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A Legacy of Laughter
When all of us grandkids were growing up, our grandmother used to tell us stories about her childhood and early years as a bride. Being from a different time and generation, what she would tell sounded like fairytales. In fact, some of them sounded more like Grimm’s fairytales. Whatever the story, whether happy or sad, grandma told it just right, and we always felt like we were right there, going through it with her. When she spoke, it was always with laughter in her voice, and a twinkle in her eye. No one could sit through one of “granny’s” monologues without being uplifted. To this day, we sit around remembering those wonderful times, when we heard grandma’s memories come to life. Years later, our children listened to those same stories. And just like us, they were always inspired. Not many people would have had the resiliency she showed, or her ability to laugh at the hard times. If my generation had trouble relating, think of how unbelievable her experiences were to our children....
I spent part of the first several years of my life, living on a houseboat. Our family fished the Arkansas River, and regrettably, made a poor living at it. But, like everyone else back in those days, we were happy just to earn enough to survive on. Living on that river was real exciting for us kids. There were seven of us who shared this unusual childhood. Born in Colegate, Oklahoma, I was the firstborn child of Tom and Mary Ellen Beck. Soon, four sons followed. There names were Johnny, Tom, Lige, and Jake. Next, came my little sister, Annie, and last came my brother Leon. We moved up and down that river on our houseboat, visiting different towns along the way. Fortunately, there were enough of us kids that we didn’t have to do without playmates between the stops we made. The river was continually changing, and it seemed like it was always flooding or so low our folks had to worry about the sandbars. Us just being kids though, we didn’t spend our time fretting about much of anything. In fact, trying to stay out of our folk’s hair, and keep from drowning, was enough worry for me and my brothers....
Like I said, one of the rental houses Auza and I lived in was located behind the old Henry Jones place, in Rend City. From their house, you had to walk down a lane that went east, towards the Big Muddy River, and then a little north. I don’t know just why, but in those days, most everybody drank, and most of the booze at the time was home brewed. Being a deacon in the Rend City Baptist Church, one of Auza’s friends didn’t want people to know that he and Auza kept a bottle of that brew stashed out in his barn. Whenever they got a chance, they would slip in there for a little nip. Faye Eubanks, who would later marry my girl, Mary, went into that barn one day and found their hidden bottle. He was always a good boy and wasn’t in the habit of drinking. But for some reason when he discovered that booze, he decided to try it. Just being a kid, he didn’t know to drink slowly, or that only a little nip of it was the usual portion. So that poor kid drank it all....
Back then, Rend City was a melting pot for all the different foreigners. They came from everywhere to work in the coal mines around here. Besides their foreign ways of talking, some of them brought with them, from the old country, what seemed to us very strange eating habits. It may sound unbelievable today, but if you had a cat you liked, you had to keep it locked up during the Christmas season, or it would come up missing. Cat meat was almost a favorite dish for some of those folks. When I would pack Auza’s work bucket I usually put a piece of pie or cake in it, pies being my specialty. Because Auza had pie so much, he would sometimes trade with one of the other men, eating something from their bucket. One day he traded his pie for a sandwich that one of his foreign friends had brought. Auza told me it had tasted real good at the time he ate it....
Years ago neighbors used to get together a lot to make Mulligan Stew. Using a big black kettle for a pot, the women would throw in different kinds of meat and vegetables. Then the stew was cooked over a fire the men built out in the yard. The men would also set up tables made of sheet wood over wooden sawhorses. Everyone brought a dessert, and oh, what a meal we had! I can’t even begin to tell you how many would show up for these parties, but the yard would be plum jammed with people. After we got full, usually someone would bring out a fiddle or guitar, and before long, everyone who could play something or sing pretty good joined in. The kids would be running, and playing games like “Andy Over,” or “Kick the Can.” Unlike kids today, they made up their own fun and let the grown ups have theirs. Besides having to entertain themselves, back then kids also had to wait to eat till last. They got whatever was left after the men and women ate, and there was always plenty for them....
In the 1930’s, mom and my step dad, John Clough, moved just down the road behind us a way, where the old Browning house used to be. Steve Genisio built a new house there a while back. John had been imbibing a few drinks one afternoon when he came by our house. I was in bed, really sick that day, so he tried to get me to call for a doctor to come out, but I didn’t think I needed one that bad. After leaving our house he went down to Pete’s Tavern in the Valier Patch, about a mile and a half from our place. He had a few more drinks, and got to really studying about me being so sick. In his mind I grew sicker with each drink....
During World War II, a family we knew from Buckner lost a son, and his body was sent home for burial. The service was held at Harrison Cemetery, and a whole lot of people turned out for it. Seems like during a war, everybody loves every single soldier, and feels the family’s pain when one is killed. That poor dead hero had a young son who was staying with his grandma, while his daddy was off fighting. She patiently explained to him how his father had been shot over there, and that they would be going to his funeral. It turned out to be a military funeral, full twenty-one gun salute and all. As it happened, when the first shot was fired, the little boy’s grandmother fainted. Looking down at her, through his tears, he cried, “Well I’ll be damned. Now, they’ve shot grandma, too...."
Before Bobby was born, Juanita moved up to Ashley, Illinois, where Mary was living, and she started working in a little café there. That’s how she met her husband, Howard. In the late 1930’s, they moved to Detroit, Michigan, so he could find work They had two of the prettiest little girls, named Judy and Kaye. I guess they were probably just about two and three at that time. Their mama rode a train all the way from Ashley to Detroit, with those two little girls in tow, when Howard got settled into a job up there. I hated to see the kids move, and especially hated to see them take my grandkids so far away....
One summer, Curt and his family came down from Michigan to visit me. It really bothered him that I always had water in the basement. So, while he was here, he dug a ditch and laid a drainpipe. He was hoping to somehow get that water out, and keep it from building back up. I had said for years that I thought our cistern was spring fed, but everyone laughed at me. I still thought I was right, though, because no matter how much water Curt drained, that basement would fill right back up. And I knew the cistern stayed full even when the gutters came down....
I always loved to be outside in the garden better than just about anything. I used to say I hoped I would just fall over dead while working in it. But it didn’t happen that way. Last year was the end of my gardening days. Since I turned ninety-four, I just can’t see well enough, and bending over kind of makes me light headed. Boy, I’ve had some really nice gardens through the years, though. That was one of the best things about living out like this. With ten acres, you can have as big of a garden as you want. But the last few years, I’ve only felt like putting out a few tomato plants and squash.... |
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