery of the Wild Bill Place. Was it simply nothing more than an old cabin in the woods or does it have an interesting history?
Paw Paw would insist that my mom wake him up on Saturday night at 11:00 PM to watch Professional Wrestling. and insisted that she watch it with him. (He would usually go to bed at 6:00 PM). He really got into wrestling, always rooting for the “good” guys. I do not think that he ever realized that it was scripted. His favorites were Herb Welch, Luke and Buddy Fields, and Bobby Manigoff. He really disliked the Roberts Brothers. Can anyone remember Rowdy Red Roberts?
Paw Paw loved to watch the old “Top Dollar” TV program. The goal on this show was for the TV audience at home to try to match the serial numbers on their dollar bills to numbers called out on the show. He would give each grandchild a fist full of dollars bills to check. He must have had a couple hundred singles that he kept stored in a cigar box in his top dresser drawer. As far as I know, he never had a winner. For me, it was an exciting time.
My Maw Maw was a wonderful, gentle woman. I can remember when they actually bought their first television in the late 50’s to early 60’s. She would never miss Perry Mason or Highway Patrol with Broderick Crawford. Although Paw Paw never really watched any sports other than wrestling during his life, I do remember Maw Maw getting into football in the mid-eighties when Bo Jackson was playing at Auburn University. She liked to watch the games with my Uncle Ray when he lived next door and would visit her. I really do not think she had a clue about the game of football. She just liked Bo because her son did. Run Bo run! Three other things that stood out to me about my Maw Maw was her beverage choice, her hair, and her competitiveness in card playing.
- After each meal, she would fill her glass half full of ice tea. Then, she would top it off with milk. I love ice tea, but I do not want it diluted by adding a half glass of milk! Yuck!
- Every morning and at bedtime, she would let her hair down and put it back up, spending a considerable amount of time combing it. I was amazed that her hair almost reached the floor. I would never had known this if I had not observed her in this everyday routine. She always wore her hair in a bun.
- She was extremely competitive in cards. If you were her partner, she would let you know if you messed up. Her scolding would always be offered in a kind and gentle way; but, I knew she took her card games very seriously. Whether it was Rook, Old Maid, or Muggins (Wiggins), she did like to win!
I have such great memories of my Alabama grandparents. Those were wonderful times that I would like to recapture.
The Shackelfords – My Aunt Delcia was two years older than my mom. Her family, the Shackelfords, consisted of her husband (my uncle, Derris), her daughter (my cousin, Doreen), and her son (my cousin, Doyle). Doreen was my brother’s age while Doyle was my age.
Aunt Delcia and Uncle Derris always tried to keep all the kids entertained. That could mean anything from let’s take a ride to let’s make some homemade ice cream. When my brother and Doreen were young teenagers, my aunt threw parties for them and invited several teens from the area. I can remember that they played a game called fruit basket turnover. I am not certain, but I think it was a form of musical chairs. Doreen and Bob did their very best to get rid of their snotty little brothers, Doyle and Glen. I suppose that 14 and 15 years old teens do not want their 6 or 7 year old siblings hanging around when they are trying to play “mature” games. I guess that Doyle and I were either too dense or too stubborn to give them peace!
One time around 1967 or 1968, I was visiting Alabama and had one of my heat exhaustion episodes and ended up in the local community hospital in Clanton, Alabama for three days. My Aunt Delcia was a nurse at that hospital. One morning I woke up to this beautiful girl standing beside my bed. She explained to me that she was a volunteer at the hospital for the summer. She further explained that she was a majorette at the University of Alabama and would be returning to Tuscaloosa in three weeks. Finally, she explained that my Aunt had informed her that I was a nice, shy college boy from Missouri that needed to be cheered up. It worked! I ended up getting her phone number, but I somehow lost it before I left the hospital. Knowing me, I probably would never have called her anyway. I could not, however, believe that I lost her number!
My Aunt struck again in 1972 or 1973 after I returned from Nam. Her words were, “I have found the perfect little Thorsby gal for you to meet.” We met and we hit it off. I have to admit that it was a pretty nice vacation that summer. She was quite the matchmaker. I really miss my Aunt Delcia!
One of my best memories was the Shackelford library. They had one bedroom that contained wall-to-wall books. I would browse that library for hours upon hours searching for the perfect book to read. I would not be exaggerating by stating that their collection probably had one thousand books – the majority of the books were paperbacks. That library was my solace in those years that my cousin, Doyle, was away in Mississippi visiting his sister during the summer.
I would ride along with my Uncle Derris (John Derris or J.D. Shackelford) when he had a soft drink route in Birmingham and later when he had a dry cleaner route in Thorsby. Those days with my uncle are days that I never have forgotten. We had some very nice philosophical and interesting conversations.
Now, I will share a story about Uncle Derris. I remember that he had a very old red hound dog that liked to bark at night when everyone was trying to sleep. Very annoyed, my uncle gave the dog a sleeping pill. A few minutes later the dog’s bark began to get weaker and weaker and eventually faded to silence. I sure would like to have a recording of that night as that dog’s hoarse bark sequence was hilarious. (I will never divulge this information to ASCPA or PETA.)
In the late 1930’s to mid 1940’s, there was a vaudeville act that traveled the circuit in the southern part of the United States. This duo danced, sang, and performed slapstick comedy. They began their careers performing in small clubs around Myrtle, Fulton, and Tupelo Mississippi, and eventually began playing the larger venues in Jackson, Mobile, and Birmingham. They billed themselves as Shack and Murph. As the demand for vaudeville declined, the Shack and Murph duo found fewer and fewer club dates. Shack later went into the pop scene while Murph just tried to avoid the rock scene. R I P Shack and Murph.
Of course, Shack’s later pop act was selling soda pop in Birmingham and Murph tried to avoid the rocks while farming in Red Bay. I will concede that the preceding paragraph is a total fabrication; however, the preceding sentence is absolutely the truth! When I ran across this picture, my first thought was, “there has to be a good story that goes along with this picture.” Not finding one, I fabricated this really “bad” one. Sorry! Nevertheless, I do love this picture of my Uncle Derris and my dad.
Uncle Derris was a great cook. He introduced me to grits and I absolutely loved them. I consider grits and biscuits and gravy as my favorite two breakfast foods. His “bread and butter” pickles were the best that I have ever tasted. My last memory relates to my attending church services with him. He attended a Freewill Baptist Church about 20 – 25 miles from Thorsby. It was my first experience with a prayer service where everyone prayed out loud at the same time. That was very different than what I was accustomed to! Uncle Derris was a very good man and I miss him!
Oh! it would be sweet to return to those days!
Cousin Doyle Shackelford – I was always very anxious to visit my cousin, Doyle, who was only four months younger than me. He and I certainly got into a lot of mischief and, as I alluded to earlier, really aggravated my brother, Bob and my cousin, Doreen. I mentioned that this was particularly true at the time Bob and Doreen were working on their love life at 14 – 18 years old. I suppose Doyle and I were a royal pain to them.
I always enjoyed exploring the woods behind Paw Paw’s house. Doyle and I scoured every inch of those woods at one time or another. The hollers in these woods were always slick as they were covered with pine needles. We liked to slide down these hills riding barrel staves. That was so much fun. Further, we never knew what critter that we would meet in these woods. I can, positively, report that we never saw Sasquatch.
Doyle must have started driving when he was 13 or 14. We would travel all over the countryside and into Thorsby. If I remember correctly, we never actually got on the main highway during this time period. As I alluded to earlier, in our late teen years, Doyle would often be absent when I visited. He would be away in Gulfport, Mississippi, staying with his older sister, Doreen, for the summer. I was so disappointed when I would learn that he was not going to be there when we visited.
Doyle was the opposite of me as he always had a girl fiend. When I was sixteen or seventeen, he would set me up with some of the local Alabama girls. The girls of Chilton County really liked Doyle, but not so much shy Glen. I can remember some names but after 55 years I cannot put a face with the names. I can remember names like Bennie Carol Dawson, Judy Porter, Betty Ann Dawson, and Carolyn Porter. l do remember that I thought each of them was cute, but, for the life of me, I cannot put their faces with their names.
Doyle was so much fun and he passed on way too soon.
The Spearmans – It was always a special treat when my mom’s brother and his family would visit from Birmingham on the weekends. Ray was five years younger than my mom. The Ray Spearman family consisted of his wife, Eulene, and their six children including Sue, Dianne, Kenny, Jimmy, Vicki, and, Gary. The city of Birmingham was about 50 miles north of Thorsby.
I can remember visiting them in Birmingham one time and encountering my first hot tamale vendor. I learned very quickly that the “hot” in hot tamale is the operative word. Cousin Sue, their oldest child, is three years younger than me and Cousin Gary, their youngest child, is thirteen years younger.
Sometime around 1970, Uncle Ray and family moved to Thorsby to the house next door (west) to Maw Maw and Paw Paw’s house. My Aunt Eulene had a garden that she liked to show off. She grew about every vegetable imaginable in this huge garden, but my favorite vegetable in her garden became summer squash. (only after I had tasted her fried squash) My Aunt Eulene made the best fried squash that I have ever tasted. I could never get enough of that squash. I have never liked acorn squash, butternut squash, or squash soup; however, I love fried squash! (I am starting to sound like Bubba (Benjamin Buford Blue) and his recitation about shrimp from the Forrest Gump movie. Yes, we have Bubba and his shrimp and Glen and his squash!)
Fried squash, fried green tomatoes, and fried okra are three of my favorite foods. If those three count, I do like vegetables. Like most southerners, I like fried anything – realizing that fried anything is not the most healthy food! She was a wonderful cook.
Well, you have heard of the Williams Brothers with Andy being the most famous. Have you heard of the Williams sisters comprised of Eulene, Margaret, and Elba. Two of those Williams sisters happened to be my aunts. Elba, the youngest, is simply a friend that I cannot claim as my aunt. Of the three sisters, I cannot tell you who was the most famous. Let’s divide their acclaim this way. Eulene wins in Alabama, Margaret in Missouri, and Elba takes Indiana. I am unaware of the Williams sisters ever singing as the Williams Brothers did, but I can assure you that all three were good performers. They received good genes from Claude and Nova Williams! Fair enough?
There is another thing about my Aunt Eulene that I know for a fact. She never saw or visited a rummage or yard sale that she did not like! I can remember a couple of times that she was riding with me and said as we were driving by, “Glen, let’s stop and check it out. They will probably have something that you will like.” That woman really loved her yard sales. I really do miss Aunt Eulene!
I want to share some things about my Uncle Ray (James Ray Spearman). First, he had a very interesting hobby. Since you ask, I will tell you what it was. He collected lawn mowers. He could use a different mower every week depending on his mood. I guess that he must have liked mowing better than I did! In reality, I think that he just liked to tinker with the parts on them. Unusual hobby, huh? He, probably, did not even consider it a hobby. Instead, he just never met a lawnmower that he did not like.
Uncle Ray.Uncle Ray, at one time, owned some goats. These goats really kept the underbrush in the area behind his house clean. Through those animals, I learned that it was true that goats will eat anything and everything. I can, also, recall that he owned some carrier pigeons. I cannot verify that those birds were used to carry messages back and forth between Ray and his sister or Ray and his mother. I will have to ask one of the cousins to refresh my memory regarding why he kept and how he used those birds.
Another Uncle Ray story that I will share specifically relates to me. One time while in Alabama, I bought a chocolate drink that I thought was the best beverage that I ever had tasted. (That brand was not available in southeast Missouri at that time.) For a couple of years, thereafter, I looked for that particular brand every time I returned to Alabama, but I had no luck in finding it. If my memory is accurate, the beverage was called ‘yoohoo’. A few years later, Uncle Ray, out of the blue, said to me, “get into my car. We are going to find Glen some ‘yoohoo’ if we have to drive to Georgia to find it”. Well, we did not have to drive to Georgia, but we did drive all over Chilton County until we found a grocery store in Jemison that sold those drinks. It took us about three hours to find these ‘hard to find’ drinks but we did it. I bought a whole case of the drinks to take back home. I was very impressed with his never say never attitude. I actually had forgotten about ‘yoohoo’ until that day. I bet that most of you have never heard of ‘yoohoo’ Chocolate drinks. I remember it as a chocolate drink that tasted much better than chocolate milk? Are they still around?
My Uncle Ray was a World War II veteran. He told me many stories about his time in the Philippines. (I had in my mind all these years that Uncle Ray was a Korean War veteran stationed in Korea. I must thank my cousin, Sue, for straightening me out about this. When I think about it and use my higher math aptitude, he would not have been the right age for the Korean War as 1950 – 1923 = 27 years old, but 1941 – 1923 = 18 years old and 1945 – 1923 = 22 thus, being 18 – 22 years old is much more likely than being 27 years old or older while there. And I know that he was not a career soldier.) At least, I now have Uncle Ray in the correct war!
Fortunately. this story does not change because I had him in the wrong war. It relates to a food that is considered a delicacy in the country that he was serving in (the Philippines not Korea). His description of this delicacy made me not want to eat any food for a while, particularly eggs. He called the food “bloke”, but I think that the food may also be called “balut”. If you do not know what balut is, “google” it. I get a queasy stomach just writing about it.
I will never forget Uncle Ray’s unique laugh. I can hear it as I write this. If I remember correctly, his given name was James Ray and for some reason my mom always called him Ray J. Uncle Ray was so much fun to be around and I miss him greatly!
How I long for those great days!
Christmas Time
Changing gears abruptly, I can remember helping my father load my sister and my Santa Claus gifts into the trunk of our car as we were packing for Alabama while not realizing it at the time. (Please reread that sentence if you think I am saying that we loaded my sister in the trunk with the Santa Clause gifts! No, I am saying my Santa Clause gifts and my sister’s Santa Clause gifts. Maybe I need to reword that sentence. Never mind!) My point was, “boy, was I shallow for not realizing that I was loading my own Christmas gifts in the trunk!” Geesh!
Christmas was special at our grandparent’s house, the Spearman household. Before we arrived for our Christmas vacation, a couple of Spearman relatives would go down to the woods behind Paw Paw’s house and select and cut a special tree for Christmas that year. If my memory is right, it was usually a pine or cedar and had a very nice, pleasant, and “woodsy” smell that filled the air in the living room. (I can assure you that it was not an artificial tree.) All twenty or so of us would gather round the room on Christmas Eve to exchange gifts. It was so crowded that once one found his place on the floor, he would be wise not to give it up. (In fact, we lost a couple of the smaller cousins one time – only to find them buried under a mountain of Christmas wrapping paper!) In later years, as the families even got larger, we would draw names. Drawing names never mattered that much to Maw Maw and Paw Paw Spearman as they always bought everyone in the family a gift.
My cousin, Doreen’s husband, Clifford, always had a movie camera in his hand to record these special events. I am certain that they had recorded a plethora of wonderful home movies. If I remember correctly, Doreen and Clifford had a house fire in Tennessee that destroyed all those videos. Cousins, wouldn’t those videos have been great fun to view today?
Peaches Were King
I would be remiss if I did not mention peaches when I speak of visiting my relatives in Alabama. Thorsby is in Chilton County, and Chilton County is Alabama’s peach capital. There were acres and acres of peach orchards surrounding my relatives’ homes. We always had plenty of fresh peaches to eat when we would visit in the summer as the local growers would provide my grandparents with plenty of free peaches. There is nothing better than pieces of fresh peaches in homemade ice cream!
Sweet Home Alabama
I really enjoyed visiting Alabama when I was a youngster. Those memories can never be taken away. After all, I was born in Alabama, so it was a homecoming of sorts! Dear Spearman cousins, those were great times that we can only recapture in our minds. Those were times when our lives were simpler and definitely more innocent.
We had a memorable Spearman reunion in 2006 at Cousin Sue and her husband, Ricky’s, beautiful home on the Coosa River. In my adult years, I have not seen my cousins as much as I would have liked. That was a very enjoyable event.
Farm Chores
I was a farm boy but did not perform many of the usual farm chores. I tried milking our old jersey the old-fashioned way and failed miserably. I could never get the cow to produce any liquid. One chore that Fray and I had was to feed hay to the cattle when it snowed and feed corn to the hogs every night of the year. It was always fun to climb into the barn loft, grab the bales of hay, cut the wire, toss the hay down into the rack and watch the cattle scurry to enjoy their nightly feast.
Feeding the hogs, however, was not as much fun! In fact, feeding the pigs was hard work. We had to fill the buckets with shelled corn, soak the corn with water, and then carry that extremely heavy bucket full of soaked corn to the pig feeders about 100 – 200 feet away. That task was extremely challenging for this young weakling. Even though we carried two buckets each on every trip, we still had to make several trips each day to fill all of the feeders. I always dreaded that chore. I just had a question cross my mind that I do not have an answer to. Why did we not not just run a garden hose to the feeders? I suppose that the correct answer is that we did not have a water source close enough or a hose long enough during that time. I just cannot remember. I am certain that with Fray and my ingenuity, if it would have been possible, we would have done it. Oh, yeah!
I did not drive tractors very often; however, when I did, that tractor was either pulling a disk, breaking plow, or harrow – farm tasks in which I could only do minimal damage. My father would never have asked me to plant corn or beans, cultivate either of these crops, or drive a combine to harvest that crop. I can remember helping with filling the planter hoppers during planting (corn and soybeans) and putting chemicals (inoculating) on the soybeans prior to planting them. I also helped with driving the trucks during harvest time.
For some reason, we had some awful weeds that would grow in the hog lots in the spring of each year. Often, they would get waist high or taller. These poisonous jimson weeds caused me to become pretty good with a sharp scythe as Fray and I were tasked with their removal. (It was a better solution to uproot them from the ground, but often that was not possible for us small fry.) These weeds could have become fatal to our hogs if they had eaten enough of them.
I always helped with our huge garden each year. That included tilling, fertilizing, and planting. My grandfather had a very nice tiller that I became pretty proficient with. Fertilizing was a nasty job as it required removing the manure from the chicken house and spreading it on the tilled soil of the garden. (In the chicken house, one had to hold his breath to avoid being overcome by the strong scent of ammonia!) Also, I became pretty good at making the little trenches with our old-fashioned one-wheel push garden plow. This plow created the planting trenches for our seeds. We, then, would plant peas (several varieties), beans, sweet corn, mustard, turnips, carrots, cabbage, turnips, tomatoes, and okra. My sister and I assisted our mom in picking beans, peas, and tomatoes from the garden. I can also remember shelling and snapping beans and shelling peas.
I had a huge yard to cut. I can remember it took three or four hours to mow the entire lawn. I always hated to mow under the plum trees behind our house as the ground was so messy under them. The plums were not very good to eat so the trees were such a nuisance. First, the limbs were very low to the ground. Second, I hated to get the fallen, mashed plums all over my shoes. Finally, the mashed plums would build up on the small wheels of the walk-behind mower (not self-propelled) so bad that they did not want to turn. Eventually, I would have to stop mowing and go hose the mashed plums off the wheels. I eventually got a self-propelled mower with large wheels which alleviated that problem. A few years later, the plum trees were removed. Yes!
I have always had problems with the summer heat (heat exhaustion); therefore, I had to be careful not to get overheated. I actually had two heat stokes in Vietnam and had to be medevaced. As I stated earlier, my first mower was a motorized, but not self-propelled, walk-behind mower with small wheels. With that mower, I would really get hot. Later, I had a self-propelled model with large wheels. Wow, what an improvement! As an adult, I can remember teasing my dad about getting a riding mower – only after I left home.
Bertrand had a reputation for growing lots of watermelons. My dad always had a relatively large patch that produced both watermelons and cantaloupes. We grew the Black Diamond variety of melons which are the long dark green with a darker green stripe melon. I always thought that this variety was the tastiest of all melon varieties. The large melon farmers in our area usually grew the Charleston Gray variety. The advantage of the Charleston Grays is that they are good travelers and many farmers around Bertrand were selling their products by the truckloads.
I have worked on a watermelon pitching gang. It is hot and hard work, but it had its benefits. One can “accidentally” drop one of the melons. When that happens, the entire gang wants to fight for the heart of that melon! I can remember in the early 60’s that melons were sold to truckers for as little as 10 cents each.
I will now explain the watermelon ritual at our house when I grew up. Every few days, I would select three or four melons from the patch, pull them from the vine, and carry them to a shady place for consumption later that same week. At 10 AM every summer morning, Mom, Kay, and I would select a melon for a morning snack. If Dad were not working that morning (very unusual), he would join us. We would slice the melon in half across the long side. Kay and I would take one of the halves that I had just cut. The standing rule was that she could not cross over the center line and eat any of my portion. Generally, she followed that rule. (Yes, we had sibling rivalry.) Now, I would put a little salt on my half of the half (Is that a quarter?) and dig in with a spoon. After consuming the melons, I would take the rinds and throw them over the fence for the hogs to fight over. I absolutely loved those morning “breaks” I suppose that we considered that our mid-morning coffee break. Times like that make great memories.
When I was a very young child, one of our crops was cotton. In the early 50’s, the partners (Grandpa, Uncle Raymond, and my dad) eventually concluded that cotton was not as profitable for us as the other crops. Purchasing a mechanized picker was out of the question due to its outrageous cost. Picking cotton by hand was becoming more and more obsolete. Grandpa, Dad, and Uncle Raymond finally determined that corn and soybeans were more profitable crops. They certainly made the right decision! Those “cotton picking” ladies in the photo above are my Aunt Willie, my mom (Trudie), and Aunt Margaret.
I picked cotton as a young child when I was 8-12 years old. I could never pick more than 100 pounds in a given day, Some adults could pick upwards of 500 pounds. At 3 cents a pound, making $3 as a child or $15 as an adult per day was very little for a hard day of excruciating labor – even in the 50’s and 60’s. I would not enjoy doing that ever again.
One of my worst memories regarding our chores occurred during the summer of 1961 or 1962. We experienced a catastrophe as we had to deal with a hog cholera epidemic. I think we had about 20 or 25 hogs die that summer. Fray and I had the undesirable chore to give these animals their proper burial. We dug a large ditch (approximately 4 feet x 12 feet) with a depth of four or five feet. We, then, tied a wire to the dead hog’s back feet and dragged its swollen, stinky body over to the trench that we had just dug. Once we had pushed a few dead animals in the hole, we would douse their bodies with fuel and toss a match in the hole. This process continued until all the poor dead hogs had been thrown into the pit and burned.
If I remember correctly, it took us an entire week to complete this awful project. This was a very tiring task and certainly was nothing Fray or I ever dreamed of doing. I would rather have been playing baseball. After all, it was not an easy task to drag a 150 and upwards pound hog for 100 feet or more. It was a difficult task, but we did it. I think that we, even at our age at that time (about 14 and 11), did appreciate the economic damage that this epidemic had brought to our families. We think that pigeons brought in the deadly disease from a neighboring farm. Our next task was to eliminate those nasty pigeons with our BB guns!
In summary, I had it pretty easy on the farm. My dad did not want to encourage my brother and me to be farmers; thus, he did not expose us to the more complex tasks of farming. He felt it was getting harder and harder for farmers to make a good living. He really stressed getting a good education – something that he was not able to do. I never pulled a planter or cultivator with a tractor nor did I ever operate a combine or corn picker. I never successfully milked a cow. I never baled hay. Did I really grow up as a farm boy?
My Love Life
Due to my extreme shyness in my younger days, I was very reluctant to ask the young ladies out for dates. I was terrified of being rejected. 
Recognizing my passivity, several of my friends and relatives including my mom, brother, sister, aunt, and cousin, intervened on occasion and set me up with numerous young ladies throughout the years. I suppose that they felt that I needed all the help that I could get! After all, my prevailing thought process at that time was who would want to be with someone who was unattractive, had little personality, was boring, and acted strange? The “three amigos of negative thoughts” low self-esteem, lack of confidence, and shyness always reared their ugly heads.
I can certainly remember my first outing with the opposite gender. Instead of labeling it my first date, I will use the terminology, my first “outing with a female”. I think that I was in the 8th grade and she was in the 7th. I accompanied a cute little 13 or 14 year old gal that lived about two or 3 miles down the road from me to a hayride and wiener roast. Her name was Linda Groves. If she was still living, she probably would not have even remembered that night. (She, possibly, may have remembered my nervousness and awkwardness!) Linda was very sweet, cute, and had a great sense of humor. I will always remember her as a good friend. Unfortunately, she passed away a couple years ago. Linda, rest in peace.
My first car date was with a girl from Wyatt, Missouri. Her name was Debbie Baugh and she actually reminded me of a young Natalie Wood. I was very uncomfortable and I am sure that it showed. I can remember that my brother loaned me his beautiful new red ’63 Pontiac Catalina for this special event. It was the fall of 1963. It was a nerve-racking experience for me, but it was a fun time. I was nervous about my date and about driving my brother’s fancy car. I finally mustered enough courage to ask Debbie out again in 1966. (I trust that she didn’t think I was too fast!) I took her to the homecoming football game at Southeast Missouri State University that fall. I really did like Debbie.
When I was 16, I had this mean crush on this 16 year old gal from Memphis. Her name was Karen Phillips. Karen often came with my cousin, Sheila Funderburk, when the Funderburks visited Missouri in the mid-60’s. She was a close friend, classmate, and neighbor of my cousin. I thought Karen was nothing short of a 16 year-old “doll” when I first met her. Shy Glen simply admired Karen from a distance and never ever built up enough courage to ask her out. I later learned that Karen had become Miss Memphis State during her college years. I guess that I wasn’t the only one who thought that she was special. Karen was really a sweet girl and quite the looker!
During my senior year at Kelly High School, I met a nice young lady who became my first serious romantic interest. In the spring of 1964, I attended a basketball game between Kelly High School and St. Henrys High School in Charleston. At that game, I noticed a very pretty cheerleader and asked my friend Ronnie Wyatt what her name was. He wanted to introduce me to her at that time, but I resisted. He said that he would make sure he properly introduced us in the fall. To make a long story short, fate intervened as I was assigned a locker next to hers at Kelly High School.
I never actually spoke with her except for the occasional greetings until early November of that year. With the prodding of a couple of friends, I eventually asked her out and we dated from November 64 until the summer of 65. We had some good times together as we shared the Junior – Senior Prom, the Senior Party, and other events.
I really caught grief from my family when we split as they really liked Diana. I could not convince them that it was not all my doing and that she had equal say about our continuing relationship. (I remember that decision as a mutual one.) I do not even recall why we parted ways, but I will always remember Diana in a good light as we had a lot of philosophical conversations about what the future held for each of us. During 1964 and 1965, Diana was royalty at Kelly High as she was the ’64 Cotton Carnival Queen and ’64 Talon Queen. I never understood why I was fortunate enough to date her during this period. She was a nice, sweet girl!
The night that I left for Vietnam, Bill Bye, a friend of my sister, who I had only met three months earlier, threw a going away party for me. He invited several friends to this event. He also invited a pretty little girl that he thought that I might like. He was right as she, not only was very pretty, but was also very sweet. We hit it off and actually corresponded the first month or so that I was in Nam. Unfortunately for me, our short, long distance relationship eventually fizzled and she returned to her long-term boyfriend. When, I came back from Vietnam, my new friend, Bill, took it upon himself to make sure that I had a smooth return home. Knowing that I was totally unattached, he set me up with several more young Sikeston girls in 1971 and 1972. I will never be able to thank Bill enough for his valiant efforts toward a hopeless cause. Bill Bye is one of the nicest and most loyal friends that I have ever had.
In 1980, my friend, Marty Russell, introduced me to a young lady who attended his church in Springfield, Illinois. After meeting her at the church, he asked me if I would like for him to set me up with her. I agreed and we went on our first date in September of 1980. Her name was Deidra (Didi) Jaynes. Didi was considerably younger and had an adorable two-year-old daughter, Jenny. We dated for five or six months and we were married in February of 1981. On September 7, 1982, my beautiful daughter, Tiffany was born. Unfortunately, our marriage was short-lived. After that failed marriage, I concluded that I would never marry again. On the positive side, Tiffany was and is beautiful and is one of the best things that ever happened to me. She has added a great son-in-law, Randy, and two lovely grandchildren, Abby and Austin, to our family
After dating a few ladies during the middle and latter part of the 80’s, I met this tall brunette lady at a singles conference at the first Methodist Church in Springfield, Illinois in 1989. We had a unfortunate misunderstanding that first night, but again fate intervened! Marlene Miller Boyce was about my age and a very attractive lady. At the conference, she asked me if I would like to dance and I reluctantly agreed. As a non-dancer, when I got out of step, I just stopped moving to the music. She asked me if I wanted to dance or not. It turns out that I took her question the wrong way and completely dismissed her from my mind.
After not seeing her for about a month after that disaster, we crossed paths again at that same church. (Remember that this was not the home church for either of us.) We had both randomly decided to attend a Saturday night service – one that neither of us had ever attended before. I think it was a God thing! I asked her out for dinner after that service. It was a great decision as we have been together now for the last 30 years.
If you would like to hear a longer explanation of my side of our story in my own words, you are invited to watch an excerpt from a video that describes how Marlene and I first met. (Marlene’s version is somewhat different from mine, but fortunately both versions have the same ending. Also, I admit that some of the specifics of my version have tended to change over the years. I simply attribute that to my failing memory.) Watch Video 4 My Wedding.
The Last Chapter
I can definitely say that there was not a last chapter in the First 24 Years and I can assure you that I am not anxious to ever write the last chapter in My Life Story. On second blush, it is a fact that I will never write The Last Chapter of My Life Story. May God bless us all!
