Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 67

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Sometime around the end of 1911 or early 1912, Grandpa and Grandma Steele moved out to Childress, Texas near Grandpa's sister, Lydia Steele Greer .  My mother and her sister, Lucille “Dick”, were their only children at the time.  They didn’t stay in Texas but about six months.

When they moved back to Sicily Island, Grandpa Steele built a house out on the old Steele place.  Grandpa Steele planted over 100 pecan trees on the old Steele farm. 

Steele House on the old Steele place

The big two-story school had been built right out there beside the Steele place. Mr. Howard Wright, Mr. and Mrs. J. K. Stone and Mr. Jesse Beasley boarded with my grandparents on the old Steele place. 

Mr. Charles Mackey was the first principal at the two-story school.  After he left, Mr. J. K. Stone was the principal.  When Mr. Stone moved up to be the superintendent of the parish, Mr. Howard Wright became the principal.  In 1917, Howard Wright moved up to be the parish superintendent.

I’ve heard my mother and my Aunt Dick talking about Mr. Jesse Beasley, Mr. and Mrs. Stone and Mr. Howard Wright boarding with them when they lived on the old Steele place.

The two-story school was right there next door to Grandpa and Grandma Steele’s house.  Sisters Emily and Blanche Wilson and Anita Bondurant stayed with them during the week because they lived so far up towards the Peck Station that it was too far to travel to school every day. 

Two-story School House near Steele Place
Courtesy of Gladys Nelson

My Aunt Dick remembered Anita Bondurant sleeping with her when she stayed with them.   She was several years younger than my Aunt Dick.  Anita later married an Oliphant who died just a few years after they were married.  She is still living and is in the nursing home up at Harrisonburg.

My oldest son, who was the great grandson of Grandpa and Grandma Steele, married Mr. Jesse Beasley’s great niece.  Mr. Charles Mackey’s wife was a sister to Mr. Jesse Beasley.  Isn't it something how the circle comes back around?

At one period of time, Charles Mackey and his wife Lee Etta Beasley lived in the old Steele house here in town where I lived until it burned in August of 1990.  I believe they were living here along about 1912.

Several different families lived in the Steele house in town at one time or another in earlier years.  This was because Grandpa Steele liked to move back and forth from town to their house on the farm.  

Old Steele house in town

Old Steele house in town

Note:  Parts 1-66 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 66

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Hammocks...

One day back in about 1934, Ouida Seal was going up to spend the day with Nellie [Ballard] Chisum and she wanted me to go along with her.  “Miss Nellie” was married to Big Walling Chisum.  

Ouida Seal Bourke
Photograph by granddaughter, Amber Bourke Martin

She was Ouida’s great aunt through her mother, Olga Knight Seal.  Big Walling and Miss Nellie lived a couple of miles up the road towards Wisner on what we called the Green Place. 

I don’t remember how we got up there but somebody took us.  

“Miss Nellie” had a hammock in her yard.  One end was tied to a tree and the other end was tied to a post.  There was a long rope tied on another tree off in the distance from the hammock.  The other end of the long rope laid across the hammock.  When you got ready to swing, you would just pull on the rope.

That was the first hammock I had seen rigged up that way and to tell the truth, I don’t think I have seen one like that since then.

Old Folks…

Miss Nellie was about fifty-five years old when Ouida and I visited her and saw that hammock.  At the time, we considered that as old.  It doesn’t seem that old to me now being as I’m looking at sixty-five next June.  

In 1934 my mother would have been thirty-four years old.  I’m sitting here now thirty years older than my mother was at that particular time.

It’s funny how the older you get your definition of "old" changes.  I think of so many people who I looked upon as old people.  

Uncle Wes Ogden, who was married to my Aunt Dick [Lucille Steele Ogden], died when he was about fifty-seven years old.  I remember him as an old man.  

Grandpa Steele died at sixty-four and I thought he was old, old.

I remember as children a bunch of us boys and girls were up at Rufus Knight’s filling station back in about 1935.  It had to have been in the wintertime because we were closed up inside the station.  We were all talking and some girl told us she was nine years old.  Somebody else was eleven.  Seems like I was about eight years old at the time. 

One of the little girls asked Mr. Rufus how old he was.  He said, “Twenty-nine.”  I remember I just couldn’t believe anybody was twenty-nine years old.  Twenty-nine years old!  I remember thinking how long it would be before I was that old.  Heck, I’m a good bit more than twice that old now.

Milk Cows and Bitter Weed…

In the late Spring or early Summer, the cows would get in bitter weed as they were grazing.  The bitter weed would just ruin the milk.  One of the most disappointing things was taking a big swig from a glass of milk only to discover the milk cow had been grazing in bitter weed.  

Courtesy of Bayou Momma Photography

As a young boy, I drank milk like most people drank water.  Nothing was better than a cold glass of milk.  I’d come inside hungry and thirsty from playing and make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  I would reach into the icebox and grab the cold milk and pour me a big glass of it.  After taking a bite of my sandwich I would take a big swig of cold milk.

When the milk turned out to be bitter I would just be furious.  I’d even blame the ole milk cows!  My mother always laughed at me when I got mad at the milk cows. 

Worse than that?  I remember the time we made some homemade ice cream.  No one realized the milk was bitter.  That was the most awful tasting ice cream I had ever eaten!

Hoe Cakes…

Julia Rogers

Julia Rogers worked for my mother for years.  Every morning at about 9:30 or 10:00, Julia would make a hoe cake.  Anybody around who knew Julia was making hoe cakes would happen to stop by about that time. 

Hoe cakes were made by mixing a cup of plain flour, a teaspoon of baking powder, and a half a teaspoon of salt together.  A heaping tablespoon of lard was cut into the flour mixture before adding milk or butter milk.  You would add the milk slowly until the mixture could be made into a ball of dough. 

After rolling out the dough to the size of hoe cake you wanted, you would place it in a big cast iron skillet that had been coated with a little bacon grease.  

My wife, Mildred, still makes hoe cakes and I love them!

Note:  Parts 1-65 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 65

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Riding down bitter pecan trees…

One of the things I remember doing was going to the swamp with the Juneau boys and riding down the bitter pecan trees.  J. E. was a year older than me and Mickum was a year younger than me.  We spent many a day playing together in the swamps.

Pecan Trees

The bitter pecan saplings were about thirty or thirty-five feet tall and about three or four inches in diameter.   We would wrap our arms and legs around those saplings and climb as far up as we could. 

The saplings were very limber and bent real easy.  We would try our best to make it to the top without them bending. 

Once we got to the top we would bend our bodies forward until the saplings would start tilting then we would ride them to the ground.  Man, what a ride!

The only time I saw one break was when Mickum had climbed to the top of one.  He was about thirty-five feet off the ground and calling out to me and J. E. because he wanted us to watch him ride it to the ground. 

We were busy running around and climbing other saplings.  He held it steady until he got our attention then he hollered, “Watch this!”

Just as he bent forward, the sapling snapped off right even with the ground and there he came.  It was a wonder it didn’t kill him. 

When he hit the ground, his body actually bounced!  We thought he was dead.  After a second or two he let out a wail and we knew he was still alive.

Rubber Band Guns…

Back in the 1930s we had to find ways to entertain ourselves.  We made toys such as bow and arrows and sling shots.  R. G. Price was always good at making bow and arrows. 

R. G. Price - early 1960s

One of the toys I remember was rubber band guns.  We’d take a board and cut out a pistol.  A clothespin would be placed on the backside of the handle.  Rubber bands were made by cutting an old inner tube.  One end of the rubber band would be stretched out over the barrel and the other end would be placed under the clothespin on the handle. 

When we were ready to shoot, we’d mash the clothespin to release the rubber band.  Those rubber bands would knock a dang blister on you if they hit you.  

Note:  Parts 1-64 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 64

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Persimmons….

Something I forgot to mention on earlier tapes when I was talking about exploring the forests and swamps around the village of Sicily Island was persimmon trees.  Every so often we would find persimmon trees in the swamp.  If anyone has ever bitten into a green persimmon, they will know what I’m talking about.  

Green Persimmons

You could bite into one of those green persimmons and it would draw your mouth up something terrible.  I don’t know what was in them but it would almost choke you.  After the first frost of the year, the persimmons would begin to ripen.  A ripened persimmon was one of the best tasting things.  

Ripened Persimmon

My mother loved persimmons.  She’d always tell me to bring her some persimmons if I came across any when I was out exploring.  I always made a special effort to find her some persimmons.

I remember one persimmon tree that was over in the swamp going towards Peniston’s and Brown’s lakes.  It was a great big ole tree.  When I got out of school I would walk over there.  It was a good ways from my house.  By the time I walked over there and made it back home it would almost be dark. 

My mother told me about the time they all went out to Grandpa and Grandma Smith’s house back in 1908 or 1909 when she was about nine years old. 

James Luther Smith

Henrietta D. Smith

James Luther and Henrietta Smith were Grandma Steele’s grandparents.  

She and her sister, Nettie, were raised by their grandparents when their mother, Ginny, died at a young age. 

The Smith family was a big family.  They would all gather at the Smith house on Sundays.  

The Smith house used to sit on some land out behind what is now the cemetery just outside town.

Smith House:  J. L. and Henrietta seated LtoR; Jennie standing

Formerly property of James Luther Smith; farmed by Grandpa Steele

Old Smith house sat at the back of this land

On this particular Sunday, some of the boys and girls had gone out to a persimmon tree that stood behind the old Smith house.  Mother said her cousin Charlie Smith was up in the tree shaking limbs to make the persimmons fall. 

Grandpa Steele

Grandpa Steele was out walking around in the fields he farmed that were right beside the Smith house.  He saw Charlie and all the other children and decided to sneak up on them. 

Once he got close he let out a scream like a wildcat. 

Charlie dropped out of that tree and led the pack of children who were running and screaming to get away from that wildcat. 

Mother said every time Grandpa Steele told that story he would laugh and laugh.

Note:  Parts 1-63 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 63

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Today is November 4, 1991.  One can imagine this day back in 1915 when my Aunt Nita was born.  She was born in the old Steele house which sat on this very ground before it burned down on August the 17th of last year.  In fact, where I'm sitting as I make these tapes is probably no more than thirty feet from the spot where she was born. 

She was named Lena Juanita after her aunt, Lena Rhoda Steele McLelland.  Everyone called her Nita.

Nita was about thirteen years old when I was born.  My first memory of her was when I was about three years old.  I called her "Nina" up until I was around ten years old. 

"Nina" and Bruce

Nita told me on many occasions over the years that I was the first baby she ever loved.  I loved her, too.  It always made me feel good when she told me that.  It is a wonderful memory to have.

Lena Juanita "Nita" Steele

She was a beautiful girl and a beautiful woman.  

Nita married William Peck in 1938.  They had two children.  Will was born on March 6, 1939.  Betty was born on May 2, 1944.

Nita died in 1982 in her late sixties.  My mother died in 1969 when she was sixty-nine years old.  Their mother, my Grandma Steele, died when she was sixty-nine years old.  Their sister Lucille [called Dick] is still living.  She was eighty-nine this past September.  The oldest child named Edna died when she was several months old.  She was a little redheaded girl. 

Mary Allye Steele Edmonds, Lena Juanita "Nita" Steele Peck, Clara Lucille "Dick" Steele Ogden

All four girls were born in the old Steele house.  Lord, I miss that old Steele house.  The front part of the old house was over ninety years old.  I am enjoying this new house with all its modern comforts like central heat and central air but I still miss the old Steele house.  I always will.

All the kids here in the village used to gang up in this old yard and play; particularly in the Summer.  We had a lot of pecan trees in the yard so it was shady.  Nita’s age group which included Babe Knight, Martin Enright, Eloise Yancey, and Lorelle Seal played in this yard. 

Before this time, I’m sure my mother and Aunt Dick had a lot of kids over to play with them.  I know the same was true when I was growing up.  

My friends, cousins and I played all sorts of games out in this yard.  As I’ve mentioned on earlier tapes, my favorite game was Go Sheepy Go.  The only thing that I’d say came close to this game was Deer and Dog which we played once I started school.  One group would be the deer and they would go hide.  The other group would be the dogs and they would go in search of the deer. 

The dog group would bark and howl and yelp like dogs when they were hunting the deer.  Once the dogs found the deer, the deer group would come out of their hiding places and little boys would be running all over the place.

Deer and Dog was a great game but nothing ever really compared to Go Sheepy Go.

I raised my children here.  My children and all of their friends played in this same old yard. 

Bruce's children

Years later, my grandson and his friends played out in the yard.  

This old yard has been a playground for well over seventy-five years.  Echoes of children’s voices linger on.

Note:  Parts 1-62 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 62

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

I used to love to go out exploring along old fence rows in the fall of the year. 

There was always little ponds of water around all the cottonwood groves.  I guess they were called cottonwood slews.  The cattle that roamed freely through town would wade around in the little ponds.  Those ponds stayed in existence until the late 1940s when the town started filling them in with dirt. 

There was one of those little ponds out behind my mother and father’s place on some lots that I own.  At one time, there was also one behind Mr. Claude Enright’s house and one behind Doc Thomas’ house near the Gilbert house.  They were pretty good sized little ponds that held rainwater.  Sometimes they would dry up a little but there was always water in them.  I remember trying to catch crawfish in those ponds. 

Croker sacks

A scene comes to mind from back in 1934.  J. E. and Mickum Juneau lived near Mr. Claude Enright.  The three of us were over at the pond and had made us some seines out of croker sacks.  We had a stick on each end and we’d drag it around the pond.  Every once in a while we’d catch a crawfish or two. 

R. G. Price and his family had a couple of rooms in the old Spencer house that was close by the pond.  R. G. came outside and told me not to wade around in that old pond because I’d get the toe-itch from the mud.  Hell, I came out of there!  I checked my toes for a month or so to see if I was going to get toe-itch.  I never did get toe-itch but it ended my days of seining for crawfish.

I remember watching the sun go down late in the evenings when I was a little boy.  About the time the sun starting going down, the locusts would start singing.  It would be a steady roar.

There was an old electric water pump out behind Mr. Denham’s garage down from the Methodist Church on the other side of the street. 

Formerly Denham's Garage

I can remember hearing the squeaking sound that pump made.  I heard that a many a time while I was gazing in that direction as I watched the sun set from my house.

Once the sun went down, the frogs in Falcon Bayou would start up.  The bayou ran along the bluff until it met the head of the lake.  The noise made by the frogs was as loud and as steady as the noise made by the locusts. 

Courtesy of Bayou Momma Photography

Sunrise and the first break of the day would bring out the birds and you could hear them begin to sing. 

In the spring, once the dew had dried, people would be out in their gardens plowing.  I can still remember the smell of the fresh plowed earth. 

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, there were cow paths all over town.  I remember following the paths and wondering where all the cows went when they left town and headed down the paths. 

Courtesy of Bayou Momma Photography

Years later I realized that most of them went over in the swamps and grazed during the day.  Late in the evenings, the cows would come back up the paths and back into town.

I often wondered what time the cows went out and what time they came back.  Did they receive some kind of signal?  Did one lead the others? 

Courtesy of Bayou Momma Photography

I can remember being down on the bluff near the bayou and yelling to hear my echo.  I could never figure out why there were times when I wouldn’t hear the echo and other times when I would. 

Courtesy of Bayou Momma Photography

Sometimes I would stand out in front of our house, facing the old three-story school building down the road, and holler out and get an echo back.  I guess when I hollered, it would bounce off the old building.  

Sicily Island 3-story school

I’m still not sure what the sound bounced off of on the bayou and why I didn’t always hear the echo.

Note:  Parts 1-61 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of this blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 61

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

The Thurman family moved here in about 1937 or 1938.  I remember the first time I saw any of the Thurman kids.  My cousin Evelyn and I were visiting with Bit up at Cousin Jessie McNair’s house on the depot street.  

We were all sitting there on the porch when we saw this girl and two little boys walking down the railroad tracks about seventy-five or hundred yards from us.  Bit or Evelyn one said, “That’s Freida Thurman.”

It was Freida and two of her brothers, Mason “Sam” and Dennis “Boots”.  All of a sudden Little Watson Higgins, Junior Seal and George Jordan came out from some bushes along the tracks and jumped on Freida.  She fought those boys with her fists and whipped all three of those boys!   We laughed and clapped as we watched her whip those boys.

Freida played basketball and softball in high school and played as well as any of the boys.  If she had had a chance like girls do today, she could have played for L.S.U., LA Tech, or any of the universities.  After graduating from high school, Freida went to a business school down around Baton Rouge.

When I was attending L.S.U., I went to see her play on a girls’ softball team in a park off 3^rd street in Baton Rouge.  She was pitching and none of the girls on the other team could hit the ball.  If that had been now days or in the past twenty years, her name would be known.  She was the best woman athlete I’d ever seen.

Freida ended up living in Winnsboro, Louisiana.  She married a Bonner.

The younger Thurman boys played in the early years of football in Sicily Island.  Boots played the first year we had football, during his senior year.  Following Boots was Cecil.  Cecil went by several different nicknames, Sweet Pea, Education, and Edge.  

After Cecil was Fay, who was known as T-Model.  Both Cecil and Fay were great athletes.  Their oldest brother, Ray, was nicknamed Burr Head. 

Monroe Morning World - 12/5/1954

One day John McKeithen was here in town at John Hall’s café.  He was the Public Service Commissioner at the time but would later become the governor of Louisiana.  Some of us were up at the café talking to him.  Something came up about the Thurmans and he said he believed that Ray “Burr Head” Thurman was the best high school athlete he had ever seen.

John McKeithen had played basketball with Ray in high school over around Grayson in Caldwell Parish, Louisiana.  Every one of those Thurman boys were good athletes.  I saw the two younger boys play football in high school and they were good. 

When Rastus and Annie Thurman first moved to Sicily Island, Rastus went to work at the sawmill.  The two oldest children, Ray and Dinah, stayed in Caldwell Parish with an aunt or some of their kinfolks so that they could finish high school at Grayson.  

One of their brothers, Billy [Ventris Rechiel], died when he was just a young boy. Another brother, Dinky [Edsel] was about a year older than Freida.  He married Jo Anne Denham.  There was another brother named Tony [Floy] who was born after Freida.   

Note:  Parts 1-60 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of this blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 60

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

Smoking, Chewing Tobacco and Dipping Snuff…

I remember how we used to smoke corn silk.  We would get the silk out of dried corn in the fields and wrap it in old newspapers or old brown paper sacks then smoke it. 

We also smoked cross vine.  Cross vine was found along fence rows.  It actually left blisters on your mouth.  I don’t know if the blisters were the result of some kind of chemical reaction to the vine being burned or if the heat from smoking it caused the blisters.  Other boys smoked it so I did.  Man, it left a big ole blister on my mouth like a fever blister.

Bernard Seal

I taught many of the boys my age how to chew tobacco.  I dipped snuff one time.  Junior, Bernard, Billy Pat and Lester were the sons of Walon and Addie Mae Seal.  They lived on what we called the Enright place.  It was north of town going towards Wisner.  About a half a mile out of town you would turn left and go back in there where we used to call the Chisum Deadening.

I used to go out to their house and spend the day with them.  Bernard and I were the same age but I often buddied up with his older brother, Junior.  There were a lot of boys that lived in that area; Hyman Cooper, Jr., the Coleman boys, James Smith and some Hutto boys. 

One day I was out at the Seal house visiting with the Seal boys.  Coot and Buddy Hutto came over while I was there.  We all went out in the backyard.  Coot had a little tin box full of snuff.  He was dipping it and offered us some.  Junior and the other Seal boys wouldn’t take any but I did.  Boy, I filled my bottom lip up with that snuff.  It looked like brown, fine dust.  All of them were admiring me and going on about me dipping that snuff. 

Junior Seal

After a while the snuff seemed to melt away in my mouth so I asked Coot for some more of it.  I pulled my bottom lip out and put me another good batch of that snuff in my mouth.  Within minutes of putting that second batch in my mouth I started getting sick.  Lord, I can still remember how sick I got.  My head was spinning so bad I could hardly stand up. 

Junior and Bernard put me on an old wash bench where Mrs. Addie Mae washed clothes.  They laid me on my stomach with my head hanging off the end of the bench.  I was out of it but I can remember Mrs. Addie Mae asking Junior what had happened.  Junior had to tell her that I had taken some snuff. 

Addie Mae Cooper Seal

She told the boys to get me up and bring me in the house.  Once inside, she said, “Little Bruce, I used to hear my daddy say that if you got sick on chewing tobacco or snuff, you should drink strong black coffee.”  She made a pot of black coffee and as soon as I drank a cup of that strong bitter coffee I wasn’t sick anymore.  I’ll always remember that.

As kids back in the 1930s we would make like we were dipping snuff.  We would take cocoa that came in a can and mix sugar with it then tuck it in our bottom lips.  It had a sweet taste to it and after it melted away in your mouth, you’d get you some more.  I reckon that’s what I thought I was doing with that real snuff. 

Cigars made me sick every time I smoked them but I kept on smoking them.  I got sick off of chewing tobacco a many a time but I kept on chewing to where it didn’t make me sick anymore.  I’ve been sick on beer and whiskey but kept on drinking.  Snuff?  I got sick that one time and I never tried it ever again.  That’s the sickest I ever remember being.

Rosemary Wilkinson Crawford

I chewed tobacco in class when I was in the seventh grade.  Back in those days, the seventh grade class was in the high school building even though we weren’t considered high school students.  I remember sitting in Mrs. Rosemary Wilkinson Crawford’s room.  I would sit right there in her class and chew tobacco. 

I’d make me a cup out of paper and spit in it when I’d catch her looking in another direction.  She and others probably knew I was chewing tobacco but they never were slick enough to catch me.

After boys got up to a certain age and had permission from their parents, Mr. Coney would let them go just off the school property and smoke during school recesses.  I couldn’t get permission.  My mother knew I smoked for years before my daddy knew.  There was no chance of me getting permission.  So I had to smoke down in the basement or in the weeds out behind the school house. 

When we would go down in the basement to smoke there would be four or five of us with one along to be the lookout for Mr. Coney.  The rest of us would get up in the big ole shower stalls and smoke. 

One day our lookout, Buddy Benge, must have looked off in another direction and when he looked back Mr. Coney was right up on him.  He couldn’t say anything to warn us because Mr. Coney was too close.  He had one of his hands inside the shower stall just flopping it up and down.  Lonnie Owen Stringer, Cary Francis and I knew something was wrong so we put the cigarette out. 

Cameron Coney

Smoke was just boiling up out of the stall.  Mr. Coney stepped in the stall and it looked more like a heavy fog instead of cigarette smoke.  He turned around and walked out.  He wouldn’t whip us unless he actually caught us with a cigarette in our hands or in our mouths. 

We almost got caught so many times.  Dodging Mr. Coney was not a fun game.  That was a survival thing; like your life was on the line in dodging him.  Many an ole boy got whipped by Mr. Coney if they got caught smoking.

We always had to line up before entering the school building at the beginning of the day and after each break.  Girls lined up in front and the boys in the back.  Mr. Coney would stand up on the steps and look over all the lines and everybody thought he was looking right at them.  Lord, he could look mean.  Once he was satisfied that we were all in line and behaving, he would say, “Pass”, which meant we were allowed to enter the building and go to our classrooms.

I remember on one occasion he stood up there for what seemed like ten minutes.  His face was blood red and he sort of rocked back and forth as he stared out over all of us.  Finally, he said, “Pass into the gym.”  If he had a special announcement to make, he would say, “Pass into the gym.” Instead of everybody heading to their classrooms, we would head straight to the gym and take our seats.   

He addressed several topics that day.  One topic was about boys and girls walking around the building and holding hands.  Apparently he had caught some boy and girl holding hands as they walked around the building.  That was a terrible thing and we were told it would not happen again. 

Then he had one more announcement to make.  He said, “We’ve got a smart aleck who lives here in town.  He comes back from lunch hour smoking and he tosses his cigarette out just before he crosses the cattle gap into the school yard.  Sometimes he blows smoke out of his mouth after he crosses that cattle gap.  One of these days, he’s going to make a mistake.  He’s going to step across that cattle gap with that cigarette in his mouth or in his hand.  He’s going to forget and that’s when the payoff will come.”

Everybody in that gym, including older students and ones my age, turned around and looked right at me.

Photographs of Junior, Bernard and Addie Mae Seal are courtesy of Derene Seal.

Note:  Parts 1-59 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.

Amanuensis Monday - The Stories That Should Be Told, Part 59

The following transcription is from a series of recordings my father made in the early 1990s:

The cotton gin and rail cars...

My memories drift back to the cotton gin, the railroad and the great big platforms where they used to place the bales of cotton after they were ginned.  As I mentioned before, one of those platforms would hold two or three hundred bales of cotton. 

There was a railroad spur that ran off the main track and up beside the platforms.  Empty rail cars were left for the gin workers to load the cotton onto them from the platforms.  The loaded cars were then picked back up by the railroad and taken to either Ferriday or Winnsboro to one of the compressing plants where the bales of cotton would be compressed to about 1/3 of their original size. 

As kids we played on the platforms and in the cars.  I remember on several occasions where we almost got locked inside one of the cars with the cotton.  One time in particular stands out in my mind.  John Fairbanks and I were playing on one of the platforms when we saw Mr. Fred Chambless coming.  He was the depot agent and he had warned us not to play there.  Part of the game was to dodge Mr. Chambless. 

Sicily Island Railroad Depot

Well, to dodge him this time, we ran up into one of those cars that was loaded with cotton.  At the last minute, we decided to get out of the rail car and back onto the platform to hide between the bales of cotton.  Mr. Chambless walked right up and grabbed the lock and pulled it across the very car we had just run out of.  This was in about 1937.  After that, John and I were leery about ever running into one of those cars again.  

Evelyn Ogden Rife

The last time I ever remember playing on the platforms was with two of my cousins, Evelyn Ogden and Dorothy "Bit" McNair.  Bit jumped off one of the bales of cotton sitting on the platform.  It was about a five or six foot jump. 

When she jumped off and landed on the platform, her foot went through a rotten board.  Her leg became wedged in between two boards all the way up to her knee.  Oh, she screamed and hollered!  Hell, I took off!  Evelyn was trying to help her but I left!  

I remember running by Cousin Jessie’s house.  Cousin Jessie was Bit’s mother.  She and some of her family and friends were sitting out on the front porch. 

Dorothy "Bit" McNair Reed Smith

I didn’t stop to tell them.  I just hollered as I ran by, “Bit’s leg is hung in the platform!”  I know it must of have scared Cousin Jessie half to death.  I do know it scared the hell out me!

In the meantime, Marvin Nolen had come by on his bicycle and heard all the commotion.  He stopped and helped get Bit’s leg out from between the boards. 

Marvin was just a young teenage boy at the time.  He later married one of Bit’s older sisters, Kitty McNair.  Kitty died about two years ago.  Marvin is getting remarried today, November 3, 1991.  Bit is going to the wedding with Marvin’s son, Brother and his family. 

My mother told the story about an old empty box car that stayed up by the depot for months.  During this time, the Iron Mountain Railroad ran through Sicily Island.  The Missouri Pacific Railraod took over in about 1911.  

Mary Allye Steele Edmonds

As little girls back in 1907 or 1908, she and Mildred Harris had used that old box car as their playhouse.  They had it all fixed up with shelves that held different colored little bottles they had picked up.  They even had their dolls and doll clothes in there. 

One day my mother and Mildred were here in the Village on the main drag up town and they looked up as the train came through.  The railroad had picked up their car!  There went their playhouse going through town.  My mother told how they cried and carried on so over the railroad taking their playhouse.

I guess somewhere, wherever that car ended up, someone opened it up and saw where some children had all their dolls and their doll clothes and everything in there. 

Mildred Harris was the daughter of Mr. Richard and Mrs. Laura Harris.  Mac Harris was the oldest of the Harris children.  Mildred was the second child.  She later married William Edward "Buck" Smith and had two sons, Sonny and Richard, and two girls, Gerrie and Kay.

Note:  Parts 1-58 of 'The Stories That Should Be Told' can be found in the Tags List on the right-hand side of the blog.