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Tommy Hilfiger Men’s Watch

                          J. B. Madison  

By D. R. Hann

P D H Publisher

Copyrights and Notices

Copyright © 2011 by D.R. Hann

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author, me, D. R. Hann.

Names, some characters, places and or incidents are fictitious and are of the author’s imagination.

Other books by D. R. Hann

Satan’s Authorized Biography

My Son’s Tour in Afghanistan, A Father’s Thoughts and Feelings

My Interviews with Famous Dead People

Truth, What the Church Will Not Teach You

Dead Presidents, America’s Government on Trial.

To Heaven I Shall Return

Journal of the Man From Doomsday

Introduction

     Based on some true events and some real people, this is my fictional interview with Jonathan Byrd Madison, who is one hundred and eleven years old.

     Jonathan, was born in February of 1900, and grew up in the old south, Dixie, in Bluffton, South Carolina.  When white was white, and black was black.  

     Jonathan will tell his very interesting, one of a kind life story, along with his wisdom and wit.

     I would like to thank Google search, Wikipedia, and my wife Phyllis.  Without her hard and diligent work, this book would not have been possible.  Thank you, Phyllis.

 Jonathan Byrd Madison

     It was three weeks since I emailed the home where Jonathan Byrd Madison lived who, at this time, is the oldest person alive, at one hundred and eleven years old.

     I was hoping to interview him to see if his was an interesting story, most people have an interesting life story, which I was hoping for.

     The reply stated:  Mr. J.B. Madison would be happy to see you, but no promises.

     Mr. Madison stated that you should be here at 11:45 sharp, no earlier, no later, and Mr. Madison wanted me to impress upon you that if you are late, or early, you can forget the little chat, and that Mr. Madison will not give you a second chance, and if you do not show up, you are probably an SOB (Mr. Madison’s words, not mine).   

     If I can be of further assistance, please feel free to call, or email me.

     Judy Franklin, Manager, Green Lawn Home,

Bluffton, South Carolina.

     As I waited outside Mr. Madison’s room, waiting for the clock to tick to 11:45, I wondered if this man could remember his childhood, was coherent, or even sane.

     Don:  “Mr. Madison?”

     John:  “You cuss?”

     Don:  “Sure, doesn’t everyone.”

     John:  “Good, fuck, shit, bitch.”  (Laughing while he said each word)  “How’s that? Surprised an old fart like me says things like that?”

     Don:  “No, I’m guessing we have all said those words.”

     John:  “Have any beer?  Sure could go for a cold one.”

     Don:  “No”

     John:  “Next time you come, bring me a cold one, I prefer Yuengling, you heard of that brand?”

     Don:  “Sure, but are you allowed to have beer?”

     John:  “Get out, you young, little, snot nose kid, you SOB, I’m one hundred and eleven years old, I can do whatever I want, even fuck a whore if I want.”

     Don:  “I’m sorry, I don’t want to get into trouble.”

     John:  “A brown nose, huh?  Go ahead ask the nurse, you little shit brown nose.

     I live in a damn home, you think I like living this way, you bastard, now get the hell out, we are done for today. You can come back tomorrow, as long as you have my beer.  I’ll tell you my story, my whole life story, the truth and nothing but the truth.”

     Now I am wondering what I got myself into, would this even be worth it, and do I want to write anything about this old man who seems as though he’s mad at the world?

     Okay, I’ll give it more time, what the hell, one more day won’t hurt.  If he just wants beer, then at least I did not waste much time.

     On leaving, I stopped at the office to see Judy Franklin to ask if the old fart could have beer.

     Judy told me not to judge Mr. Madison too quickly, he does this to people he does not know.  Become his friend, and Mr. Madison is interesting, kind, the best kind of friend you could want.  Judy went on to tell me that most people here are just patients, but not Mr. Madison; he is everyone’s friend and has helped most of the people working or living here.

     Judy went on to tell me this story.

     “You see, about ten years ago I was in a dead marriage; my husband would drink and sometimes abuse me.  Mr. Madison helped me find other living arrangements, and even made a visit to my ex.  Mr. Madison stuck a gun in his face and told him if he ever hurt me that Mr. Madison would find him and kill him.  Mr. Madison told my ex that he didn’t care about jail as he was probably going to be dead soon, that was when he was one hundred and one years old.

     Give Mr. Madison some time.  I think people should hear his story. As far as beer, sure, he can have beer; just make sure it’s Yuengling.”

John’s family

     Don:  “Mr. Madison?”

     John:  “Yeah, yeah, you’re that writer. What’s your name, boy?”

     Don:  “My name is Don.”

     John:  “Did you bring the beer or do I have to get up and kick your ass out of my room?”

     Don:  “Yes, I brought your Yuengling beer.”

     John:  “Good, now we are getting somewhere, but why only a six pack?”

     Don:  “How much did you want?”

     John:  “Damn, got you!  Only drink one every couple of days.  Don’t take life so serious, and never again take any crap from anyone, including me.

     See, I was pushing your buttons.  Now I know you’re hoping for a good story, and if it’s good enough you want to write my story real bad.  You would not be a good poker player.

     So how much do I get?”

     Don:  “How much do you want?”

     John:  “All of the money the book makes.”

     Don:  “All?  I can’t do that.”

     John:  “Okay, get out, don’t know why anyone would want to hear my life story anyway.”

     Don:  “Okay, here is your beer, sorry I wasted my time!”

     John:  “Wait, just wanted to see if you were listening to me, about not taking crap from anyone including me, and you were.  If you want, I’ll tell you my life story.”

     Don:  “So, how much do you want for doing your life.”

     John:  “Money, I have no need for money now, but during the depression I sure could have used some.

     Have a beer and I’ll start.

     What’s that thing?”

     Don:  “It’s a recorder, I am going to record what you say, then I’ll write on my computer.”

     John:  “Computers!  They put people out of work; they may be the devil’s toy.

     I think we should do this book in chronological order.  I hate books and movies that jump around.  If you have a story, it should start at the beginning and finish at the end.”

     Don:  “Okay, it’s your story.”

     John:  “First, I want be known as John, I hate

            Jonathan, so when you mention me, make sure to write John, John, did this and John did that. John even killed a man, but that SOB had it coming.”

     Don:  “Wait, you killed a man?”

     John:  “Yeah, but that SOB had it coming.  He took from me something very near and dear to my heart.

     You SOB, Don, don’t confuse me.  When I get to that part, you will hear and know why I did it.

     I was born at the turn of the century, 1900. Some thought that was great, the golden age. Others said it was the end of the world.  You know what they say today, damn; wish I had a quarter every time I heard the world was going to end.

     Do you know the year I was born, the first electric bus made its debut in New York City?  It was the end of the horse and buggy days.     

     President McKinley placed Alaska under military rule.  My Father disliked McKinley, said he looked like a man who would steal your soul, and the fact he was a damn Yankee, who fought against the Confederacy.  McKinley was the last Civil War veteran to be president.  Of course, when he was shot and killed, let me think, 1901, that was the year he was killed, then everyone just did not talk bad about him.    

     1900, the first Zeppelin flight in Germany, and a bad hurricane killed 8000 in Galveston, Texas.  Some shit, all that crap the year I was born.  

     It was the old south, Dixie, black was black and white was white.  We didn’t know any better, it was the way my daddy was raised, and his daddy and so on.

     I was born on February 15^th.  I am sure glad that I was not born a day earlier, on the 14^th, you know, Valentine’s Day.  Growing up, I probably would have been teased; love boy, sweet boy, cupid boy, hearts boy, you know how kids like to tease other kids. 

     I want my family to be in this here book.”

     Don:  “Sure, go ahead.”

     John:  “My dear mother, Ida Lucy Williams, born 1873, died 1931.

     She was the only reason I received a high school diploma.  I was the only one in my family to go that far in school.  My mother fought my father the whole way through high school.  My father’s thought was a grammar school education, up to eighth grade, would be good enough.

     I think my mother had plans to send me on to college, but the big war, WWI, would change that.  

     My mother’s father, Elroy Williams, was a Minister, he used to say everyone deserves to be treated fairly, but the Negros should stay in their place.  I guess today my whole family would be considered race prejudice.  Like I said, hell, everyone was brought up that way.  I have learned a lot in my life about being prejudice, and I’ll say it right here and now, it’s dumb!

     Black is beautiful, Summer was black, she was a beautiful butterfly.  Summer was my black beautiful butterfly.

     I know, you ask who she was.  Damn, you’ll just have to wait for that.

     My father, James Lee Madison, was born 1861 and died May 1924, seems like yesterday.

     Now his daddy, William Seymour Madison, died up north at a place called Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, you heard of it?”

     Don:  “Sure, I think everyone has.”

     John:  “Wanted to go there but never been, you know, see where granddaddy was killed.

     Daddy owned a hardware store, right here, at this very spot where this home is now, use to be where my daddy’s hardware store was, and the back parking lot is where my parents’ house was, where I grew up.  Look out the window, see that oak tree there?”

     Don:  “Yes.”

     John:  “That is where I buried my treasure.

What kind?  No, there’s no gold or silver there. When I came here, I dug my treasure up, thought it would have been gone but it was still there.

     See that shoe box in my closet?  Bring it here, please.

     Open it up, tell me what you see?”

     Don:  “Its three wooden animals, an autographed, Ty Cobb baseball card, and some tobacco, and baseball cards.

     John, do you know what this stuff is worth?”

     John:  “To me it’s worth a lot.  Oh sure, it has monetary value but the story that goes with it is worth a lot more but you’ll have to wait.

     My father made sure that all of his children had something at Christmas, and daddy could carve wood.  My father made our gifts.  Damn, I later found out he would start right after Christmas and would not finish until weeks before Christmas, always wondered where daddy went after supper.

     Daddy worked hard, started small, selling out of our home, you know, hardware, nails, screws, door latches, then moved into selling tools.  He kept going till he owned a store, well he didn’t do it alone, there was his brother but they had a falling out and they went their separate ways; sad, they never spoke to each other again.

     My brothers, all three of them, could raise hell, and if that is where they are, do you believe in Hell?”

     Don:  “Yes.”

     John:  “Good, that’ll keep you out of trouble.

     Back to my brothers, if that is where they are, it’s got to be one of the biggest parties ever, drinking, cussing, screwing, big cigar smoking, and poker playing.  Why I would not put it past them to try and run the place.

     James Lee Jr. was born in1892, and died 1918, you know, the war that was supposed to end all wars.

     Owen Williams, born 1893, died in 1964. Owen, nice guy, he was blind, but that SOB could run, he once beat Ty Cobb in a foot race. If Owen wasn’t blind, I think he would have held the stolen base record, baseball, you know.

     Owen, we were the closest, I sure do miss him.

Tully Caldwell, born 1895, died 1934.  Could tell some of the dirtiest and funniest jokes I have ever heard.  Even with Momma close by, Tully, that crazy SOB, would still tell his jokes. Momma would tell him if he kept that up, hell was the only place for him, and Tully would reply, “Well Momma, then the devil better have a tight hold of hell, ‘cause I’ll take it if he doesn’t.”

     My two sisters, Louise Ida, born 1896, died 1924.  Mary Beth, born 1898, died 1997.  

     Mary Beth stayed single her whole life. People would talk, saying she was gay, you know a Lesbo, but she wasn’t, Mary Beth was just very particular.

     That depression, damn!  The party was over and so were Bluffton and my family’s golden time was done.

     Then there were my precious, precious sons, Jonathan Jr., James and Elroy.   

     Wars, they only bring heartbreak. 

     Don:  “Your sons, do you want to talk about them?”

     John:  “No, I want to tell my damn story. When we get to them, then you will know.

     My wives, all three of them; Vera Louise Marshall, may God rest her soul, born 1902, died 1945, Betty June Kirchner, born 1922, hope she is dead, and in hell, and Thelma Mills, may God rest her soul, born 1911 died 1981. My family; a lot of heartache.

     I think I would like to rest now.  Come back tomorrow, at nine a.m.”    

     Don:  “Okay John, have a good day.”

     Writer’s notes:  This book may take longer to write than I first thought, John seems to tire quickly.

 Bluffton, South Carolina, 1909  

    

     John:  “Where did I leave off yesterday?”

     Don:  “You told me about your family.”

     John:  “Yeah, my mother, father, brothers, sisters, precious, precious sons, and my three wives.      

     I want to start at 1909.”

     Don:  “Go ahead John.”

     John:  “Bluffton, South Carolina, the fishing was great and so were the shrimping, crabbing and clamming.  The oysters were large and tasty.  The sweet corn, I have never tasted sweet corn the way it tasted so good as I was growing up, it’s just not as tasty now.

     With Charleston to the North, and Savannah to the South, Bluffton, with its cooler temperatures in the summer, was the perfect place for the rich cotton and rice farmers to bring their families.  Bluffton was a diamond in the rough and growing.  Out of the Bluffton’s docks, goods for Europe started their journey.

     My family became very prosperous.  We didn’t think this way of life would ever end, but it did.  First that damn world war, then in 1929, Bluffton and my family, and even me, would be changed forever.

     Damn, fucking, depression.  More about that later.  

     I remember the big news stories for 1909; Admiral Perry making it to the North Pole, but there were those who said he never made it, just like the conspiracy about that moon landing, ah, who the hell cares.

     There was that comet, Halley’s.  The time it came before it dropped off that writer, Mark Twain, and when it came again it took him, damnedest thing, he knew.  You know, he knew that comet would take him.  He said it, even wrote about it.

     Lots of people said with that comet, the world would end.  I was nine, so it scared me. A couple of nights, I was so scared that I slept under my bed. 

     I even remember what the popular song was, “Shine on Harvest Moon.”  I remember because almost every day my mother would sing it, she even ordered one of those Edison’s Amberol cylinder players and the “Shine on Harvest Moon” cylinder.  Well after about a month of that, my father took that cylinder and buried it, I caught him and he told me if I ever breathed a word about what he had done, he would take me behind the woodshed.  He blamed it on the dog, that damn old smelly dog, Skeeter.  Poor dog, my momma, she made him spend a month outside, and it was November, so the nights were cold, and as an added punishment, she didn’t give him no Thanksgiving turkey, but daddy, he snuck out and gave Skeeter a feast.

     1909, I was only nine but I helped out in the hardware store, hell, the whole family did, no free loaders, no free rides.  That’s what’s wrong with the young ones today, they do not learn responsibility.

      First time I had ever felt or seen a dead person; I used to make deliveries with my bike to a Chinese laundry.  The owners’ mother was very old, why maybe she was older then I am now.  She would just sit in a chair out front the laundry.  One day I asked the young China boy, he was about my age, why she would just sit on the chair staring into space.  He told me she was waiting to die, he went on to tell me that his grandmother knew she would be dead in three weeks, and she was.     

     About a week before she died, she looked right at me, and said something in Chinese, it sort of scared me, so I asked the young China boy what she had said, but he could not understand all of it, so he got his momma to translate.  At first she said, “It’s okay, grand mom crazy, she make no sense,” but when I asked her a second time, she told me, “You know, grand mom is going to die and cannot think right, grand mom say, “‘You out live whole family, and everyone you now know.’”

     A week later when I made a delivery, the old Chinese woman was not out front, and when I entered the laundry, there was a very sweet smell, which was from the flower smelling incents they had burning, must have had about a hundred of them, and candles, and right there laying on a bed was the dead old Chinese woman.

     I knew I should say something nice, so I said, I was sorry for their loss, of their grandma, but her son, Kong, that was his name, Kong, which in Chinese means, ‘glorious,’ said, “Oh no, its okay, now my mother is in a beautiful place, she is with Buddha,” then he took me and said, “You hold grand mom’s hand and say hi to grandma,” she always liked you.

     Yup, was the first time I had ever saw or touched a dead person, although, being nine, I did have some bad dreams for a week; woke up seeing grandma at the foot of my bed, smiling at me and speaking Chinese to me.  That I didn’t tell a soul about, until now, hell, maybe it was grandma.  

     It was late summer; this man passed through Bluffton, his name was Dr. Charles T. Pepper, that’s right, thee Dr. Pepper.  He was telling my father of a new drink, the king of beverages.  A very different kind of drink, one that would energize you and give you pep and pick you up.       

     Now, Dr Charles Pepper did not invent the drink, that was done by some guy in Texas, in fact it wasn’t really named after him but he did love the stuff.  Wherever he went, he pushed that soft drink.  After speaking to my father about the drink, Dr. Pepper, and after having several bottles, my father decided he liked the drink, so that was the main beverage at my father’s store.

     The good people at Dr. Pepper gave us a nice free, large sign to hang over the door.

     So many memories, damn good ones.

Tomorrow, I want to rest now.  Make it ten tomorrow.

     Don:  “Rest John

1910, A Kodak Moment, Why was my Father in the KKK and Charlie Chaplin.

     Don:  “John, you awake?”

     John:  “No, I am dead, just like that old China woman.  Why maybe when I die, I’ll come visit you.”

     Don:  “If you do, make sure you stay long enough for me to take a picture of it.”

     John:  “Damn, picture taking, that’s where this story is heading.

     1910, I was ten.  Dixie, that’s what it was called, the old south.  We didn’t want the same culture as the north, as those damn Yankees.

     In 1910, the old south was black and white, now, I know it was wrong.

     The automobile was starting to make an impact, not only on the world, but Bluffton.

     My father’s hardware store got a lot of visitors, famous ones too, which you will find out why, let’s see, Oh yes, I found out why in 1920.

     A rich fellow named George Eastman passed through; gave me a camera and 2 rolls of film.

     My father said it might be a devil’s toy, might take your soul, but Momma said, “Oh James, that’s nonsense, this is 1910, it’s just a toy for a child,” so I got to keep that camera.

     George Eastman, himself, taught Mr. Bessler, who owned the drug store, how to process film, but at first Mr. Bessler didn’t do such a good job and was almost hung on several occasions.  The only thing that saved his hide was the fact he was needed, because he could mix medicines, and had saved a lot of people in Bluffton.

     Someone came up with the solution; to have Mr. Bessler take a lot of pictures and keep developing the film till he got it right, took him three months and lots of film.

     Every day, those who had film to be developed would check to see how good the last roll of film was that Mr. Bessler had developed.

     I remember when Mr. Bessler had successfully developed a roll of film.  Someone had to go first so I decided that my film would be the guinea pig.  I had to wait till the next day to see my photos as Mr. Bessler only developed the film at night.

     Perfect, amazing, a picture of a cow, of a horse and buggy, one of Momma, daddy said no to a picture, still didn’t like the camera, one each of my brothers and sisters, one of the church, a couple of the sky and some of the family oak tree.

     Mr. Bessler was so proud he made me an offer.  Mr. Bessler would give me five rolls of new film in exchange for my twelve photos so he could display his success at developing film.   After Mr. Bessler’s success, he never ever messed up a roll of film.  

     Don, go to my closet and pull down that box marked photos.

     Look at this one; it is Charlie Chaplin, this one Ty Cobb, and this one Douglas Fairbanks. There must be over a hundred pictures in here. This one is of my second wife, damn bitch.  All my memoirs, good and bad, my precious sons, Vera and Thelma, my other wives, may they be with the Lord. 

     Fourth of July, 1910, that is when I would find out that my father was in the KKK, the Ku, Klux, Klan.

     My father had a telegraph ticker in the store. My father was damn fast at sending and receiving messages, and although the telephone was used, a lot of people still relied on the telegraph.  Now the reason I’m doing all this talking about the telegraph, was because on July fourth, 1910, there was a heavy weight boxing match that drew a lot of attention, especially in the south.

     Jack Johnson, who was a black boxer, was going to fight a white man, James J. Jefferies. People were calling Jefferies the great white hope, because they felt that Jefferies would beat the black boxer, Jack Johnson.  Some people were so sure that Jefferies would beat Johnson that they were betting everything they owned on the great white hope.  Some even said if Johnson won that they would leave the country.   

The fight was scheduled for July 4, 1910 in Reno, Nevada.

     Jefferies was a great fighter; he probably could have fought a bear and won.

     Now Johnson was like that other great boxer, Ali, he would do a lot of talking before the match, but he could back up what he had said when the bell rang.

     My father said that Johnson must be crazy for a Negro to talk the way he did, doesn’t he know he could be lynched?

     I never heard my father say that other N word, especially while Momma was around, it was forbidden.  I said it and Momma heard me say it, she gave me the switch, you know, take a very thin tree branch and whack you with it, and then sent me to my room to read the Bible.

     Momma said everyone should be treated fair, but also felt as her father, the Negro should stay with the Negro, and the whites should stay with the whites.

     So on July 4th, 1910, everyone crowded into my father’s store, to hear a round by round description of the fight, which came over the telegraph.

     Damn good, no, damn great fight.  Every round, that was won by Jefferies, all the men in the store would stand up and cheer, and slap each other on their backs, and yell things at the telegraph, slurs at Johnson, like he could hear them.  When Johnson would win a round, they would say things like, Jefferies has to let him win some rounds.  Well, in the fifteenth round, it ended after Johnson knocked that white man down three times, the fight was over and     

Jeffries went from being the great white hope, to the great white dope.

     Because Johnson won that bout, a lot of black people lost their lives.

     That’s when I learned my father belonged to the KKK, the Ku Klux Klan, which my mother disapproved of, she said it might even be against God’s will, and wanted daddy to quit.

     After the fight, the sheriff, who was also the leader of the Klan in Bluffton said, “We have to show those niggers who the winner really is,” and from a locked closet my father started to hand out white robes and hoods, even my oldest brother got one.

     I was ten and did not know what was going on, so I went to the house and asked my mother why daddy was getting dressed up and going trick or treating.  Momma replied, “Because your father does not know any better, and he is just being mean.”  Then I asked Momma, why was James going, and she replied, “Because he is as mean as your father.”

     Now, as vile, disgusting, and evil as the Klan was, as long as Sheriff McRoy was the leader, there were no lynchings, not even a beating.  They would travel to the black section of town,

burn a cross, and then go and get drunk.

     But then sheriff McRoy had a heart attack, and things got really bad in 1915, that’s when my father backed away from the Klan.  After the 1915 incident, Daddy or James Jr. never went to another meeting.

     Don:  “John, did you want to rest now?”

     John:  “No, I want to finish 1910.

     I remember the frost had just started to appear, I know it was November, but I’m not sure of the exact date.  This caravan of trucks made a stop at my daddy’s store; it was one of those traveling vaudeville troupes.  This little man with a chopped mustache, and a very young girlfriend, jumps out of a truck and he’s acting like he’s drunk, falling down and dancing, funniest damn thing I had ever seen.

     Then he comes over to us children and says, “Do you know who I am?”

     Then we replied, “No we don’t sir.”  

     Then he says, “Good, ‘cause I’m a no body, and if you said you knew me, I would deny it but some day you will say that you had the pleasure to have met the one, the only, the greatest actor of our time, Charlie Chaplin.”            That’s right, thee Charlie Chaplin.  I even took a photograph of him.  He was very funny, and the whole troupe performed for about an hour, then they got back into their trucks and honked their horns until they were out of sight.

    

     At the time, we did not know that it was my Uncle Lucas who had made our entertainment possible.

     Now I’m going to rest.  What time tomorrow?

     Don:  “I was going to take the day off.”

     John:  “Take the day off?”

     Why at this rate, the book will never be finished.  Damn, I’ll be dead before this damn book is finished.”

     Don:  “John, I think you have enough time left in your life to finish this book.”

     John:  “I wish, I damn well wish that was true but I’m dying, got cancer, prostrate, only have three months, maybe less.  Damn, didn’t want to tell you, I don’t want anybody to feel sorry for me.  Why hell, I lived longer than I should have.  I’ve used enough resources and space in this life, time for me to be moving on.”

     Don:  “Sorry John, I’ll be here tomorrow at ten.”

     John:  “No need to be sorry, that’s life, shit happens.  No, if you want to take the day off, you go ahead.”

     Don:  “John, for some reason I think you have a great story to tell.  I’ll be here tomorrow at ten.”

        

      

1912 Suffering and Suffrage

     John:  “Damn, right on time.  You’re not like most young folks, when they say ten, you can expect them to be here at 10:30, if you’re lucky. Don, I have a favor to ask of you.

     Don:  “Sure John, ask.”

     John:  “I have no family, I don’t know where, or if there is family.  Don, after I am gone, would you come to my service?  They always have one when a resident passes.

     Don:  “Sure John, I’ll bring my whole family.”

     John:  “Children?”

     Don:  “Yup, a girl, she’s eleven, and a son, he’s eight.”

     John:  “If you won’t mind, I would like to meet them, you know, before I pass.”

     Don:  “Sure John, I’ll bring them tomorrow,

I’ll bring my wife too.”

     John:  “Great, I would like that.  And don’t worry, I’ll behave, no cussing but I just may flirt with your wife.

     Thank you Don.

     Damn, now let’s get this book written. Where were we?”

     Don:  “1910, Charlie Chaplin.”

     John:  “Yes, well nothing really happened in 1911.  Looking back now almost every day seemed the same.

     I’ll start at 1912; suffering, and the suffrage movement.

     I remember I was in school; it was Monday, April 15^th.  Our teacher, Miss Shay, came into the room and told us all to pray to God for a great tragedy had befallen upon our world.  She went on to say we should pray for all those who were lost and all those who lost loved ones on the R M S Titanic.

     Now Momma had a premonition about that ship.  After reading what the headlines were writing about it, you know, not sinkable, nothing in the world could sink her and the mighty unsinkable Titanic, Momma said, that was flying in the face of God, and that man should not think he could build a ship that nature could not sink.

     Damn, all those people, worst of all the little children.  But I don’t agree with Momma, I don’t think God had anything to do with sinking it.  I know it was stupidity.  Some rich Jackass had to prove a point, and all those people paid with their lives.    

     The women suffrage movement comes to Bluffton, I damn well remember that.

      Women were striving for equality, and had the first women’s suffrage parade in Bluffton. Some women from the North went to Charleston then came to Bluffton.  I was only twelve but what happened was both funny and very tragic.

     The women are all marching right down the main street of Bluffton, South Carolina. Then some men from the Klan started to hurl tomatoes at the women marchers.  The women are trying to block the tomatoes with their signs.       Then this very large woman, with a gruff voice, says, “We don’t have to put up with this, let’s take our signs to their heads,” and the women did just that; men throwing tomatoes and the women hitting the men with their marching signs.  Why, when the town sheriff and his deputies tried to break it up they were pelted with tomatoes and hit with signs.  It lasted a good while.  That part is kind of funny.  Photos were taken and they made every edition of every newspaper in the country and even newspapers from around the world.   

     Arrests were made, women only.  The sheriff kept the women in jail over night then sent them home.  The Yankee women he let go, but with a warning, if they ever stepped foot in South Carolina again, he would have them arrested and sent to jail for five years.

     There was a tragic part.  My first encounter with violence, in fact, it was Bluffton’s first encounter with violence of this magnitude.    

     Mrs. Billings was being abused constantly by her husband; a local handy man who liked his home made wine.  Everyone knew and no one did anything to stop it.  Back then, it was no one’s business.  Anyway, some of those marchers gave her a gun and told her it was her right, and duty, to stop this madness.  So after being released from jail, Mrs. Billings knew her husband was waiting for her, to beat her again.  But not this time, the two shot derringer made their mark and stopped Mr. Billings cold, one shot to the throat, the other to his head.

     Afterwards, Mrs. Billings called for the sheriff, and she never spoke a single word again.

     My mother would go down to the jail and pray and read the Bible to Mrs. Billings.

     It was a quick trial, didn’t take long, and didn’t even last a month.  Mrs. Billings was found guilty and sentence to hang in the public square.  Just like a damn carnival, that hanging.

     My mother and her father, my grandfather, and Preacher Elroy Williams prayed and walked with Mrs. Billings.

     Before they placed the hood over Mrs. Billings’ face, the Sheriff, Mc Roy, asked if she had any last words.  Mrs. Billings stepped forward, like she was going to say something, but she just smiled at the crowd, nodded her head, then stepped on the hanging platform.   Then with a haunting thud, Mrs. Billings was hanged.

     In 1918, President Wilson made a pro-suffrage speech.  The next year Congress passed the Nineteenth Amendment, giving women the right to vote.

     Don:  “That must have given you nightmares, being eleven?”

     John:  “No, I didn’t witness the hanging.  You had to be eighteen or older.  It was my brother, James Lee, Jr. who was haunted.

     He told Owen, Tully, and me.  At first, he wasn’t going to tell me, but I told James if he didn’t, that I would tell everyone in town that I saw him kissing Miss Margret Shay, she was the new, young teacher in town. 

     Don:  “Did they get married?”

     John:  “No.  Was going to, but Miss Shay went north one Christmas to visit her mother and caught that flu, which was killing everyone.

     She never returned to Bluffton, she died in February, a week after Grand Daddy died.  Between Momma’s and James’s sadness, it was sort of a depressing time in our home.  

     It sort of changed my brother, and he never had a stable relationship after that, went from woman to woman and that almost cost him his life.”

     Don:  “How?”

     John:  “James Lee, Jr. was seeing a married woman in Savannah, a singer.  Rosy Rose was her stage name.  I met her years later.  Anyway, Rosy Rose’s husband found out, he forgave Rosy Rose, but not my brother.  Mr. Rosy Rose found my brother at a bar just outside of Savannah, went right up to James Lee, Jr., pulled out his six shot civil war revolver and pointed right at the head of James and click, nothing, again and again, click, click, nothing. By then my brother had made his getaway.  He never returned to Savannah, but that didn’t stop James from his womanizing.  

     The only reason why I found out a lot about James’ life was because James wanted to be a writer, like you, wanted to write books and he kept a journal.

     Damn, so many years ago.  I want to rest now.  Don’t forget to bring your family tomorrow.”

     Don:  “No John, I won’t, you take care.”

     John seems like he is not well.  Maybe it’s the cancer.  I’ll just have to resign myself that maybe this book will not be written.  I’ll stop by the office.

     Don:  “Hi Judy, just wanted to let you know I don’t think John is well, he seems real tired, doesn’t seem himself.”

     Judy:  “John didn’t tell you?”

     Don:  “Tell me what?”

     Judy:  “John is dying, John only has maybe, if he’s lucky, three months, but I will check on him.  That man is so stubborn, he wants no doctors.  The last time he saw a doctor was when the doctor told him he only had three months left.  He takes his pain medicines when needed.

     I hope that John doesn’t linger, I like that old man.”

     Don:  “Yes, John did mention it to me, sad.”

     Judy:  “Sad?”

     Don:  “The fact that John has no family.”

     Judy:  “Oh, John has a large family, with all the residents and staff; John has a family, one hundred and fifty strong.  There isn’t a person here who would not do almost anything for that man.

    

Surprise!

     Don:  What the hell, as my family and I entered John’s room, there were balloons, finger foods, a large cake, and gifts.

     “John, what’s going on?  Is it someone’s birthday?”

     John:  “Hell no, I mean no.  This is for you and your family, Don.

     Go ahead kids, get some food but not cake, have some food and then cake, right Mom?

     Well Don, are you going to introduce me to your family or just stand there?”

      Don:  After introducing my family, John gave my family gifts.  As he did, he told us we had to take the gifts as it would be a big insult to him if we didn’t.  I turned to Judy and she nods with approval.

     He gave my wife some very old books; one was signed by Mark Twain.  He gave each of my children a thousand dollar savings bond and his wooden animals, which his father had carved, along with some other old metal toys. And for me, John gave me his baseball and photo collection.

     I really did not want to take the gifts but I knew John would not have it, and would be hurt.

     After a couple of hours, John was tired and wanted to rest.

     Judy informed me that after conferring with the home’s doctor, it could be any day in which John passes.

     Now, knowing he could die at anytime, John seems more important than his story.    

1915, The Sheriff, My Father, the Klan and Ty Cobb.

     Don:  “John?”

     John:  “Yes, I’m still here, didn’t die last night.

     Nice family, Don.

     Really didn’t want to do this book, I mean who cares, but since it is for you and your family, I really don’t mind.

     I think we finished with 1912, didn’t we?”

     Don:  “You’re right, John.”

     John:  “Pretty good memory for an old fart my age, ah?”

     Don:  “Yeah, I think it’s damn good that you can remember what we were talking about two days ago.  Sometimes I can’t even remember what I was talking about yesterday.”

     John:  “That’s because you have too much on your mind.  This world today is too busy, too damn much going on.  I think people today are going too fast to get to somewhere, but where?

I don’t think most people could tell you where they are going.  I like that saying, ‘Take time to smell the roses.’

     Nothing really happened that was that important in 1913.  

     In 1914, you had the start of what would be World War I but that was confined to Europe.

     To a thirteen, fourteen year old, one day was just like all the rest, but still fond memories; the family, the holidays, the home made southern cooking, the winters and summers.  You know, time goes so fast, then one day you wake up and it’s 1915.

     I remember the day in which Sheriff

Mc Roy died of a heart attack; found him in his police truck, dead.  That is when the Klan got real bad, real vile.  

     Roy Howard became the new Klan leader, and I hope that son of a bitch is in hell right now.

      I heard my father and brother, James, Jr., talking about voting for a new Klan leader.  My daddy wanted Joe Drucker because he wanted to keep the Klan going in the same way as Sheriff Mc Roy.  My brother said that daddy should be the new leader.

     Why, hell yes, the Klan was and is wrong, stupid, but they never killed anyone, and because the Bluffton Klan was so mild compared to other Klan groups, we had a large influx of blacks who were moving into the Bluffton area.

     It was that damn Roy Howard who wanted blood.  The meeting was held at my father’s store.  I snuck out with Tully and, from under a window; we listened to that meeting, lots of yelling and ranting.  Most just wanted the Klan to stay the same, but because Roy Howard, that bastard, owned the lumber yard, and all of his employees were Klan members, had to be or you did not work for Roy Howard.

     Now at the first vote, Joe and Roy were tied in votes, but then Roy said if he ever found out that any of his employees did not vote for him, then he would consider those employees not to be loyal and should seek employment elsewhere.

     Now it was widely known Roy paid his employees very well and there was a waiting list to be employed at Roy’s lumber yard.

     So with that said, Roy was the new Klan leader.

     Roy made a speech how he thinks that Bluffton has become too dark and it’s time to put Mr. Darkie back into his place.  Then my father handed out the robes and hoods and off the Klan went.

     Not much time went by, when daddy and James returned home.  I heard momma and daddy talking.  Daddy was saying that maybe momma was right, and that if Roy wants to run the Klan like that, then James and he would no longer be a part of it.

     Seems they went down to the black section, but of instead of just burning a cross, Roy told the Klan members that it was the duty of the Bluffton Klan to make things right, and they caught a black family of six coming home from a prayer service at the church, and not only beat the father, but beat the mother, three young boys and even took a switch to the little girl.  When they started the beatings, my father, brother and Joe Drucker tried to intervene, but it was now senseless mob mentality.

     Now Joe did meet with my father and brother about trying to dethrone Roy but I guess Joe spoke to too many other members, and when Roy found out, Joe who was a painter, could not find work and left town.  Later I found out his body was discovered in an alley in Charleston with a gunshot to the back of his head.

      Momma was worried about daddy and even asked daddy if he wanted to move.  Not daddy, he was not one to run from a fight.  We stayed. Now Roy did send one of his lackeys, to sort of send a warning that if my father was not 100% behind the Klan that Roy and others would find another hardware store.

     What happened next I’m not sure of, but it was rumored that momma made a call to my father’s brother in Charleston, who knew everyone and it seems even though he was not part of the Klan, he knew someone who once saved a child of the leader of the Charleston Klan from drowning.   

     Uncle Lucas called in a favor to that person, who called in a favor with the Klan leader.  Well, Charleston had about five hundred strong in the Klan, and since Bluffton only had about fifty, there was a meeting and it seems our family was considered off limits to any Klan activity.

     Now Roy must have gotten the message loud and clear, and personally came to the store to apologize to daddy.

     Well, what happened next made my father decide that momma was right about the Klan and it was probably against God.

     1915 was the year that the first movie picture was shown in Bluffton.  That first movie was called, ‘The Klansman,’ you might know it as ‘The Birth of a Nation.’

     I remember it was shown on a Saturday, and Saturday night there were two lynchings; one of a black man that was never identified.  Rumor had it he was the man who had delivered the movie and had stayed to make sure that the movie had run okay, and on his way back to Savannah, he was caught by the Klan and burnt, then hung.  The other black man was a

customer of my father’s hardware store, a Mr. Clarence Jones, who my father described as thee most nicest Negro he had ever met, which was something for my father to speak of a black man that way.

     I knew Mr. Jones, he was a real nice gentleman, always had a smile, and always had a story about the Bible.

     After this, my father would not let the

Klan store their robes or hoods at the store.

     Sad, real sad, what happened to Mr. Jones.

Even though I was raised in the old south and only knew that whites and blacks were separated, I still wondered why?  Why did the blacks have to be separate; separate schools, separate stores, and most of all separate churches?

     Damn, makes me think of my beautiful, black butterfly, Summer.

     It was late October, I remember ‘cause I was getting excited about the Halloween party.  It was a party for all of Bluffton.  A parade, more food, I’ll bet, than those pilgrims had, it was one of Bluffton’s nicer moments.  

     Anyway, thee one, and only, Mr. Ty Cobb, the Georgia peach, stopped by my daddy’s store.  He had a brand new shiny Empire Roadster, a real breezier.

     Don:  “What was a breezier?”

     John:  “That’s slang for convertible.

     My brother, Owen, who was blind, had a foot race with Ty Cobb and won.  Ty Cobb, who hated to lose made my brother race him three more times, and Owen won every race except the last one, which Owen let Ty win because my brother had to pee real bad and didn’t want to piss his pants.  That season Cobb had 96 stolen bases; a new record.  Can you imagine if Owen was not blind?

     I want to rest now.”

     Don:  “Rest John, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

1916, My Stupidity Overflows

     John:  “There he is; my writer, the guy who is going to make me famous.”

     Don:  “I don’t know about making you famous but after hearing a part of your life, I think we have winner.”

     John:  “Weiner more like it.

     Don, do you know what the worst thing a person can feel?”

     Don:  “Depression?”

     John:  “Good answer but I was thinking of stupidity.  To me, stupidity is the worst feeling I have ever had; to me it’s the same as sadness.

     I remember 1916 very clear because of my stupidity.  

     It was the time of Summer; she was my beautiful butterfly, my heart is still empty for her.  There was just something about her.

     Don, if it were today, I would have married her but it was Dixie, the old south, and as I was white and Summer was black, beautifully black, my beautiful black butterfly, we could no more marry than I could have legally married a cow. 

     I remember how we met.  I was twelve; my brothers and I were swimming down in the river, when Summer passed.

     I looked at her and she looked at me, it was like we both knew, there was definitely something there, call it a spark, call it love, but it was there, and so was a woody.  Damn 

straight that girl gave me a woody, my beautiful butterfly.

     I had known Summer’s, family, the Schmits, that’s right Schmit, German name, but how could a black man have a German name?  Well it seems Mr. Schmit’s daddy, who was a slave, worked for a family named Schmitt, on a cotton plantation, just outside of Savannah.  After the Civil War, when he became free, he needed a last name so he chose his former owners’ last name, but with only one T.

     I would deliver hardware to her daddy, who was a blacksmith, you know, shoe horses and even making things out of iron.  He used to make the nicest weather vanes, why he was becoming well known for them.  

     One time, this fella came from, I think it was New York, a Yankee, and had seen Mr. Schmit’s weather vanes, liked them so much he told Mr. Schmit that he could sell all that Mr. Schmit could make.

     Damn, Mr. Schmit became pretty rich, which the Klan looked down on, and I think from that time on, they were always looking for an excuse to do Mr. Schmit in.

     Damn, how I wish Mr. Schmit would have moved to New York, him and his whole family, him and my beautiful butterfly, Summer.  

     When I would talk to Summer, it was like a switch went off in both of us, and I had to be careful about getting a woody, even had to think of something else, like snow and winter.    

     One time we even held hands, she knew, I knew.

     That’s the one thing I never understood, Summer was so beautiful, why would she even take a second look at me?  

     When I was sixteen, my stupidity overflowed.  I confessed my love for Summer to James lee Jr., what a big mistake.     

     He turned and said with deadly staring eyes, “You love a Nigger; then you will go to hell forever.”

     Then James told everyone, and for some time, I was called Nigger Lover, and laughed at, but secretly I didn’t care.  I would even daydream about marrying Summer.  Summer and I married, and had lots of kids.

     Then I got stupid, you know when you’re young you say and do things that you don’t really mean, things you regret.

     I was sitting on my porch with James Lee Jr., Owen and Tully, when Summer and her two sisters walked by. 

     James started in saying, “Oh look Jonathan, here comes your Nigger Lover.”

     Then all my brothers are yelling, “Nigger Lover.”  Next thing I know, I’m doing something really stupid and hurtful.  

     I turned to Summer and her sisters and yelled, “You better start to run because I’m going to throw rocks your way.”

     I’ll never forget Summer’s face, the way Summer looked at me, it said, “Why?  I thought you were my friend, why do you want to hurt me?”

     Then I started to pick up rocks and threw them at Summer and her sisters and yelled that vile word; run Nigger, run.

     My mother heard what was going on, what I had said, and she took a switch to me, and sent me to my room and told me to read the Bible. Momma said there was enough hurt in the world without me giving it more.  She then turned to my brothers and started beating them with a broom.

     That was the only time I ever said that vile, terrible word.

     In my room alone, I prayed to God, not that he would forgive me, but that Summer would forgive me.

     From time to time, I imaged that somehow the world would suddenly change and Summer and I would be able to get married and have lots of children.

     That is the one thing that hurts and haunts me, still does.  If I had just one wish, it would be to take that moment back.”

     Don:  “So you and Summer were done?”

     John:  “No, no way, but every time Summer would see me she would take off running, and deliveries to her daddy were awkward; Summer had told her daddy.  

     He would look at me with deadly eyes, and say things like, “Boy, a man has to make sure he always protects his family and I would do anything to protect my family.” Mr. Schmit even asked me point blank if I had ever thought of hurting his family.  Stuttering, I replied no sir, I would never do that.  Why hell, you would have stuttered too, Mr. Schmit stood at about six feet four, big as an ox, and his eyes seemed like they were looking right into your soul.

     So every time I had a delivery to Mr. Schmit, it was both a pain and a pleasure; pain for the fear of Mr. Schmit and a pleasure that I might see Summer.

     Now as far as Summer and I, you’ll have to wait for 1919.

     Now let me rest and think of my beautiful butterfly.”

     Don:  “Okay John, think of Summer.”

      

        

                        

    

     1918, Over There, Losing my Brother, and Poor George

     John:  “Okay Don, let’s get a start, we have a lot to cover, First World War and all.

     Damn, they said that war would be the end to all wars, damn liars; it was just the start of other wars and heartbreak for millions and millions of people.

     I graduated from high school, first in my family to go that far in school.  I know my mother had designs on me going on to college, but with the war raging in Europe, it was every fit man’s duty to serve and defeat the Kaiser. They even graduated me a month early so I could join and serve. 

     Joined the army and I was in France by November 3^rd, 1918, but by this time, the war was almost over.

     France was the first time I saw snow, had sex, never forgot her; you never forget your first.  Lola Hots; wasn’t her real name, that’s just what she went by.  She told me her father was a great chief for the Bangi tribe in the French Congo, and her mother was supposedly a descendent of King Louis XIII.

     Lola had tattoos, which covered her body, a lot of African pictures; lions, elephants, scenes of her homeland.

     Lola, her claim to fame was that there wasn’t a man she could not satisfy but she only did those who she wanted to, and the cost was a month’s pay.  So there was no way I was going to be doing the horizontal dance with Lola.  Besides, she would never have picked me.”

     Don:  “But you said Lola was the first woman you ever had sex with.”

     John:  “It was, now don’t get excited, let me tell my story.

     Well, my good friend, Bill Wilson, from Hinesville, Georgia, which lies just south of Savannah, knew I was a virgin, ‘cause I had said a man and woman should wait till their wedding night.  Well word got spread throughout the company, and before you know it, the whole company is putting the money up so I can get laid; a whole month’s worth of pay, why even the captain chipped in.

     So now my good friend Bill went to Lola, but she wants to meet me first, see if I am even worthy of her.  So Saturday night we all go into town, and I am wondering why the whole company is going together, Captain said we should all have a celebration, you know some bonding time.

     You know, when I think back to what was really going on, it makes me laugh.  Why one time I thought back to that time and I laughed so hard I pissed my pants.   

     Everyone was thinking, we’re going to get the virgin laid and he doesn’t even know it.  I’m thinking, wow, this is nice, guy time, drinking, telling stories, getting to know the others.

     Well, before you know it, I had my first taste of whiskey, really didn’t want to drink but everyone was laughing, telling stories, singing, and just having a great time.  I should have known something was up, as they were treating me special.

     Before you know it, Lola and I are seated at a table in a secluded corner of the bar.  Things are not going well and Lola is about to leave when I mention Summer and how I sure wish Lola was her.

     Well that was it, after hearing my love story about Summer and how much I loved her, Lola in her thick French accent says, “Dough Boy, I will help you know and feel Summer.”  She led me outside and down a narrow ally, till we came to a brick building with a red light on, up three flights of stairs, into Lola’s lair.  She had a round bed, with a canopy, and there were

x-rated paintings on the wall, which started to give me a woody, you know a boner.

     She told me to lie down, and Lola took over. She knew I was a virgin and wanted me to feel comfortable.

     First time, but I did not think of Lola, I thought this was Summer.  Needless to say, I didn’t last long, why hell, I pee longer than it took me.

     Lola told me to take a nap, so as the guys would think I was a real stud.  We laid there for an hour or so, me tenderly holding Lola, believing it was Summer.

     Right before we returned to the bar, Lola said if your love for her is as strong as you say it is then there are no obstacles for you or Summer.

     When I opened the door to the bar, there was the whole company in formation and they started singing to me, ‘For he’s a jolly good fella.’  They started to shake my hand, and patting my back, and making comments, hey stud, we were just about to send a rescue party, and I’ll never introduce you to my sister.

     As a person, Lola was special.  I found out later she gave the money back.  

     First time I got into a real fight, not a brother tussle, but a bare knuckle, beat your ass fight.”

     Don:  “Guessing, I would have to say I would not want to be the other guy.”

     John:  “No, as I put a beating on him, he put a beating on me.  It ended when we both collapsed.  That fight must have gone nonstop for an hour, there were even bets being placed.”

     Don:  “How did it start?”

     John:  “Mike Sims that was his name.  Mike just kept teasing me about Lola.  Till one day I just couldn’t take it no more, so I pushed him and told him, let’s dance, not meaning I wanted to do the Charleston with him.  Well the next thing I know, it’s a bare knuckle, beat the hell out of each other, fight.  Many times I wanted to quit but I just kept going.  Mike later told me if I ever wanted to fight him again, that I should give him a one hour head start.

     Hell, it’s funny how things work out.  After we both collapsed to the ground, we just laid there, realizing those who were betting just wanted to see blood, so Mike said fuck you to all those who were doing the betting, no more show, and he extended his hand, so I shake his hand.  That was the beginning of a great, but short friendship.”

     Don:  “Another fight?”

     John:  “No, after that fight we were like brothers.  Even had plans to go into some kind of business together after we got back stateside.

     Mike had seen some action, you know, had seen all the terrible things about war.

     Well when we returned stateside, Mike was having a lot of trouble, waking up at night with cold sweats.  I kept writing to him, asking about our business plan, Mike kept replying he needed some more time before he wanted to do this.

     Mike’s parents owned a horse farm, raised horses, work horses, riding horses, even horses for the Army.

     Mike could not find a job, turned more and more to the bottle, then he found his girlfriend cheating on him, so I guess without help, Mike did the thing which he thought would help him. Took his rifle and shot about six horses, then turned the gun on himself.  Found out when his mother replied to one of my letters.

     Damn, strange the way some people think what is the correct action to take.

     First time I had seen a man die right before my eyes.”

     Don:  “The war?”

     John:  “No, I saw no action, it was a bar fight.  Stupidity, it was between a British and a French soldier.

     They were arguing about the royal families of Britain and France, before you know it the French soldier, who was a legionnaire, you know the French Foreign Legion, pulls a knife and stabs the British soldier, who died in seconds, then all hell breaks loose, chairs, bottles, fists.  I don’t know how there was not more deaths.”

     Don:  “What happened to the French soldier?”

     John:  “From what I heard he didn’t face no punishment, he was sent somewhere.  Stupidity.”

     Damn, first time I saw snow.  I had seen snow in photos, books and newspapers, but never in real life.

     Reports were there would be a dusting, so all of us southern boys were curious, you know, to see it and touch it, damn Don, sorry I have to say this, but it was like the first time you see, and touched, pussy.

     Well it snowed but it was no dusting, it snowed almost a foot, so much for that cold and wet shit.  Glad I lived in the south, south of snow.      

     WWI, the war to end all wars, man didn’t learn, never will.  It was the first war, but was not the last.  War, I didn’t realize how much heartache wars could bring.

     The war ended at 11am on November 11^th. Poor George.”

     Don:  “Who’s George?”

     John:  “George Lawrence Price, a Canadian, he was a Private.  George is recognized as the last soldier to be killed in WWI.

     The cease fire was set for November 11^th at 11am.  So it could make history.  So the historians could say and write; in the eleventh month, on the eleventh day, at the eleventh hour, the guns stopped firing, which was to end the war that would end all wars.

     But at 10:57am, a German sniper shot George and he died at 10:58am.  Three minutes, only three minutes.  Poor George, he probably thought he was going home. 

     Don:  “What about your Brother, James, how did he die?”

     John:  “A German artillery shell, they never found his body.  November 4^th, only a damn week before the war ended, it was at about dusk.

     The only good part, if there was any, is the fact I don’t think James Jr. ever knew what hit him. 

     That’s all for today, I have to rest.

     James and George you poor SOBs, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

1919, When Johnny Comes Marching Home

     John:  “Damn you are always on time.  Why I could set my watch to you.”

     Don:  “Okay, you were at the end of World War I.”

     John:  “The war ended, seems it took the Army forever to send me home, and until they did, it was what I call chicken shit.  Didn’t really do anything, I guess they didn’t know what to do with us, so they had us do a lot of stupid stuff, like fill sandbags, then empty them.

     Some soldiers just left, took off, but the Army really didn’t care, it was one less person they had to ship home.  The Army even asked for volunteers, to help rebuild Europe, said anyone who volunteered, they could be mustered out right away.

     By the time the Army sent our company of about two hundred men home, fifty had gone AWOL, and about ten volunteered.   

     I returned home in April, found out my brother James Lee Jr. was killed in the war, like I said they never did find his body.  My father  was not the same.

     Owen was almost blind so he could not serve, and Tully, who joined the Navy, stayed in the Merchant Marines after the war.

     Tully, that SOB, had a dark secret.  Didn’t find out until after his death in 1934.

     That summer, I think it was July 3^rd, I met Summer again.  At first, whenever she saw me she would still take off running.

     One day I just yelled, while I was chasing Summer, “Summer stop, I won’t throw rocks, I promise, I just want to talk to you.  I think I really like you!”

     Summer slowed, then stopped, then turned and said, “Are you crazy, I am a Negro, and you are white, do you want to get yourself lynched?”

     I replied that I did not care, that I knew we always had something special, and asked Summer if she was going to stand there and deny any feeling for me.

     That was that.  It was a very special secret moment, one of many.

     Summer did speak of change for the black people, and even said some day there would be a black president.

     Summer and I had our secret places, secret times.

      Her Daddy found out and had to have the father to boyfriend talk, his eyes could tell if I was telling the truth.  At first he was trying to talk Summer or me out of our relationship, but after a couple of months, he became accepting to a point.  It was only because of Summer’s mother that he became accepting to that point.

     I wish I would have listened To Mr. Schmit’s advice, which was to take Summer out of the south, even consider going to Canada, or Europe.

     It was a wonderful summer, a wonderful fall, why every day with Summer was wonderful.   

     Then fall turned into winter and winter is really a wonderful time with Christmas, you know, the lights, the parties, everyone seems a little nicer to their fellow man, but not this year, this turned out to be the worst winter, the worst Christmas, and the worst New Year I ever lived through.  It haunts me daily.  

     You see, after five wonderful months of secret places, and stolen moments with Summer, Summer and I took our relationship to the next level.

     It was Christmas Eve, we both decided to meet after church, at Dan Barr’s barn.  Why did we meet at Dan Barr’s barn?  It was because Dan Barr’s barn was about a good one hundred yards from Dan Barr’s house, and being that Dan Barr was real old, he had to be in his eighties, I knew he went to bed real early.  I could tell because his lights went out at about eight o’clock.

     So Summer and I decided to meet at Dan Barr’s barn.

     I had purchased a gold heart locket, with a gold chain for Summer.  I even went to Savannah to purchase it because I did not want to purchase it in Bluffton, there would be too many questions, who, what and why.

     I wanted our first Christmas to be special.  I brought the locket, some wine, and a poem for Summer.

     I gave her the locket, we drank the wine, and I read the poem.

     Damn, okay you want the whole truth, there was kissing, and more kissing, and kissing turned to petting, and petting turned to love making, it was one of the truly beautiful things that had happened in my life.

     We had just finished when a kerosene lantern lit up the barn.  There was Mr. Dan Barr, standing there, what a bad feeling.

     At first he was real decent, telling us kids that since we were probably not married, we should not be doing this, and then he recognized me and said, “Jonathan, why I’m surprised to see it was you,” and started small talk.  Glad to see your home from that damn war.

     Then when he saw Summer, he changed, got real nasty, told me to take my nigger lover and never return, that he should shoot both of us.

     Summer and I ran for about mile before we stopped, looked at each other and started to laugh, you know, young and dumb.

     I asked Summer if she would go away with me, and Summer replied I am ready whenever and wherever.  I told Summer I just needed to save a little more money, and then we would go.

      I asked her how she felt about Canada.  Summer told me she had a cousin who lived outside of Toronto, whose mother, as a baby, was taken to Canada during the Civil War, the Underground Railroad.  Summer would write to her asking if we could stay with her till we got on our feet.

     Now looking back, knowing what I know now, I should have taken Summer right then and there.          

     That fucking Dan Barr, he told Roy Howard, the leader of the KKK.

     That SOB, Roy thought it was his duty to send a message to me.  He followed Summer to one of our secret places, then when she was on her way home and I was out of sight, Roy stopped her, and that son of a bitch beat the hell out of my beautiful butterfly.  But for Roy that was not enough, no, Roy, he raped her, and did all kinds of nasty things to Summer, put her in bed till the night they came for her.

     That damn son of a bitch hurt my love so bad, for me there was no turning back.

     It was New Year’s Eve.  I knew Roy always threw a big party at his lumber yard.  I waited outside the lumber yard.  It was two a.m. when the last guest left, then I got lucky, seems Roy had too much to drink, and his small wife could not get Roy, who was about two hundred and fifty pounds, to his feet so she placed a blanket on Roy and went to the house.  I waited till all the lights went off in Roy’s house.

     The sun was just rising when Roy started to stir, I guess he knew he was in trouble when he realized he was hog tied, and I stood over him.

     To make sure even if he screamed no one would hear his cries for help, I took Roy out into the swamp, about twenty five miles from Bluffton.  I looked at Roy and told him Summer would be the last person he would ever hurt, then I took my daddy’s pistol out, told Roy to say a prayer, which he didn’t do because he spent his last words cussing me.  Pulled the hammer back, told Roy that this was for every person, both black and white he had ever hurt, especially for Summer, then I pulled the trigger, damn, didn’t realize brain matter would splatter like it did.  

     A week later the Klan thought it might have been her brother or father or even Summer, so they took reprisals and hunted down her father, her older brother, and as bad as Summer was in pain, they took her out of her bed.  They hung all three at the same time.

     Those fucking bastards, I wanted to kill every last one of those sons of bitches.

      From what I heard, Mr. Schmit put a hurting on those SOBs, broke bones and spit in their faces, and while hanging kept singing Jesus loves me.

     After that, it was said if you would go out to the hanging tree at night that you could hear someone singing ‘Jesus loves me.’  The town folks even had a pastor go out to the tree and bless it, but from what I heard you could still hear the singing, that was until someone, okay it was me, cut down that tree.

     You have to wait till 1924 to find out why.

     Somehow my father knew it was me who killed Roy Howard, seems when he went to shoot his pistol on New Year’s Eve and found it missing, he figured it out.

     He told me your mother has had enough heartache losing one son, no more, you’re going to Charleston to work for your uncle Lucas, it was the only time my father had spoken to his brother after their falling out.

     Before I left for Charleston, I did speak to my father about hating black people, he just walked away, it was the last time I saw my father alive.

     You are the first person, who is alive, who knows what I did, confession, I’m glad.

     I still think about this over and over in my mind.  If only, if only.  It was like I had helped kill the one person who was special to me, that special thing between two people.  Some never find it, some do find it and there are those who find it and lose it.

     Summer was the love of my life, still is.

     My beautiful butterfly.

     That’s all for today Don, I want to rest now.

Let my book be my confession.”

     Don:  “Rest John, I hope Summer comes to you in your dreams.”

1920, Uncle Lucas, Charleston, Prohibition, the Secret Game, and My Wife

    

     Went to Charleston in January, I remember because prohibition started in January, you know, no more alcohol.  

     Uncle Lucas moved to Charleston, after he and my father had that falling out, and he met Tracy Oddgood, her father owned six hardware stores so Uncle Lucas was a good fit.

     Shortly after they married, Tracy’s father passed over so my uncle became very rich, very fast.

     Don:  “What was your uncle like?”

     John:  “Uncle Lucas, what a card, what a bastard, but in a good way.

     He was two years younger than my father. Uncle Lucas was a very likable person, but very different than my father.  

     Uncle Lucas liked his whiskey a whole lot. Come to think of it, Uncle Lucas not only liked his whiskey, but women, gambling, fine automobiles, and money.  On the other hand, my father never let whiskey touch his lips; my father was what you would call a real straight arrow.  

     Uncle Lucas loved his women, he was a womanizer.  While I was in Charleston until 1924, I’ll bet Uncle Lucas had maybe twenty different girlfriends.

     Uncle Lucas was married, his wife Tracy knew, and why she didn’t leave him I’ll never understand.

     He loved to gamble, he would gamble on anything you would be willing to wager.

     I remember betting Uncle Lucas that it would not rain.  By all meteorological accounts, it should not rain all day.  Looks like I had won our bet, but then at about eleven thirty at night, damned if it did not rain.  That is how lucky Uncle Lucas was, I think he was the luckiest man I have ever met.   

     Uncle Lucas; I never saw him without a large Cuban cigar in his mouth, and his white Panama hat on his head.  Damn, I think that man wore that hat to bed.

     One night I awoke Uncle Lucas to tell him about Jonathan being born, and he answered the door in his robe and that damn hat.

     But for all that, Uncle Lucas was a good person, very giving and charitable.

     Every Christmas, he gave all his employees two weeks’ worth of pay.  He helped the homeless and the hungry of Charleston.

      Now for the million dollar question, why did all those famous people stop at my father’s store?  I found out on a slip of the tongue from Douglas Fairbanks, it was my uncle who would ask famous people, as a favor to him, to stop at my father’s hardware store.

     My uncle had repeatedly tried to send us birthday and Christmas gifts, but my father would just send them back.

     All those famous people who had visited us, it was my uncle’s way to give us gifts.

     There was also a shady side to my uncle, he owned an illegal alcohol still and produced a lot of whiskey during prohibition, and got even richer.

     He was one of the most powerful men in Charleston, hell, the south.

     Al Capone, himself, came down to pick up the whiskey on several occasions and would play cards, poker for big money, more than I had ever seen in my life.

    Uncle Lucas’ poker games were legendary, Al Capone, prominent politicians, actors and sports legends.  Famous people like Charlie Chaplin, Douglas Fairbanks, Buster Keaton; he could sure drink, Ty Cobb, Jack Dempsey, and others.    

     Dempsey, he would always come into the card room and say, “I can’t sing, and I can’t dance, but I can lick any SOB in the house,” one hell of a boxer. 

     Charleston was very neat and clean, was very prosperous.  Had a Naval ship yard and base, a seaport, which was second to none

     It was the golden age of the railroad and the renaissance of Charleston.

     I was actually a little afraid of living in Charleston.”

     Don:  “Why?”

     John:  “Because there was a pretty bad earthquake on August 31^st, in 1886.”

     Don:  “What about that dance, the Charleston?”

     John:  “I wasn’t in Charleston when that was the big thing.  The song, the dance, “The Charleston,” it was written in 1923 and the dance craze started about 1925.

     I met my first wife, Vera, in March, at one of those singles dances.  My heart was still for Summer.  I knew I could never love another like I loved Summer, but I still needed

companionship. 

     Vera and I started to date in April.  Made love to Vera down at Ashley River, near Hampton Park.

     Vera and I married in December, and Vera found out she was pregnant.    

     My daddy would not come to Charleston for our wedding, I guess he just could not let things go, his damn pride.  Pride, it’s as bad as hate.    

     Momma and my whole family came; it made December’s cruelty feel less painful to me.      

     Vera and I even talked about having another wedding in Bluffton, but daddy said that made no sense.

     Well, at least I did get to speak to daddy on the telephone on several occasions, before he passed over.  I think with just a little more time daddy and I could have mended our fences.

     Damn, I jumped ahead of myself, the secret game.”

     Don:  “Secret game?”

     John:  “The secret baseball game, that was in the end of October, before Vera and my wedding.

     It was most of the white professional baseball players against the black professional baseball players, from the Negro League.

     Let’s see, for the whites there was Ty Cobb, Shoeless Joe Jackson, some say this was the real reason why he was banned from baseball, Roger Hornsby, Tris Speaker, and the Babe, he never showed up.  After this, it was said Ty Cobb lost all respect for the Babe.

     The Commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, caught wind of some type of baseball game between the blacks and the whites and said if any whites are caught playing in this game, those players would be banned from baseball for life.

     From the rumors, the commissioner wanted Shoeless Joe to name names, and in exchange, Shoeless Joe would only be suspended for one year, but Joe, he didn’t talk, so the commissioner used that Black Sox scandal to ban Joe for life.

     Don:  “What about the game?”

     John:  “Hell of a game, best baseball game I have ever seen.  Back and forth, players getting hurt, playing so hard.  The blacks scored the first run and everyone booed, then the whites scored two, and the crowd did go wild.  Back and forth, pitching, hitting, defense.  It went all the way to the fifteenth inning.  The black ball players were down by one run and had one man at second, with two outs, and the batter had two strikes and no balls.  It was a damn good pitch, but somehow that batter hit the ball right out of the park.

     Now it was the white ball players at bat.  The first batter hits a smash back at the pitcher, who caught it, but this pitcher who had not given up a run, was hurt and had to leave the game.  Ty Cobb came to bat and hit a single and on the next pitch, stole second.  The next batter struck out, so with two outs and the tying run on second, Shoeless Joe comes to bat and swings at the first pitch and hits a foul ball and the first baseman makes a diving catch into the stands and holds the ball up, and the game is over. Those professional black baseball players beat the white professional baseball players, and the score was eleven to ten, in fifteen innings.

     The people in the stands are real upset and start to beat on the black player.  It was Ty Cobb and Shoeless Joe who came over and helped the black ball player.  Cobb said he did not like the Negro but they won fair and square, and if the black players got beat up they would never want to play the whites again.  Ty Cobb was hoping for revenge and wanted another game in two weeks, but that secret game was the only time in which the white and black baseball players ever played.    

     Damn if Ty Cobb didn’t remember me, and even asked how Tully was doing, and if he was as fast as ever.  

     I gave him his card and he signed it, joking he said, “If I should live till I was a hundred, then maybe that signed card would be worth as much as a new breezier.”

     Don:  “John, do you want to rest now?”

     John:  “No, I feel pretty good today, it’s like I have gotten a second wind.”

1921, Uncle Lucas, Craziness and the New Baby

     My Uncle was one crazy SOB, but in a nice way.

     Uncle Lucas made going to work a real pleasure.

     One day, starting at nine in the morning, he hired a marching band to go to each of his nine stores and play.  Crazy, yes, but smart business too, my uncle made a lot of money that day.

     Another time he had a Wild West show, with its cowboys and Indians riding their horses down main street Charleston, shooting, whooping and yelling, it was the old west.      Again, he made a lot of money.  

     Then there was the time Uncle Lucas hired elephants from the circus, which was in Bluffton for a show. 

     One damn funny memory, the elephants were spectacular, they did their routine, but elephants are animals and animals do not use a bathroom, they go where they want, which the elephants did, up and down Main Street.  

     Now even though the circus people would clean it up, Uncle Lucas told them to stop, that he would be responsible.

     Like I said, Uncle Lucas was a betting man, anything, anytime, anywhere, so Uncle Lucas bet some of the men in town that if they drew a higher card from a deck than he, that Uncle Lucas would clean up all of the elephant shit.

With about a dozen elephants, there was a lot of shit.  Out of eight bets, he never lost one bet.

     About once a month, Uncle Lucas would have something new to show Charleston.  There were clowns, the Ziegfeld Follies, pirates, racing motorcycles and cars, and a high wire act across Main Street.  It became known as Uncle Lucas’ day.

     Those crazy antics drew the customers in, and the cash registers sang.

     Vera and I had our first child, Jonathan, in August of 1921.

     Don:  “I thought you did not like the name Jonathan?”

     John:  “I don’t, but are you going to tell your wife, the newborn’s Momma, that she picked a terrible name, a name I don’t like and to choose another?

     Don:  “I see.”

     John:  “So I would call him John but never while Vera was present.

     Funny, Vera and I, we never used protection, never understood why we did not have more children, guess it was God’s will.

     Being a father, you know when the baby comes, then that is what your life becomes, baby this and baby that, it’s all about the baby, which it should be, damn well should be.

     Baby Jonathan, he was a real character.

He was always getting into something; from hiding on Vera and I where we could not find him for a day, to eating a frog.  One time, why he was only ten, he went over to the Thompson’s farm and let all of Mr. Thompson’s cows out, says he wanted to save them.  Yup, Jonathan was always getting into something.

     I love you Jonathan.   

     No parent should ever have to go through the loss of a child.

     Damn, for some reason I’m tired, want to nap.”

1924, Going Back to Bluffton, the Grim Reaper Stalks My Family

     John:  “Damn, if it’s not that writer guy.  Hey everyone, here is a writer who is as good a story teller as Mark Twain.

     Don:  “I don’t think so, John.”

     John:  “Son, you lack confidence.  The only difference between you and Twain is the fact he became well known.  Why you are just as good a story teller as Twain.”

     Don:  “How can you say that if you have never read any of my books?”

     John:  “But I have, so far I have read two of them.

     When you first came to visit me, I did a little research on you, wanted to know who I was dealing with.  I know the books you have written.

     Don, do you know the difference between a homeless man and a super rich man?”

     Don:  “Tell me John?”

     John:  “There is really a very small difference.  The rich man had a lucky break in life, and took it and ran with it, where the homeless man did not have a lucky break, or if he did, never ran with it.  To me it all comes down to luck.

     Okay, enough philosophizing for the day, where were we?”

     Don:  “1921, Vera had given birth to Jonathan.”

     John:  “Yes, my precious son.

     Not much happened between 1921 and 1924, not till 1924.

     I always wanted to go back to Bluffton, you know, to show Vera off, and baby Jonathan, but every time I would call my father to see about coming back home he would always say that he had something going on, which I knew was not true.  My father was still affected by James’ death, and our last talk, face to face, about white and black.

     Now Momma, and my brothers and sisters, did come and visit us from time to time but not daddy.

     Even my brother, Tully, came for a visit, when he was in the Port of Charleston, gave Jonathan a little sailor suit.

     I returned to Bluffton in May 1924, received a phone call from Momma, I remember it like she just called.

     I did not have a phone, but Uncle Lucas did, and when Momma called, he sent a messenger and woke up the whole family; it was two in the morning.  The messenger told me I needed to go to my uncle’s house right away.  When I asked the messenger what this was all about, he replied he had no idea but knew it was important.

     My thinking was that my uncle was sick or worse.  So I was surprised to see it was Uncle Lucas who greeted us at the door.

     Hit me like a ton of bricks, when Uncle Lucas told me to call my mother right away. Then he placed his hand on my shoulder and told me, he would help us in our time of need.

     Damn, I knew, it was daddy.

     The hardest part was, I never got to say goodbye to him, but how many of us never get to say goodbye to a loved one who passes.       

My father and I, and his brother, Uncle Lucas, were finally together again.

     Uncle Lucas paid for everything, gave my father a funeral fit for a king, the best coffin, and plenty of real nice flower arrangements.

Then he told us he would always be there for us.

     Uncle Lucas and Aunt Terry were not able to have children so to Uncle Lucas it felt we were his children.

     Uncle Lucas always made sure we were okay, even throwing business our way.

     Uncle Lucas was more like a second father to us.

     I returned to Bluffton where I stayed for the next forty years.

     I had to run the business because my brother Owen was now almost totally blind and Tully was a merchant marine and traveled all over the world.”

     Don:  “With you returning to Bluffton, weren’t you afraid about the Klan and having killed Roy Howard?”

     John:  “No, the Klan thought that Summer’s father or older brother had killed Roy.

There were only three people who knew, and two went to their graves with my secret.

     I remember what happened on the eve of Halloween of 1924.  I was awakened by Mr. Schmit, himself, standing over my bed just looking at me with his eyes, which seemed to be able to look right into your soul.  I swear it was him, he looked at me, smiled, and somehow I knew what he was thinking.  Mr. Schmit wanted me to cut down that damn death tree because, for some reason, he, his son, and Summer could not pass over till that tree was gone.

     I swear as there is a God, the night I cut that damn tree down, Summer came to me smiling; she touched me on my cheek, blew a kiss, and that was the last time I ever saw my beautiful butterfly.

     1924, that grim reaper was stalking my family.  First daddy, then in November, my sister, Louse Ida, found out that her husband, William, that was his name, William, had cheated on her, that SOB.

     Louse was a woman of little words.  We all wondered why she wanted me to drive her to Hardeville right away.

     Louse told me it was to purchase William a special birthday gift, but the person selling it said he would only hold it for a week.

     I’m thinking, but William’s birthday isn’t for another five months so all the way to Hardeville I’m questioning Louse, I felt something was not right, because she kept changing her story.  So there I sat, in the store’s truck, while Louise went inside and purchased William’s gift.  For William it was a fitting gift.”

     Don:  “Okay, what was it?”

     John:  “That gift, in which Louse purchased for William, was a German 1917 Luger M 17, it held thirty rounds.  It was not for William, so to speak; that’s right, it was to use on William.

     That night, which was a Thursday, Louise followed William, who said he was going to play poker.

     That was his cover to be able to buy things for his mistress.  He would tell Louise he lost another round of poker.

     The mistress was a single gal, can’t think what her name was, who worked at the Bluffton City Library.

     At first, Louse was thinking that maybe she is just letting her imagination run wild, but when everyone left and the lights went out, Louse went in.

     William and that librarian were humping like two rabbits back in the history section.

Louise did not say a word; she unloaded twenty nine shots into William and that librarian then saved that last bullet for herself.

     Louse did leave a note; she wrote that she needed to do this, and since she did not want to face jail or the executioner’s rope, she was taking the cowards’ way out.   

     Damn reaper, damn reaper.”

     Don:  “John, do you want to rest now?”

     John:  “You are starting to know me, Don.”

    

1925-1927, Just the Usual Crap

     Nothing really stands out in my mind between 25 and 27.  It was just the same old crap, every day, Monday through Saturday.  I would go and open the store at about seven and, at noon, Vera would bring Owen and me lunch.

     It was, for the most part, one of the most boring parts of my life.  Every day the same crap; day in and day out.

     I would close the store at five, and on my way home, I would drop Owen off at his home.   

     Sundays it was church then we would all gather at Momma’s house to eat our family Sunday supper.  Those are the times that are so precious to me.

     Oh damn, almost forgot the time, it was May 1^st, we were robbed.  That SOB bastard scared the shit out of me; I thought Owen and I were going to be killed.  That bastard came driving up to the front of the store real fast.  I could tell he was in a real hurry, real nervous, and I had never seen him before, he was not from Bluffton.

     I was hoping the sheriff, or one of his deputies, would stop by.

     He looked around, made sure we were the only ones in the store then came up to the register, pulled out the biggest gun I had ever seen, it really wasn’t that big, it just looked that way because it was pointed at me.  He told me to empty the register and place it in a sack, there was less than twenty dollars.

     Naturally, Owen could hear real good and was asking a lot of questions.  I just kept telling Owen to stay calm, we’ll be okay.  Then Owen said something that made me think; well, it’s been a nice life.  He told that SOB that if he was not blind he would kick his ass right out the fucking door.  To which the SOB replied, “I’ll bet you would.”  Then he told Owen if he does something stupid that he was going to shoot me, which, thankfully, calmed Owen down.

     Well, he tied us up and taped our mouths.  At that point in time, I thought maybe he was going to let us live, but I changed my mind; as he was leaving, he stopped at the front door, turned to me and stood there, for what seemed to be an eternity, then smiled and said, “You boys have a nice day, and remember, you have just been robbed by Charles Arthur, ‘Pretty Boy,’ Floyd.”

     I closed my eyes, thinking this is it, but I heard the car start and speed away.

     Owen and I sat there for about ten minutes before we freed ourselves.

     Later that year, they arrested that SOB for a payroll job in St Louis.

     After this, I always had a double barrel shot gun under the counter, which was both a good and bad thing.

     About a week later, a customer Uncle Lucas sent my way, and who I did not know, and I thought was going to rob us, approached us.  So when that poor SOB approached the counter, I was ready with both barrels.  He stuttered, pissed his pants, asked if he could leave, drove his car away, and we never saw him again.       From then on, Uncle Lucas called me to let me know who was coming into the store.”

     Don:  “Pretty Boy Floyd was scary?”    

     John:  “Damn straight.

     Don, when you come tomorrow, bring a pizza and my Yuengling beer.”

     Don:  “Okay John, you rest now.”

     John:  “Not done for the day.  I want to tell you about 1928, 1929, and Mr. Peter O’Mally.”

     Don:  “Okay John, you’ve got it.”

1928 - 1929, Mr. Peter O’Mally and the Crash

     Peter O’Mally, I liked that fellow, he was a real gentleman, and treated my sister, Marybeth, like she was a queen.  He sure told some funny stories, but I never heard him cuss.

     O’Mally was an older gentleman; I think he was forty years old.  O’Mally came to Bluffton right from Ireland. 

     Peter was a banker, a money fellow; he was a very rich man.  He came to Bluffton to open another bank.  I think he owned five banks.

     He sure had a nice car; it was a 1928 Bugatti T44, damn big car, he even had a driver; a chauffeur, and had a damn telephone in his car.   

     O’Mally would purchase everything and anything new which came onto the market.  He even purchased a brand new Philco radio, for Momma on Christmas, the most expensive one; it was in a very large wooden cabinet.    Damn, the whole family became radio junkies.  NBC had just begun to broadcast coast to coast.  The Voice of Firestone; that was the name of one of the first radio programs.

     When O’Mally met my sister, she was already thirty and still not married.”

     Don:  “For back then, that was pretty old.  So I take it your sister was plain?”

     John:  “Ugly?  No, Marybeth was one beautiful woman.

     Marybeth had plenty of chances and choices, but Marybeth was really particular.  The man Marybeth was going to marry had to be just right.  Marybeth had a hell of a lot of suitors, from Florida to New York City. 

     Anyway, this O’Mally fellow came to Bluffton to open another bank.

     O’Mally and Marybeth hit it off; it was like they had always been meant for each other.  It was real love, they made me think of Summer and I.

     Then Marybeth found out that O’Mally had been married, not once but twice, it almost broke them up.  Owen said we should shoot him, and I wanted to kick his ass, but don’t think I could have, O’Mally kept himself in shape by boxing at Bluffton’s Gym.  Damn good boxer, his nickname was the Irish Pounder.  We found out O’Mally’s first wife had died in childbirth, lost a son too, and his second wife loved one of the tellers more than O’Mally.”

     Don:  “So Marybeth married O’Mally?”

     John:  “No, Marybeth and O’Mally spent 1928, and almost all of 1929, in love.  The wedding was planned and set for the spring of 1930; it was going to be held in Savannah. Everyone who was anyone was going to be there.  The governors of South Carolina and Georgia, Uncle Lucas; you know, the rich and powerful, there was even talk of President Herbert Hoover being there.  The depression changed all that.  Seems O’Mally loved his money more than my sister, and when that damn stock market crashed on October 1929, O’Mally lost his massive fortune; he was a lost soul.  The last time I saw O’Mally he was different, withdrawn, real quiet.  O’Mally was one of the lost souls that depression had made, so he took a gun and blew his brains out.

     Poor, poor Marybeth; after that, she became withdrawn, just like my father became after receiving the news about James Lee Jr.

Marybeth was never the same.  She went from playful, joke playing, to depressed and very serious.  I was surprised she lived as long as she did.

     Yup, October 1929 was the end of a lot of happiness for a hell of a lot of people; the great depression, and the end of prosperity for Bluffton and my family.

     I think the depression was another time America lost its innocence.  So many times in the last one hundred years that America has lost its innocence.  WWI, that damn depression,

WW2, then Kennedy’s assassination, that fucking Vietnam War, then you have that Nixon cluster fuck, then all that Bush bullshit, and the final one was this last crash and depression.  Oh, the government and those so called experts don’t call it a depression, but it is.  You can call a duck a dog, monkey, or whatever you want, but if it quacks, waddles, has web feet and feathers, sorry, but it is still a fucking duck.

     The only nice part that came out of that damn depression was the fact that people of Bluffton banded together to help each other, no one went hungry or homeless.  Sheriff Mc Dill would not serve the papers for anyone’s home or farm to be foreclosed on.  The banks of Bluffton worked out deals with those suffering.  Why hell, people gave their savings to help out others, it was, everyone has to work together.

     Okay, now I want to rest, but don’t forget my pizza or Yuengling beer tomorrow.”

     Don:  “You’ve got it John.  I’ll be here by eleven.” 

1931 – 1932, Birth, Death, and I’m a Bootlegger 

     John:  “Damn, right on time, are you ever late?”

     Don:  “I try not to be.

     Brought the Pizza and your Yuengling.”

     John:  “Damn, why the hell did you bring a case?  I could be dead before I finish all that beer.”

     Don:  “That is why I brought a case.  I figure you won’t die if you know there is Yuengling here.”

     John:  “Damn, for being so serious most of the time, you spring some funny remarks out of the blue.

     Yuengling was the first beer that passed my lips and I love cheese pizza.  Pizza and beer; now this is a feast that is fit for a king, or a condemned man.  I damn sure hope that pizza and beer will be my last meal.

     Let’s see, I was up to 1931, right?”

     Don:  “Yup, you start and I’ll put this beer in the refrigerator.”

     John:  “1931, the birth of my second son, James.  Vera and I thought there were to be no more babies, so it came as quite a surprise when Vera found out she was with child.  I don’t think Jonathan, at first, was too thrilled, but after we brought James home, Jonathan was James protector and the best brother a brother would ever want.

     Ten years; no children, you think you have everything figured out then God wants to show you, you don’t.  

     We lost the store in May of that year.  I knew it was coming.  There was no business, I mean, if we made ten dollars in a week that was a great week.  Everyone who had money was too scared to spend it.

     I spoke to Owen about giving up the store, his reply was he was ready to give it up three months ago, but wanted me to be ready.

     The bank was willing to work out a deal but I knew it would be years before I could make it back to profitability.  I just did not want that millstone around my neck so I gave the banker, Mr. Caldwell, the keys back, and I could tell by his face he did not want the store.  Mr. Caldwell tried to make a deal for the loan but I was really tired of the hardware business.  If it were not for Momma, I would have never run that damn store, no, that was my father’s dream, not mine.

     It took Mr. Caldwell nine years to sell the store.  The new owner was Conoco Oil Company, so right in front of our house was a filling station, but Conoco treated us fair, they gave us petrol at cost.

     Yup, things come and go.

      In 1973, the oil embargo came and out went the filling station.  It sat abandoned till that man from Ohio bought it, with our family home.

     Yup, he really did get all this land for a song.

     Opened a home for the elderly, actually, that place was a hell hole for old folks.

     My mother was really damn mad at me for giving up the store, you know, daddy’s dream. She did not make up with me till three days before she died.  

     Right after I turned over the keys to the store, Momma got real sick, bed ridden, cancer got her.  I think it was all the stress.  Momma finally made up with me on June 29^th.  Told me to be a good son and father, that was now my duty to take care of the family, she slipped into a coma and passed on July 2^nd.  James was born on June 30^th.  

     Damn confusing, joy and sadness all at the same time.  What is it with Holidays and my family dying?

     I had to take care of my family, my brother and his family.  To make ends meet, we all moved into my parents’ house, which had five bedrooms.  My sister, Marybeth, moved in to help, and she was one of the lucky ones.     Marybeth worked for Judge Weller, I think he liked Marybeth; he was married, but was still hoping to, at least, have sex with her.

     After a while, it was sort of a joke, the Judge would try to hug her and she would reply,          “Judge, this bank is also closed, horny old bastard.”

     The one person I knew I could turn to was my uncle Lucas.  He didn’t have any openings in his hardware stores, but he did have a job for me.”

     Don:  “What did he have you do?”

     John:  “It was prohibition so I became a bootlegger.  Damn dangerous but I made about one hundred dollars a week.  Do you know how much money that was during the depression?”

     Don:  “No, how much?”

     John:  “A big shit load.  I never told my family, they all thought I was Uncle Lucas’ assistant and my uncle covered for me.

     Don:  “What was it like, bootlegging?”

     John:  “Would travel, taking whiskey from Charleston to Savannah, Atlanta, and every place where they were willing to pay a lot of money for some great whiskey. 

     I worked with a man named Fred Leader, that wasn’t his real name; some say he was one of the hit men for the St Valentine’s Day Massacre.  From what I heard, as a gesture of thanks to Al Capone, my uncle hired Fred.

     In my travels, I ran into my brother James’ lover, that singer Rosy, who was performing at a speakeasy to which we were delivering booze.  I told her of James fate, but she did not seem too concerned, then she tried to put the moves on me, damn whore.  Rosy was old, she must have been about fifty, hard looking, like she had been done by everyone in North and South Carolina. I wanted to be a gentleman and I said I don’t do married women, and Rosy said she was no longer married as a former lover had shot and killed her husband, and good riddance to him. At this point, I am thinking; run, but then Fred stepped in and started to flirt with Rosy and, before you know it, they are going upstairs to go into a fuck room.  That Fred would fuck a snake if he could, horny bastard.

     He was chased by the police, revenuers, and criminals.  Fred was a smart criminal; he would only try to shoot out the tires of the police or revenuers, figured if they did catch him they could only give him time for bootlegging and damaging federal property.  Now as far as other criminals, who were trying to get the booze or the loot we had collected, Fred always aimed for the head.

     This one speakeasy, which was out in no man’s land, down a dirt road, south of Savannah; the owner got this plan to have his boys rob us, after we had collected his money. About a mile from the speakeasy, we came up to a large fallen tree blocking the road, and before I knew it Fred had jumped out, and when I came up to the fallen tree, three masked men came up to the car with guns pointed and wanted the money we had just collected.  It was dark so I guess they did not realize Fred was missing, and as I am handing the bag of money over, three bursts of machine gun fire sounded.  All three masked men lay dead then Fred told me to take a chain and clear the road, and said he would be right back.  About ten minutes later, I heard another burst of machine gun fire.  Fred returned and told me to drive home.

     At this point, I am really quiet, and Fred knows this situation has bothered me.  Fred says he knows it was wrong but he was not taking any chances on me getting killed, as my uncle would never forgive him, which would mean Mr. Capone would not forgive him, which would be dangerous to his health.  

     Fred suggested I may want to consider another line of work, maybe even owning a hardware store like my Uncle Lucas, at which time I break out laughing till I tell Fred I’m  stopping the car cause, if not, I’ll piss my pants. After I explain the whole hardware store thing to Fred, he said that is one thing he will never do, work in or own a hardware store.

     I later found out, because Fred would write me; that SOB gathered enough money and opened a hardware store, in the desert of Nevada, a place called Las Vegas.  Fred did not do well in the hardware store business, but made a shit load of money when he sold the hardware store to a guy named Meyer Lansky, who opened the Flamingo Hotel and Casino.

     Fred always wanted me and the family to come visit him in Las Vegas.  I had thought of doing it, but I don’t think that would have been a very good family vacation because Fred took the money he made from the sale of the hardware store and bought some land outside of Vegas and opened a brothel.  When I left Bluffton in 1964, I did stop at his brothel, because I had not heard from Fred in about two years.  Come to find out, he got the sickness, the syphilis; he went blind and died in 1963.

Because I was Fred’s friend, I could have had all the free fucks I wanted, but knowing how Fred died, I turned them down.  I wonder if they would still honor that now.

     Fred said he understood if I no longer wanted to do bootlegging.  Fred said if I ever needed him, just call.

     Fred gave me five hundred dollars; that was the end of my bootlegging days, and I think that’s all for today, Don.”

     Don:  “Some life John, some life.”

                   

1933, From Bootlegger to Mom 

     Don:  “Good morning John, how do you feel today?”

     John:  “With my hands, give me a big bosom woman any day.

     Now where in the hell was I?”

     Don:  “You had just finished your bootlegging days.”

     John:  “Yeah, went from a bootlegging criminal to being a stay at home dad.

     That time in my life was really tough.  I was the man, I was supposed to be the bread winner; could not even provide for my family, it almost broke my marriage in two.  I even had thoughts of taking the truck and driving it off a bridge, damn frustrating time in my life.

     We made that five hundred, and the other money I made, last for some time.

     Uncle Lucas came through again.  He made a phone call to a good friend of his, Mr. Jones, who lived in an old style southern plantation.  As a favor to Uncle Lucas, he was willing to hire Vera and my sister in law, Selma, but that old horny bastard had another reason why he wanted to hire them; he was looking for a fuck, horny old SOB.

     On their first day of working for Mr. Jones, he got Selma in a room alone and tried to fuck her, but he was pretty old and she could out run him.  Then he got Vera alone and tried to fuck her but, once again, Vera out ran him.

     When I picked the ladies up at Mr. Jones’ plantation, they did not want to go back, and told me what happen.  At first, I wanted to turn right around and kick that old bastard’s ass, but we needed the income, and on the drive home, I thought there might be another way, and asked Vera and Selma if they were willing to continue. They only agreed if my plan worked, so on the way home we stopped at Mr. Gates’ drug store.

     When we arrived home, we told Owen what had happen, Owen wanted to kill that horny SOB or at least shoot off his pecker.  Owen told me to take him to Mr. Jones, and when Mr. Jones was standing right in front of him, to let Owen know as he would pull the trigger to first shoot his pecker off then kill that SOB, but I told Owen of our plan so we all agreed we would try this first, then if it did not work, the girls could quit.

     I dropped the girls off at Mr. Jones’ plantation the next day and told them I would be waiting just down the road, and if our plan did not work, to come outside and I would come back and take them home.  I waited for about an hour, when Vera came out and waved to me, my thought was; damn, our plan did not work, shit, what now?

     I drove up to the front and Vera jumped in, but she did not want to go home, and said the plan was working.”

     Don:  “What was your plan?”

     John:  “After I told Mr. Gates what happened, he mixed a special brew of sleeping medicine, and some kind of other stuff, which Selma or Vera would place into his morning coffee.  This would place Mr. Jones into a light sleep for about four hours.  Let’s say he went from a raging bull to a contained cow; sure fixed that old horny bastard.

     During the day, I was the mom at home. Damn, did I learn things; how to cook, clean, and take care of six kids, four of Owen’s and two of mine.

     After a while, I had the kids help.  You either helped or you could stand in a corner, or on Sunday, no pie or cake or pudding, which was our once a week treat.

     W…”

     Don:  “John? John?”

     John collapsed.  After the nurse and doctor examined John, it was decided that John needs rest.  The doctor informed me that bringing back memories might be placing stress upon John.  So I have decided the book will not be finished.

     A great life story but not worth it if it means John will collapse.

     After two days, I decided to go and see how John is doing and to let him know that our project is finished and that I have enough material for a book.

     Don:  “Hi John, how are you today?”

     John:  “Where the hell were you yesterday?”

     Don:  “I wanted you to rest.”

     John:  “Rest?  We have a book to finish.”

     Don:  “John, I have enough material for a book.”

     John:  “Bullshit, we are not done and I would never give you permission to publish that book. No, we finish what we started.”

     Don:  “John, the doctor said all of these past memories may be placing stress upon you.”

     John:  “Bullshit, I’m dying.  Don’t want to die now till this fucking book is done.

     Why, if you won’t do it, I’ll get one of those recorders and do it myself.  We finish it.  You are either with me or step aside son.

     Don:  “You would do that, wouldn’t you?”

     John:  “Damn straight, we go as far as possible, at least I’ll die happy, and knowing I died telling my life story.

     Okay brownnoser, talk to the nurse.”

     After speaking with the nurse, she refers me to Judy.

     Judy says that I should know John by now and if I don’t do it, John will only do it himself. 

     So I decided to do it, knowing Judy is right. If I don’t do it, John will only do it himself.

     Don:  “Okay John, continue to tell your story.”

     John:  “About you being a brownnoser?  I really did not mean it but just to let you know, I would have gotten one of those recorders and went till I died then turn over all the tapes and my permission to publish my life story to you.

     Since you have decided to go as far as we can with this book, if anything happens along the way, in my top drawer is my written permission, to you, to publish my life story.

     Now where were we?

     Don:  “You were a stay at home dad.”

     John:  “Yes, right after that Mr. Jones shit.

     The woman, all three were the bread winners, that was the good part, but for Owen and I, it made us feel like our nut sacks had been cut off.  Why hell, I guess you could say we were just like that old bastard, Mr. Jones.

     I know, a lot of women today are the bread winners or make more than their husbands, but I’m still not convinced, if that is a good thing or not.

     Monetarily we were in good shape.  We were not poor and had it a lot better than most people.  

     Prohibition ended that year, I guess Fred moved on.

     My uncle’s wife, Tracy, died that same year. He had no other family; they did not have any children.

     Uncle Lucas felt we were his children, we were his family.

     He would come down on holidays and, once a month, always brought a car load of stuff.

     Came for Christmas, on Christmas Eve; brought not one turkey but two giant turkeys and plenty of gifts for everyone.

     To the children, Uncle Lucas was Santa.”

     Don:  “John, I did not think we would be doing this today.  I have to meet a publisher today.”

     John:  “About this book?”

     Don:  “Yup.”

     John:  “Good, remember what I told you about not taking any crap from anybody.”

     Don:  “I never take crap from publishers.

     What time tomorrow?”

     John:  “About ten.”

1934, Tully, you Sly SOB

     John:  “Now we come to the part about Tully, that sly SOB. 

     Tully, Tully, he was lost at sea in 1934, February.  It was like my whole family was evaporating before my eyes.  Both parents and half of my siblings were gone.

     Tully, Tully, found out his dark secret.

     About July, this English woman, right from England, came knocking on the door, with two small children; a boy and a girl in tow.

     Her name was Edna, claiming to be Tully’s wife; she had a marriage certificate, and a bunch of letters from Tully to her.

     She told us the reason why she was here was because she had just found out Tully had family. He told her he was an orphan and had no family.

Edna was puzzled why Tully would tell her that.

     When she went to collect his insurance, they told her there would be a ninety day hold to make sure hers was the only claim.  It was not, and they found out Tully had family in Bluffton, South Carolina, and wanted to know why we placed a claim for the insurance.  We didn’t, and told her we did not even know Tully was married.

     There we all sat in the parlor, just starring at each other, dumb founded.

     I suggested I should write a letter to the Sea Men’s Insurance Company stating we make no claims to any insurance money, and that it should go directly to Tully’s wife.

     We were all surprised and disappointed, that Tully never told us of his bride and children, but if you knew Tully, then I guess you would just say, well that’s Tully.   

     About two weeks later, we did receive a letter from Edna stating that after visiting the insurance company in Boston, and handing my letter over to them, she was told Tully’s insurance money was still on hold.  They had to investigate another claim for Tully’s insurance, but would not tell Edna what they were investigating so Edna returned to England,    

     Damn, we lost contact with Edna right around September, 1940.  Damn Germans were bombing England then. 

     Time after time we tried to contact Edna but never did receive a response.  Even in my later years, I tried to track down Tully’s kids; my nephews and nieces but had no luck.

     Then in November that year, we received another knock on our door, another visitor.

     This time it was a Spanish lady from Spain, also with a young girl and boy in tow, another nephew and niece.

     Her name was Abella, she had the same story as Edna; a marriage certificate, and letters.

     So, what to do?”

     Don:  “So what did you do?”

     John:  “I needed time so we had Abella stay the night so I could think.

     Finally I said fuck it, I’ll tell the truth, and that is what I did, this was not my problem, it was Tully’s cluster fuck.

     I told her about Edna and her two kids.”

     Don:  “What did she do?”

     John:  “Abella was speaking a mile a minute in Spanish.  I could make out Tully’s name and more Spanish so I guess she was cussing Tully out.  Then she started to cry and said more things in Spanish.

     Damn awkward, she stayed the night and left in the morning, and we never heard from Abella again, I guess it was her way of getting back at Tully.

      I often think of my nieces and nephews, you know, what happen to them?  Where are they? How are they doing?

      I figure the boys must be around seventy years old now and the nieces must be in their later sixties.  Terrible feeling knowing you have family out there and not knowing how or where they are.”

     Don:  “Did you find out how the insurance company made a decision?”

     John:  “Yup, I guess the only legal way you could.  Split it three ways.”

     Don:  “Three ways?”

     John:  “Yup, three ways; a third to Edna, a third to Abella, and to Tully’s wife in Norfolk, a third.

     Damn, that SOB had not one, not two, but three wives.  It was like that TV show, ‘Bigger Love’ or something like that.”

     Don:  “Tell me about the third wife?”

     John:  “Claire, what a nice person, sweetest person you have ever met.  Claire came for several visits; she liked Bluffton, almost moved here.

     Didn’t have no children.  Tully and her were married in 1933, she never did remarry.

     Claire wrote us a letter first stating she had found out that Tully had family and wanted to know if she could visit.

     We were all thinking this could be real awkward but we figured, well, at least she wrote first, and it was Tully, not us, who had hood winked her.

     Well, after the first five minutes of meeting Claire, we were all relaxed.

     Claire said that even though she was heartbroken, she had forgiven Tully, said she’s still a relative, even if it’s an in-law.

     Damn nice person, quiet, soft spoken; a great cook and great with kids.

     Yup, Claire was a good aunt to the kids, always sent the kids birthday cards and Christmas cards, always had a dollar inside.”

     Don:  “What happened to Claire?”