JERSEY BOUND!

The latter part of the 1960's, we made a move back to Swainsboro, our hometown.  The boys were in elementary school, grades 2 and 4 and our baby girl was a cute little toddler who captured the hearts of everyone she met.  She charmed us all with her cute little mispronounced words.  I had control over her attire then and she was dressed in leotards and smocks and bows in her hair when I could get them to stay there.   The crotch of the leotards resided somewhere around her knees.  She would later rebel and to this day, would rather be hog tied,  than to wear leggings, panty hose, or bows.

When I started working, I enrolled Teresa in Mrs. Canady's Day Care, the most sought after place for day care in the whole town.  Mrs. Canady ran her little day care school out of her home on South Green Street and she ran a tight ship.  A staunch Christian woman, with short hair and coal black eyes,   she had two black eyed little girls and a little boy of her own that mixed right in with the others.  Sometimes, Mr. Canady was there to help with the "herd."   All children were taught table manners, respect, sharing, and courtesy.  She would gather them all around her kitchen table for nutritious snacks and meals, which she prepared herself.  Each meal began by blessing the food and she often told Bible stories during this quiet time around the table.  When my daughter was just four years old, in her own version of English, she could recite the entire books of the Bible.  Oh, how the parents and the children loved this woman!

Jim ad Tim were part of the transitional years of desegregating all schools.  It was a very difficult time for all families making the adjustments of changing school locations, particularly when it meant children were being moved from the schools that probably their parents had attended, and in their comfort zone.  I remember that schools actually closed for a while in order to transition the children from buildings to buildings.  To say is was chaotic, would be an understatement.  It was new territory and the air was tense.

One day, I received a call at work from the school that Tim was missing.!  WHAT?   Of course, I was frantic and jumped in the car to rush over to the new school location across town.  Tim was nowhere to be found.  We lived miles from the school location and the Administration was very upset about a child "escaping" from school, but they were not nearly as upset as I was for them letting him "escape."  And "APB" went out at school for Tim searching every nook and cranny of the building.  I started to drive slowly along the route from school toward our home taking the logical route and that of the school bus.  About halfway home, I spotted my sweaty, dusty, and dirty little boy with his ever present shirttail flagging in the wind, hustling his way down the road toward home.  I didn't know whether to kiss him or kill him!  He allowed as to how "the desk stunk!"  Oh Lord!

These two little guys knew no fear other than their Momma.  Jim, managed to slice open his finger while whittling a golf ball and tried unsuccessfully  to hide the bloody wound from me.  (Guess he figured he didn't want to hurt in too many places.) Other than his OCD about his "stuff," he was very neat and marched to his own drum.  I could count on him coming home from school looking fairly close to the way he did when I sent him to school.  Tim, not so much.  Curious to see what would happen, they once doused a frog with gasoline (which we thought was carefully stored) and lit a match (which I have no idea came where it came from) watching the helpless frog jump across the road.  Not sure if this was the day that the broom sage caught fire, but a good neighbor helped me put out the flames with the garden hose before the whole town was in on the deed and the fire department showed up.   I remember crying buckets of tears over this one, 'cause I just knew I was raising a couple of monsters.

Sol worked for a new local manufacturing company that made webbing for folding lawn chairs,  a popular item during that era.  Plastic was an upcoming new medium, and this company has quite a large factory with new equipment made in Germany.  The process is called "extrusion" - meaning that the machine took in the raw material on one end and extruded it the other end.  Sounds pretty simple, but actually is a very complex process and requires a lot of mechanical and technical ability and expertise.  The average person has no idea how most of the items made of plastic are actually produced and the precision required to produce it.   Some of those machines could fill a house!

Reifenhauser US Sales Company, a fairly new company,  had offices in downtown New York City.  They sold the equipment made by the parent company in Germany, and their personnel installed and initiated the start up operation for their customers throughout the United States and Canada.  They knew a good thing when they saw it.  Sol had all the qualifications they wanted and they offered him his dream job.   This was the beginning of a career in the plastic industry offering him new opportunities, rare experiences, dreams, headaches, and heartaches.  In January 1970, United Van Lines packed us up and moved us to our new home in a small town that seemed like the end of the earth.  Mendham, New Jersey!

GROWING UP IS HARD TO DO.

Sometimes, growing up is hard to do, especially if according to your age, you're supposed to be already grown up.  So many times, we look back at our lives and think, "what were we thinking?"  Getting married at such a young age is not for the faint of heart.    I've often said, if I had it to go over, I would still marry the love of my life, but I wouldn't do it at age 18.    On the other hand, the very essence of my being is now, and always has been, my love for my parents, husband, and children, in good times and bad ones.   It has been quite a ride!

In the early 1960's we moved from Savannah to Jonesboro, Georgia.  Here we started our boys to kindergarten and in 1965 were blessed with the birth of our precious daughter.   Money was tight.  I bought a brand new Singer sewing machine,  on credit from Rich's Department Store,  and with the help of one of my co-workers, learned how to sew just enough to make my new baby girl some sweet little calico pinafores, a red flannel robe for Christmas, and some little dresses.  I worked full time and did all the things every Mother does with a new baby and two rambuncous boys.  My hubby worked long hours, usually six days a week, and we had little family time.    We visited our parents when we could and they visited us when they could.  It was a semi-perfect world in that we had a beautiful family, a nice home, and material things but lived pay check to pay check.   As with any inexperienced young couple, we made good choices and we made some bad ones.  But we survived and didn't give up on each other.

The years in Jonesboro are filled with memories of good friends - life long friends.  We all went to church, the men joined Jaycee's and the women the club for their wives.    We went to company parties and to night clubs which had live bands and we danced the "Twist" until it was time to get the baby sitter home.    Getting a special cocktail dress made for the Holiday season was always a big event for me.   I shopped very carefully for the most beautiful material in my best colors.   One I remember, was an emerald green of peau de soil fabric with a peplum at the waist.    Sometimes, I could find a chiffon one on sale at a local shop and felt like I was really special. We went to restaurants we could afford, and movies at the Fox in Atlanta.  We especially loved going with friends to the Seven Steers upstairs across from the Fox.  This was the 60's version of a sports bar and had delicious hamburgers and Tom Collins in a tall, skinny frosty glass! (Yes, we were young and foolish)   We played bridge, exchanged recipes, went to PTA,  and enjoyed the small town where everything we needed was close by and people knew each other.   One year, there was a reenactment of the Battle of Jonesboro, which drew a very large crowd out in the fields between Jonesboro and Morrow.   Going to see the lighting of the tree at Rich's was always a special family event, as was going to cut down a live tree at Christmas.    Taking a Sunday ride looking at houses we couldn't afford was always a treat.  Life was good. 

One day, as I sat in the car line at Lee Street Elementary School listening to the car radio, a special bulletin interrupted with the news of the shooting of our President, John F. Kennedy.    It was surreal.  I couldn't believe what was happening and quickly collected my boys and drove home to turn on our small black and white television hoping I could get the TV antenna wires on top adjusted so I could see what was actually happening.   Signals were difficult to maintain anywhere, and we were constantly having to move the two steel wires that picked up our stations, but I managed to get a snowy picture and sat down to watch.

As the millions of people watched the chaos in Dallas that day, and for days to come, history was made.    Those of us who witnessed it will never forget.  President Kennedy and his wife Jackie were the icons of the sixty's and we all cried at the loss of him and the heartbreaking picture of her in her pink suit and pill box hat climbing over the top of their limousine.   The pictures played over and over making them indelible in our minds.  And then, just a few days later, I witnessed, on live television, the shooting of Lee Harvey Oswald, the shooter.    The picture of little John, saluting the funeral procession carrying his father's casket is a vision all Americans treasure.  What a sad time in a very volatile world. 

While the nation grieved, Lyndon B. Johnson became the new President of the United States, on Air Force One on it's way back to Washington, D. C.    Perhaps it was about this time, when we realized how life can change without a moment's notice.  Perhaps this is when we grew up.  

BIBLES, WINDS AND WAVES

It was a large brick building sitting on the corner of Church and Green Streets.  By today's standards, it wasn't a large building, but to me it was huge.  The sanctuary had beautiful worn oak pews showing where hands had pulled and rings scratched, and the view inside was magnificant.  The raised choir loft was situated just under a large, round stained glass window which depicted Jesus kneeling in the garden.  Sitting out  in that large room was an awesome sight when the sun reflected just right through the beautiful glass.  At night, there would be a spotlight behind it.  As the congregation sang, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, it could give you cold chills but a warm peace.  The First Methodist Church of Swainsboro was my church.

I can't remember the number of windows on the sides, but each one showed a different scene from the Bible and they must have reached the ceiling they were so high.   There was a circular alter rail with padded cushions and a little tray along the back of the beautiful worn wooden rail that held the tiny little glasses of "wine" for communion and the quarters that may be placed there by someone.   In time, cushions were added to the pews and a beautiful carpet of a royal color.  A large piano (where Ms. Vann with the floppy hats) flanked  the right,  just in front of the door that led to the Sunday School rooms on that side which were located in the back of the structure.  Hanging on the wall at the left,   a sign posted the hymns for the day.  The table on the alter was graced with a large brass cross and candles to the side. Through the doors, little narrow stairs led to the level where the rooms were and I remember thinking it was like a cavern and sometimes felt spooky when I was alone.  There were also stairs going down to the basement, which was ground level, and used for receptions, cake walks, MYF, Women's Circle meetings, and the like.   Once at MYF, a bad boy, whose name escapes me, pulled a chair out from under me and to this day, I suffer from pain which I think of it.

  

The Sunday School section had a large room filled with little chairs and tables, where we all gathered for singing , and then we would go to our seperate rooms for our age group.   Teachers would record our presence in her little book with a check.   There was a collection plate passed around to collect our nickle.  Then those sweet, dedicated teachers  gave out little flyers with a Bible story and telling us the stories in her words.  Then we prayed and marched single file up to the sanctuary for an assembly of all classes to belt out some Onward Christian Soldiers as Ms. Mae banged out the marching cadence.   This process continued every Sunday morning all of my life.  I wouldn't take a million dollars for these memories.

On the day I was Baptized at eight years old, I felt a great weight lifted,  and love move through my body.  I felt like everything I did from then on, was in God's hands, and all my life, I would be protected by Him,  because I had made that commitment.  Big Momma and Big Daddy, along with my Mother were gathered around me and I cried.  I'm not sure why I cried, but I remember sobbing. 

This morning, as the children led the service at Vineville, and the 3rd graders received their Bibles, my mind  recalled the anticipation of receiving my very first Bible.  Like clockwork, every year the children who were about 8 years old, received an engraved King James Version of the Bible, presented with great pomp and circumstance by our Preacher.  As the Minister spoke today, my mind wandered through my old church where I took my first communion, said my first Lord's Prayer,  made my commitment to follow the teachings of Jesus and was married.  I wondered where my old Bible was probably with some childlike scrawling inside of various names or verses.  I hope my children will appreciate it.  I'm several Bibles down the road now.

Todays sermon was from Matthew 14, basically where Jesus tells the Disciples to trust in Him.  It encouraged me to focus on what I trust and believe.   He didn't tell them to ignore the winds and waves, but to trust that He would save them.    He told them to turn away from uncertainty.   There is a bright message for me in this passage and, if I look carefully and open minded, I find that no matter what happens that makes me afraid of life's situations, whether personal or global, if I turn away from my faith, I'll sink.  

RUNNIN' AND ROCKIN'

About 22 months after the arrival of my beautiful,  hairy little baby boy, my beautiful bald headed  little boy arrived,  weighing in at 8lb 11 oz.  His head look like a peeled onion, and his little round face and gorgeous blue eyes made him adorable.  He wore home made,  hand-me-down gowns and slept a couple of nights in the hand-me-down bassinett Momma made, just for show.    As with Jim, the bassinett was close quarters for my big babies and they quickly graduated into a full sized crib.  You know, the kind that they say are so dangerous now?    We named him Timothy Alan, after nobody.  I just loved the name.  So,  now we had a Jimmy and a Timmy.  That would prove to be a problem through the years, because I'd get the names mixed up when I was scolding them when they got into mischief.  That was often.  And because they were near the same age, people wanted to know if they were twins,  and couldn't remember who was who.  Sometimes I couldn't either.

Timmy was somewhat of a colicly baby.  No amount of singing, rocking, waltzing Matilda, pacifiers, or shaking rattles would stop the constant colic.   Now this was the day when Paregoric was a God-send.  I still don't know what the stuff is, but I think it is probably on the controlled substance list now, and I can tell you that it works!  I learned just the right amount of drops to put in sweetened water to knock him cold.  After about three months, the colic stopped.  He took up a new habit.  Rocking.

Jimmy was a little put out that he had someone taking over the limelight.   More than once, he conked Timmy on the head with his plastic shovel and swiped the bottle from his mouth, proceeding to "hide" under the crib sucking away.   I can see it now, with his little feet pushing up on the mattress from beneath, enjoying every drop of the formula until I could pull him out.  Timmy in the meantime, was crouching on all fours, rocking that crib across the room.  Each day I'd go and pull it back to the other side of the room where it was supposed to be, finding pacifiers, stuffed toys, and empty bottles in the wake.   That was his new tranquilizer.  He would rock himself into a stupor and fall asleep.   I did find some consolation in the fact that I wasn't "doping" him up.  But that rocking did get on my nerves, especially when his head was banging on the front panel of the crib at night.
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Later as the two little "menaces" grew into toddlers, Jimmy managed to bite the neighbors child on the cheek leaving a clear bite mark of all the teeth he had,  and discovered  a whole gallon of oil based white paint which he proceeded to use to paint the aforementioned child, along with himself. Not pretty.  It's a wonder I didn't kill him washing that paint off with turpentine!  That child's mother gave me a tongue lashing that won't wait and banned him from playing with her child until further notice. 

Timmy, learned to walk at 8 months old.  What he and his brother couldn't get in to hasn't been invented.  Together, they would get into my kitchen cabinets and go from one end to the other scattering pots, pans, stale cookies, old toast, and anything else that happened to be there.  They were just far back up in the cabinets that I couldn't reach them.  They giggled.  I yelled.   Nap time never came soon enough.  Tim rocked on.   We lived on a lake so Sollie had to build a little fenced area for them to play.  Occasionally, they would escape and since I was always watching out the kitchen window for such a moment, I would jump out the back door and scoop them up before they hit the water, thanking God I made it in time.  Chicken wire fences weren't made to keep little boys out of trouble. 

And there was the time when Jimmy poked newspaper up into the furnace in the basement and the house filled with smoke causing an embarrassing false alarm for the local fire department.  And who could forget Timmy climbing into the washing machine tub, and Jimmy turning the knob  "ON."  Or the time they played "war" on the red clay dirt mounds two blocks away, while I was frantically searching the neighborhood for them.  This earned them a switching and "time out" in the corner of their bedroom.  They cried themselves to sleep and when I found them, I almost cried because they looked so sweet with their tear stained, red dirt faces that only showed their eyeballs.

The sweetest moments of child rearing are when they come creeping in your bed in the wee hours of the morning,  just because they want to be close to you.  At the time, when you're cramped, two toddlers and two adults in a very small full sized bed with one above your head and another on your feet, you don't think it's so sweet.  Now, some 59 years later,  I yearn for the days when my boys just wanted to near Momma and Daddy and snuggle.

Wedding Bells to Baby Rattle

After the excitement and flurry of activity of the marriage ceremony was over, we settled down in our own little garage apartment.  We had a tiny kitchen, living room, bedroom and bathroom.  We had new furniture we had purchased with weekly payments.  We had a borrowed car. 

Around October, it became pretty obvious I was pregnant.  I was sick as a dog and wanted to throw up my toenails.  A visit to Dr. Brown verified my suspicion, and we proudly announced to everybody that would listen we were going to become a family.   Our friends the Lawson's were expecting as well.  They had married just a couple of week before us so we had lots to talk about. 

Since we had to climb about 18 steep stairs, we decided it wasn’t very safe and found a cute little bungalow off N. Main Street and moved in by Thanksgiving.  It had the same amount of space but was a walk in from outside, and we felt like we had our own little home.    

Our social life consisted of visiting with our friends, Martha Jane and Al, Jimmy and Shirley, and Buck and Bunny and playing bridge at each other’s homes and fish fry's at somebody's house.   None of us had much money but we had a lot of laughs and enjoyed sharing stories.  Those who did have children would bring them along and make pallets for them at their bedtime in one room and we would gather in another for a game of cards. 

I wasn’t much of a cook then, but I was willing to tackle anything.   Sollie, the great white hunter that he was, brought home a couple of squirrels and wanted me to fry them up for supper with some gravy.  I was pretty naïve, but if he wanted squirrels, he would get them.  He skinned them, and I floured and fried those little things in a pan of hot grease, making gravy just like my Daddy had taught me – flour and water.  It looked pretty good.  I’m not even going to try to explain what this stuff tasted like but, being pregnant and nauseous, I’m not quite sure how I made it through the process.    

Our heat, a little gas heater, was cozy and warm.  I scorched my nylon slip many times as I backed up to warm my buns.   During the day, I would get in our borrowed car and drive over to my Momma’s house playing with Charly or sit in the beauty shop while she worked,  thereby getting all the latest local news and killing time waiting for Sollie to get off from work.  

Around Christmas, or maybe a little later, my Daddy asked Sollie if he thought he would like to work at the shipyard in Savannah where he had worked during the war.  Daddy had a cousin who worked there and said he thought sure he could get Sollie a job there if he wanted to.  So, here we go off to Savannah leaving our little bungalow.  

Working in the shipyard was a downright dirty job!  All I could see was the whites of Sollie’s eyes when he got home, but he was proud of his job and was making pretty decent money for a couple of newly married young’un’s like us.    We found an apartment in Garden City which had two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen and bath.  Ours was on the second floor and the stairs were not too bad in the front.  The back was a different story.  Straight down to the clothes line. We didn’t have a washing machine or dryer so every day I would put Sollie’s dirty clothes in the bathtub with detergent, let them soak, wash them, wring them out and put the pants on stretchers.  Then, I hauled them down those wrought iron stairs to the clothes line to hang to dry.  If the wind was blowing the wrong way, I would be in trouble.  Anyway who has lived in that area in or near Savannah knows all about the soot from the Union Bag’s smoke stacks, not to mention the odor.   Many is the time that I’d bring in those clothes which had dried, but during the process accumulated enough black soot so that sometimes I’d have to wash all over again. But when you’re young, in love, and stupid, things like that don’t matter and you only know happiness and joy that you’re going to have a baby and be a family living in a vine covered cottage very soon.  Yeah, right.  

My days were spent washing by hand the sweet little diaper shirts, long gowns, and bibs that had been passed to me that Momma had made for baby Charly.  Then I’d iron them, fold them, sprinkle with baby power and place in the chest of drawers in anticipation of the birth of my baby.   We did have a small black and white television and I watch soap operas while I ironed.  We had no air conditioning, but a big box fan.  The floors were black asphalt tile and I mopped and waxed them to shiny perfection.  We had no friends locally.  I was lonely, but happy.

Since I had already started seeing Dr. Brown, I continued to see him after our move.  Daddy helped us find a car and we would drive back to Swainsboro for my doctor visits and Sollie’s National Guard duties.   When it was near my due date, I went to Momma’s and Daddy’s to stay until the birth of the baby.  Momma had made the most precious bassinet decorating it with white tulle, satin, and little tine ribbons of pink and blue.  It looked like a mini casket!    Bottles, nipples, rings, caps, pot for boiling were on hand so all I needed was to get the show on the road and have that baby.  And he was going to look exactly like my sweet brother, Charly,  who I thought to be the most beautiful little baby boy in the world.   I waited and I waited.  Two weeks, three weeks, and no baby. 

It was the middle of June and watermelons were ripe and I love watermelon!   Daddy brought home a huge watermelon one day, sliced it open and I ate watermelon like I’d never had anything to eat in my life.    About dark, I began to have the stomach ache from hell.  I thought to myself, now you’ve done it.   I huffed and puffed and waddled around trying to get comfortable.  Then, we all decided maybe it wasn’t the watermelon after all.  Duh. Maybe I was actually in labor.  A call was made to Sollie who was in Hinesville at summer National Guard Camp.  He jumps in our little red Ford and races to Swainsboro.  Somehow after he gets to Swainsboro, the pains just stopped.  I mean, stopped!  What the heck?  Now what? Sollie had driven 90 miles home at 100 mph for nothing.  He went on back to Hinesville. 

Sollie probably had not gotten out of town good before those pains came back with a vengeance.  I’m talking serious, stick stack, no take back, pains that left me knowing there was no doubt this was it.  By the time Sollie drives up to his barracks in the wee hours of the morning, they tell him I’ve gone to the hospital and he needs to come back.  OMG.  Now, he’s got to turn around and drive the 90 miles back in time to get there for the delivery.  God was surely with him because I’m sure the needle circled the dial and he drove like a mad man to get back to Swainsboro to see his baby be born! 

As it turned out, it was well after daylight, but sure enough, the beautiful baby we were looking for came into this world sporting a whole head of hair, hairy legs and arms, beautiful blue eyes, and all 8lbs 8 oz. of him looked nothing at all like Charly, but he was the most beautiful blond haired, blue eyed baby we had ever seen. 

As providence would have it, after all those times I had driven back to Swainsboro to have Dr. Brown deliver the baby, he had left for a fishing trip that week and Dr. Moye, a local doctor, brought my baby boy into this world.   Wouldn’t you know it?   

SATURDAY AFTERNOON MOVIES

We decided that today would be the day we would try to work our DVD player thingy  and watch a movie.  The DVD thingy is on the shelf under the television.  Teresa said all we have to do is put the disc in the "cup holder" and press play.  Sollie's standing by while I finagle with the buttons.  We can do this!

 

Any idea how hard it is to read little words under little tiny buttons when you wear trifocals?   I couldn't squat and lower my head at the right angle to read any of the words and symbols.  This means I'm gonna have to get down on the floor.  Oh Lawd!

Now getting down on anything isn't easy at my age, but somehow I managed to get myself down and get as close as I can to the thingy.  Stop.  Play.  Arrows.  Hummm.  I finally found the Power button on top.  Now, find the cup holder.  I press a button and magically it opens and I put in the disc.  Yep, I'm on a roll now.  Press play.  Grab your water bottle, get in your chair, here comes our movie!

I wallow around like a seal in labor trying to get up,  but no movie is on the screen.  Wait!  Give me the clicker.  Which clicker?  Ummm, maybe the one for the cable.  Nope.  Well, where is the DVD clicker?  Here it is?  Nope.  Now, it's time to call 1-800-TERESA. 

Teresa says, press something.  I press.  Nothing.  Press something else.  Nothing.  Where is the other clicker?  Which clicker?  The one that says VIZIO on it!  Wait a minute.  Here is the clicker that I used to use before we had cable,  but it doesn't say VIZIO on it!   WHERE IS THAT ONE?  I don't know.  Well,  I told you to write it down says my technician daughter when I hooked it up says my sweet daughter who is just waking up from a nap!

I have three clickers scattered around  in front of me and I can't find the one with the button she's telling me to click and I haven't even started on the thingy yet!  Finally, we walk through numerous scenarios and press buttons, stand on our heads, turn around three times, stick out our tongues, and something finally appears on the screen that isn't FOX News.  We be smokin' now! 

I said STOP!  This is the right place!  Now, the movie has been running for a while while we're figuring out the thingy's so Teresa says - now you got to press so and so and get back to the beginning of the movie.  WHAT?

Huffing and puffing and sweating, we finally got our movie.  Too tired to make popcorn.   I'm not real sure we're going to be watching any more movies any time soon.  I forgot to write all that down when we finally got the right button, plus I needed major pain meds for the wallowing I did on the brick floor, and I'd rather take a beating than call 1-800-Teresa!     And I hope Sol managed to find the right button on his tv to get back to whatever it is he wants to watch 'cause I'm gone!

SUMMERTIME AND THE LIVIN' IS EASY

After the Scooter craze left me, I became the proud owner of an Army jeep from WWII.  It used more oil than it did gas.  We’d pile in it and breeze out to the Hoopee to do some skinny dipping, fishing, and joking around.   There was never any alcohol, drugs, or even cigarettes.  We just had plain old fun!

Richard’s Daddy had a nice pond out in the country near Stillmore with a train caboose for a cabin.  He kept that pond stock with nice fish.  We helped him feed the fish.  Once, we put a couple of bags of feed in to help them get bigger, sooner.  We apparently thought they weren’t big enough for frying.  That got us into some pretty big trouble with the Doctor.   Later, when the fish did get bigger, we’d catch a bucket full and take to McKinney’s Pond to sell for gas money.  Our transportation at that time, was Richard’s Momma's big ole’ Cadillac.  If she only knew….

Now, the caboose was a great gathering place in the summer months for some serious fishing and frolicking.  Sometimes there would be a crowd of folks and sometimes just our gang.   Sometimes the Doctor would have his guests out for some fishing and always had a pretty good stock of food in the kitchen there.  Once, we opened up some Caviar and helped ourselves with some saltine crackers.   Dr. B was pretty upset over that one too. 

Water skiing was a big priority during the summer.  Groups of us would gather at Holloway’s pond, and spend a whole day water skiing.  Richard had a nice boat.  We had some good skiers too in our crowd.  Sumner's Beach was another good spot for water skiing.  It was the “country resort” in our day. 

One year, at Christmas, we decided that there were some families in the black community that needed some help with their meals.   It was a common practice in those days for the grocers to leave their produce out on the sidewalk overnight.  We would take just a little from each one, put it in a paper sack, and strike out for the homes we thought might have little children in need.  I was the getaway driver in my Daddy’s ’50 Ford, and the others would jump out and run put the sacks on the porch of the houses.  We were kind of modern day Robin Hoods.  

My Daddy always parked his car around back of the J. C. Coleman Hotel.  At first, I would go ask him if he would let me drive around town to see my girl or run an errand.  After I got legal, I got smart and had myself a key made so I could slip around the corner without him ever knowing and always get the car back by the time he got off work.  Once, I needed a part for my Scooter so I got a couple of boys and we headed off to Augusta with Daddy’s car.  I was doing my normal speed.  Fast.  We were way down the road when the right front tire blew out.  Major blast.  I handled myself pretty good and brought that car to a standstill just off the side of the road.  I put on the spare, made it back to town and took the tire to Flanders Tire Co., where I talked Mr. Flanders into giving me an old tire so Daddy wouldn’t miss the one that blew out.  The car was back in its spot when Daddy got off from work.  

I sold my scooter and my jeep for a fine and dandy little black ’40 Ford with a rumble seat in the back.  It was something fine!  I can see me and Rose now cruising Sam’s Drive-In.  Those were the days!

It's been a long time since those days.  Good times, bad times, funny times, and sad times.  Material things come and go, but a lifetime of good friends and wonderful family make life worth living and I'm so proud to have had both.