Part 2, Wooden toys

My Uncle Wiley, twinkling blue eyes looking out from his wrinkled, unshaven face, his faded red hair mixed liberally with gray, unwashed, and uncombed. His clothes were dirty and in need of repair; but the cane was new.



I had not seen him since the accident; they did not allow small children at the hospital. But, I remember the day it happened. It was near our house. A deep snow had fallen the night before and the roads were icy.  I had watched from our front porch as much as the cold would allow.



Daddy came rushing into the house calling for blankets; his brother was trapped under a car in Oscar’s hayfield. He had been walking with his friend, Elmer, which was their custom. Elmer, who lived across the street from our house, was blind since childhood, and used a cane. They were walking up the road to my uncle’s house when a car came around the curve too fast and lost control. It struck both men. Elmer was hurt too, but not seriously, because my uncle had tried to push him out of the way.  No doubt saving his life.



We were so far out in the country and with the condition of the roads it would take the ambulance a long time to arrive.  The temperature was in the teens with a wind-chill at minus zero.  Daddy was near panic; it frightened me.



He rushed back to the scene.  Several neighbors had gathered, but none had much hope for my uncle’s survival.  They were all of the opinion that trying to move the car and drag him out was futile, and the fact that they were all just standing around watching, angered my dad. He ordered them to ‘help me get my brother out of there!’.  It may have been the anger mixed with fear in his voice that brought them out, but they worked together and relieved my uncle’s broken body from the weight of the car.



It was sometime later; that I heard the sirens the ambulance and police arrived.  I suppose they did some medical treatment at the scene.  When Daddy returned to the house, he was sure Wiley wouldn’t make it.  He pulled off his coat in order to get dressed to go to the hospital.  He removed a .38 special from his pocket.



“It’s Wiley’s” he explained, “I didn’t want the police to find it on him.  I think Ock took Elmer’s”



A blind man with a gun, now that is scary. 



Uncle Wiley had many injuries; the worst of which was that his leg was crushed.  There was nothing else to do, but remove it just above the knee.  It was still touch and go for a while, but he did pull through, that Irish stubbornness could be an access.



Several months later, he was fitted with a prosthetic leg.  He was not able to live alone after his release, so the people who lived in our rent house took him in. My sister Pauline build this house, and had lived there, as I mentioned before. She had long since moved to Indiana.  So had my oldest brother, Earnest, and the other twin Irene.  Another sister Alice had also moved there.  It must have been the land of milk and honey at that time as far as finding jobs were concerned.



Our little community was growing smaller, farming wasn’t such a lucrative business anymore, the coalmines were not favorable, and there was not much else to hold young people here.  The steal mills of Indiana and the automobile industries of Detroit lured them away.



The people who took in my Uncle were named Patterson, father was Tip, and mother was Haley, son Paschal and daughter Nan.  The ‘children’ were much older; neither had married nor ever would. 



I think the daughter had a crush on Uncle Wiley, and at one time, I believe, they were engaged.  It didn’t take him long to learn to walk, and he managed the short distance, including the down and up hill that was our driveway.  Now, as he walked across the living room and eased himself down onto our couch, I couldn’t help but stare.



“Wanna see it?”  His gruff voice reminded me of my manners, and morbid curiosity caused me to nod even as my mind screamed Run!



As he pulled his pant’s leg up, I saw the shinny pinkness of the leg.  He pulled it over his knee and explained to me how the new knee worked, and showed me how he could bend it.  I sat beside him and examined the workings of the strange contraption. 



I asked him if it hurt.  He nodded, but grinned, as if say “yeah, maybe a normal man, but I can take it.”



Winter came and went and by the next summer, things were back to normal, more or less.  Uncle Wiley could walk well with his new leg and cane, even drunk, we discovered.  Elmer had recovered quickly spending less than a week in the hospital.  He and Wiley resumed their Friday and Saturday night parties at Elmer’s house.  The parties had not stopped only uncle Wiley had had to abstain.



By day, I would watch them walk along the road, the cripple, and the blind man.  The cripple leading the blind, Elmer steadying Wiley, both with canes, .38 specials and probably still half lit.  It was indeed a sight to see—to see such loyal friends.



As a young girl and teenager, I lost several family members, uncles, cousins, and friends.



Uncle Emmett was Daddy’s youngest brother.  He was a jolly man, and a diabetic.  He didn’t take care of himself at all.  I’m not sure what business he was in, but he traveled a lot and often took Reba Kay his youngest daughter with him.  She was a year younger than me and loved her Daddy better than anything.



Uncle Emmett lived in town, was involved to some point in politics.  His son David was my age, we got to know each other in high school.  Patsy was Pam’s age and a lovely woman.  She was my favorite of Emmett’s kids.  She would visit us, and spend the night.  I got to hang out with them, Patsy didn’t mind.  Which I guess is why I loved her so much.



We would go swimming in the creek, which ran through our lower fields and often flooded, usually taking the bridge with it.  The creek ran parallel to the road, which meant it also cut through the neighbors farms left and right as far as the interstate.  When it would flood, every spring, it would bring all kinds of treasures my way.  I loved walking along side it to see what I could find.  Nothing valuable of course, but for me it was an adventure.



Oscar’s farm, Daddy called him Ock, for some reason, joined ours and the swimming hole on his side of the barbed wire was deeper than ours, which also may explain why his fields didn’t flood as much as ours.  Coming home from school on more than one occasion, finding our bridge, (if it was still there) covered with rushing water, we had to walk up the road, cross at Oscar’s bridge and walk around the mountain to get home. It seemed a long distance when I was young, but it really wasn’t that far.



He didn’t mind if we used his bridge, or the swimming hole.  He didn’t mind that I spend about as much time on his land as on my own.  The path that we took though his land had wood vines that came down and formed a swing, much stronger that my sea grass string swings, and could swing almost as high.  I spend a lot of time there.



Pam, Patsy, and I enjoyed Oscar’s swimming hole.  The memory now of us walking down our drive, listening to a transistor radio brings back such sweet emotions.  A song that was popular, we all loved it, but I cannot think of which one it was.  But it was playing that afternoon as we walked in the sunshine on our way to the swimming hole.  That is my favorite memory of Patsy.



She was still a young woman when she was killed a few miles from her home in a car wreck. 



Uncle Emmett had died several years before his daughter.  I remember his funeral was very sad.  He was still a young man; Reba was a child playing in the sand.  I felt sorry for her having to give up her father at such a young age.



Uncle Charlie passed after that and then there were four, my Daddy, the eldest, Aunt Rhoda and Uncle John and Uncle Wiley.  There had been other children, but I don’t remember them. 



Uncle Wiley was diagnosed with throat cancer.  They did surgery and implanted one of those talking boxes.  He would hold an electric razor looking object to his throat and talk, it sounded terrifying.  I usually took off when he came over after that.  I couldn’t stand the sound it. He grew worse of course, and put into a nursing home.  Mommy and Daddy would visit him every day that summer.  I didn’t go at all.  He did however make his confession of faith before he died, and my brother-in-law Archie, a wonderful man, and of the Catholic faith, baptized him there in his hospital bed.  I was glad that my uncle was born again and that I will see him again some day.  He will be whole.



I remember Uncle John.  He often would visit with us, spending a few days at a time.  He was clean, didn’t drink or curse, but he did smoke a pipe.  I liked the smell of it.  But one day while they were out, I wanted to do my Uncle John a favor.  So, I washed his pipe for him.  It was so dirty, but I got it shiny clean.  I was so proud of myself, and holding it in both tiny hands, I presented it to him with a big smile.



Mommy and Daddy apologized profusely for my mistake, but Uncle John just laughed and said that was OK.  I was just a child and didn’t know any better.  I still didn’t know what the problem was, Daddy finally explained it to me.  A pipe must be seasoned to taste right and I had ruined his pipe.  I was heartbroken.  But Uncle John wasn’t at all upset with me.  He seemed to think it was funny.



He also died when I was relatively young. 



Daddy was 103 yrs old when he died, leaving Aunt Rhoda.  I could tell stories of her, but they would not be pleasant, as if………I haven’t seen her since Daddy’s funeral.  I don’t recall speaking to her then.





The rent house was small; only two bedrooms, with a covered front porch.  We had many renters there over the years.  My first memories were Eugene (can’t recall the last name), the father a full-blood Cherokee his redhead wife, and their two daughters, Imogene and Carolyn.  Imogene looked like her father and Carolyn took after her mother.  We were great friends, hiding behind Daddy’s wagon, playing cowboys and Indians.  My wooden gun came in handy.  We were all on the same side, the Indians of course.



After they moved I was very sad, but met again in school and continued our friendship through the years. We lost contact after high school.  Imogene was my age, a kind, and wonderful person.  I loved Carolyn as much, but she was a couple years older.  They were best friends, truly devoted to each other.



The next family was, Anna and Darlene, both older than me.  I don’t recall their parent’s names, however I do think his was Charles.  We were also friends and went to school together.  Often times, when I went to their house, I felt I was only tolerated because my parents were their landlords.



Then there were the Pattersons, who took in Uncle Wiley, and had a mean, red, long horned cow, which tried to take over my stomping ground.  There wasn’t sufficient pasture land on that side of the road, just enough level ground for a vegetable garden. The rest was mountainous and overgrown.  So the cow had to share our pasture. She would chase me.  I hated her, and therefore the Pattersons as well. I didn’t hate the women, I liked Nan, I felt sorry for her.  They were good to me, I always felt welcome there.  I had known them for many years before they moved onto Daddy’s property. 



One day I was walking though the woods, minding my own business, when I heard what sounded like hooves pounding the ground and growing louder.  I saw the big red long-horned cow barrowing though the trees head down heading right for me.  Thankfully, I was near the barbed wire fence and I ran for it.  I grabbed the two bottom strands, and swung myself under.  I reached the other side still standing and prepared to continue running.  As I glanced back to see if this was necessary, her head came between the strands, but they held. 



She didn’t leave. She waited there.  I had to find another way home. Through bushes and briars and more barbed wire, but I made it.  I complained to Daddy, but I got no results.  I just had to live with it.  I hated that cow. 





School became easier to handle once I met Kay.  She was to be my best friend through elementary and most of high school.  She lived with her grandparents, along with her two sisters and a brother.  She had several aunts and uncle who were still at home; a very large family.  Her mother was dead, and her father was unfit, I suppose, but Kay was determined to go to him.  She ran away several times trying to get to him, but was always returned to her grandparents who punished her brutally.  She often came to school with striped on her legs.



And I thought my life was hard…….



She had one dress that she washed out each night and wore until it was so tight she could barely squeeze into it.  Her aunt, who was one day older, had several different  outfits.  To my young mind, I could not understand how this could be.  I felt sorry for Kay.  She had a hard life.  I suppose it’s no wonder she got into drugs during our high school years.  This is when we parted company for the most part.



She married a drug dealer, who beat her often.  She had a daughter and finally divorced him, but lost custody of her daughter. How did that happen?  She married again, and had three more children and when her youngest was still an infant, she took a shotgun, placed it against her stomach, and pulled the trigger with her toe.



This happened in August the same year my mother died in March.  This was a very bad year. Only one thing made it bearable; that I was born-again.  Only a few short weeks before my Mommy died, I gave my heart to the Lord.  I believe had it not been for that, I would not have survived that year either, even though I had two small children of my own.



I was divorced and lived with Daddy for about seven years after Mommy died.  He didn’t take it well.  He had been driving the day the 18-wheeler hit their pick-up.  It hit Mommy side; she saw it coming.  Daddy only got a cut on his head and after 24 hours of observation, he was released from the hospital.



I’m sure he felt guilty.  It had been his fault, the accident I mean.



Mommy was in and out of the hospital a few times and died of complications about a month later. 



I worked at the Knox County Health Department as a CNA/CHW and took care of my son and daughter and my Daddy.  We went to a church near our home, in fact we could see it from our front porch.  We saw the smoke and flames the day it burned.  Daddy and I got in the car and drove down.  The pastor was devastated.  Near neighbors, members or not gathered around.



Mommy had helped to decorate that church, and now it was gone, too.



It wasn’t an accident, and I can tell you who kicked in the front door, poured a can of gasoline down the middle aisle, and set it on fire, but I can’t prove.  I know it was a near relative, in fact.  It was someone my age, afore mentioned, that I came to know in high school.



It didn’t take us long to start building again, in the meantime we had service under a tent.  It was very hot that summer, but we never missed a service and indeed, had some great, Spirit filled services.  A great amount of the material we needed for the new church was donated, the members did much of the labor, including myself.  We build it bigger, stronger, and no not faster, but it did go up fast.  It was wonderful to once again sit on padded seat, with carpet under my feet instead of dirt, and with air condition instead of smothering heat and mosquitoes. I’m not sure it made me enjoy the services more, but at least I was more comfortable, and proud as well.





I’ve gotten a long way from wooden toys and grass string swings, haven’t I?  Death and destruction has a way of overshadowing sweet childhood memories.  But when childhood seems to be full of it, it’s hard to stick to the happy times.



I went to a small country school, four classrooms, four teacher, and two classes to each room. This way we knew the older as well as younger students.  When I was in the third grade, Francis S. was in the fourth.  She was best friends with Kay’s sister Veronica and her aunt Shirley who both were also in fourth grade.  I liked all three of them.  They didn’t mind talking with us younger kids and we played games together at recess. 



In the third grade was also, Judy, the Reverend’s granddaughter, Bobbie, also Kay’s aunt and Bobbie Jean another one of my dearest friends. 



In front of the schoolhouse there were two long set of stairs.  We were allowed to play on the first but not the second nearest the road.  We played ‘mama may I” and dared each other to jump, or walk two or more steps at a time.  If one forgot to say, “mama may I?” before performing the task they had to go back to the top.  The first to reach the bottom was the winner, and got to be “mama” on the next game. 



We played hop scotch, limbo, softball, high water, jump rope, and others I can’t remember. 



On this particular day after finishing the game, we were waiting for the bell to ring; Francis was talking of how excited she was to be going to Shirley’s to spend the night.  It was her first time to be allowed to do so.  I had not so far been permitted to spend the night with Kay, I’m not sure why.  I was allowed to go to Judy’s and Bobbie’s whenever I was invited. Judy was diabetic and not allowed to spend a night away from home, but Bobbie often came to my house.  I loved spending time at Bobbie’s house. 



The bell rang and it was back to class.  The next morning at school, I was to learn that Francis would no longer be with us.  She and Shirley had set down to do their homework, Francis had just written her name at the top of the page when …….

Shirley’s brothers, ages, 8 and 13, were wrestling over a gun; it went off, hitting Francis in the head.  She lived long enough to say, “Tell mommy, I love her.”

(the rest is THE END, I send via message)