Uncle Albert, the Newspaper Hoarder

The Newspaper Hoarder

Uncle Albert read the newspaper every day. The Clarion Ledger came to his mailbox one day late. On warm afternoons he sat on his front porch. When the weather was cool, he built a fire and sat by it to read.

He was a newspaper hoarder. In the front room, no furniture took up space. Instead, stacks of newspapers neatly arranged by dates clockwise lined the walls. In the middle of the room, newer copies occupied the space. He left aisles between the stacks so he could bend over and select papers from his archives when he wanted to refer to some article.

When my brother John Edwin became involved in Mississippi politics, the Clarion Ledger monitored his activity. (Albert and most of the people we knew in Taylorsville called him Edwin, but the Marine Corps and almost everyone he met after returning to civilian life called him John.)

Reading about Edwin’s activities, Albert sometimes disapproved of what was going on.

Once Uncle Albert, dressed in his best straw hat, clean overalls, and a blue chambray shirt, rode to Jackson on the Trailways bus and went to his nephew John Edwin’s law office to offer counsel to the young lawyer.

Even though Albert seldom left his farm, he was capable of leaving whenever he felt the need.

Over the years my brother changed. He was upset because his uncle showed up dressed as a farmer. A few years later John would have been amused.

The newspaper room changed in one way. As time passed, the piles grew higher. And then Albert died of cancer.

~~~

What do you have in your closet? Garage? Bookshelf? I’m asking myself the same questions.

My First Fish

My First Fish

Robert seldom took time away from farming chores to go to the creek. After he acquired two ponds on his farm, he still didn’t have time to fish. It is ironic that Tom and I have memories of fishing with him.

The Sand Banks of Cohay Creek.
Photograph by David Dees

“Can we do it now?” I shook the shoulders of the two sleeping bodies. 

           “Go back to bed, sweetheart.”  Mama read the alarm clock. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

          We went on a camping trip when I was a tiny girl, no more than four. I can remember myself with two ponytails, rosy cheeks, and freckles. This was the only time my father went camping during my childhood. 

          After carefully rigging our equipment–poles, lines, sinkers, hooks, and corks–we joined the group. Several friends, neighbors, and uncles loaded their families into trucks.  Everyone took cane poles, earthworms, wieners, Nehis®, sardines, cold fried chicken, blankets, and pillows down along the gentle rolling hills of the Powells’ place. We were invited to camp out on the sandy banks of the curved creek that flowed through Old Man Powell’s land before emptying into Cohay Creek.

They set up camp in a clearing where the sandy banks dropped low and the water ran gently. After a half day of delight, I turned into a restless, sunburned, chigger-bitten whiner. My cousins and I walked from one group of fisher-persons to another.

“Come here, Littlun’.” Pa couldn’t suppress his twisted grin.  “I’ll help you catch your first fish.”
Even though I could feel the pole moving and see the line going all over the little pool of water, I played along with him because I wanted to believe him.

“Be careful, Littlun’.” My father placed his hands firmly on the cane pole.  “Look at that bobber. It went all the way under. Now come on and pull your fish out. Pull hard! No, not too hard. Gentle.”
It was the most beautiful fish in the world–a huge bream with red-orange sides. 

Pa strung him onto a forked stick for her.

“Stay away from people who are being quiet and still, Baby. Don’t upset any serious fishermen. The fish can tell when you’re walking on the bank,” Mama said.

Careful not to go too close to the grouches the rest of the day, I carried my fish around and showed him to the people who were laughing and talking. Periodically I dipped him into the water to get a drink, but eventually he became stiff. I did not comprehend or accept the fact that my fish was dead.

That night Mama put my older sister Ruth and me, along with two of our cousins, to bed in a pickup truck with sides on it. She strolled away holding hands with Pa to a secluded spot where he had parked. Mama would sleep with him after dancing horizontally in the back of their flat-bedded 1937 Chevrolet truck.

The world was a wonderful place. As I lay in the truck bed and waited to go to the land of Nod, I found three things amazing:

(1)   The scratchy brown-striped blanket under us that my Pa’s mother, who claimed Native American ancestry, made using a spinning wheel, loom, and black walnut-shell dye to fashion the fleece she sheared from her own sheep into wool

(2)   The endless stars telling secret stories from above as they all talked at once

(3)    And most of all my magnificent fish, the biggest bream anyone had ever caught, lying on the running board of the pickup truck.

The next morning the fish was gone. 

Pa said, “The bream started missing his mommy during the night.  I took him back to her.”

Travelers in Painted Wagons on Cohay Creek

Tom’s Fourth of July Recollection

Cohay Creek near Hot Coffee, Covington County, Mississippi, photographed by David Dees

Each year when the Fourth comes around it reminds me of one of my fondest teenage memories, which is:

Our pappy bought his '37 Chevrolet truck from Magnus Jones from Mize, Mississippi, when it was too worn out for Magnus to use it as a log truck anymore, but it would still run, barely.                

On the Fourth Pappy would load all his family, a few farm hands, and a few relatives on his truck and carry us all to the Will Rogers Bridge across Cohay Creek for a day of fishing and a picnic.  We all had fun fighting the mosquitoes and moccasins even if we did not catch many fish.

I always remember the smile on Pappy's face when he was very proud of himself for his accomplishments at entertaining us all in such a grand fashion.

My brother Tom wrote this memory about our dad, Robert. The community of Hot Coffee is located near the Will Rogers Bridge over Cohay Creek. 

Travelers in Painted Wagons on Cohay Creek

The Reason Why Uncle Dan Quit Going to Church

Uncle Dan, had a personality of many facets. Although Dan sometimes had a harsh temperament, he had a charming side when visitors sat with him in his living room or on his front porch. Although he could behave in a peculiar fashion he could react normally when friends and family took the time to talk with him.

I asked Mother why he quit going to church. She explained to me that he had some embarrassments.

When he was a young man, he had a tender soul. He taught the adult Sunday school class at Fellowship Baptist Church. One Sunday he was standing before the class, which was so large that it met in the sanctuary. People enjoyed Dan’s teaching.

The problem was that his wife Etta, who was eccentric also, had stored her hair net pressed between two tissue-thin leaves of his Bible. Just as he was reaching the climax of his lesson, he turned to a favorite scripture passage and his fingers became tangled in the hair net.

Lifting it high and showing it to the group, he asked, “Does anybody know what thoos is?” The class had a good laugh, but he lost interest in teaching Sunday school and in attending church. As the years passed his heart hardened.

Uncle Albert: Memories Are Fireproof

Memories Are Fireproof

This morning before my John woke up, I walked to the closest fast food restaurant and purchased two egg and English muffin sandwiches. On the way home, I tried to sort through the notes to single out the individual birds calling to their mates.

It must have been a morning like this when Uncle Albert came for a visit about five years before I was born. On a bluebird spring day two Saturdays before Mother’s Day, Albert missed his mom and dad.

He decided to go visiting. He seldom visited Robert (my father) and Myrtle (my mother) because most Saturdays they passed his house on the way to and from town. They’d always pull into his yard and park. He’d say, “Get out and come in.”

Robert and Myrtle and the youngun’s—John Edwin, Thomas, and Ruth—hopped out and found seats on the side of the porch. He wanted to go to their house though for a change.

Albert got up early, filled the kettle, and built a fire in the stove. After milking the cow, feeding the chickens, and checking on his mules, he went inside and fixed his breakfast. Every morning he ate two hard fried eggs and some thick slices of bacon with fresh biscuits. He was a good cook, that is, he was good at preparing the same meals over and again. Heaven knows, he had practice.

“I guess I better clean myself up.”

Myrtle was a neat, clean woman. Every time he saw her, she had on clean clothes and her hair was fixed. She kept Edwin, Ruth, and Tom in clean clothes and it was clear to be seen she made them wash their faces. She even made Robert clean up before they went to town on Saturday. Even though she was almost ten years younger than Robert, she made him a good wife.

From what Albert could surmise, she was helping his baby brother take good care of the old homeplace. All the brothers and sisters had agreed to let Robert buy out Ma and Pa. Albert was next to the oldest and batching. Robert was next to the youngest child and having a herd of children.

On the back porch, Albert stripped off his shirt, stropped his razor, and shaved while more water heated on the stove. Then he poured water into the washtub. stripped off all his clothes and took a bath. Dressed in a fresh blue shirt, overalls, and high-top shoes, he combed what hair he had. He plopped his straw hat on top of his head. Toting his stick, he took off walking.

It was a mile and a quarter, up hill most of the way, to Robert’s house. Some of Albert’s farm was Leaf River bottom land. He and his oldest brother William had the best farms. After passing William’s place, he turned up the gravel road and walked by Dan’s and Hinds’ farms before arriving at what was now Robert’s house.

The old home place made him feel sentimental. He didn’t like to go up there because it made him miss Ma and Pa. He didn’t like to remember Mary, his sweetheart, but he wanted to see the pictures.

~~~

About a month before…

Myrtle kept the old farmhouse the best she could not because of anything Robert’s brothers and sisters expected. She did it for herself and to provide a desirable home for the children. Coming into his teens, Edwin brought friends home with him sometimes. Tom and Ruth would want to do the same.

She still missed Bobby Joe. All she had of him was a photograph nailed to the wall above the bedroom hearth. He was twenty months old when he died of diphtheria. She looked at his picture often and wondered what he’d be doing if he were still alive on this earth. The mantel below him was a special place, which she kept tidy.

Also, the mantel over the fireplace in the living room on the opposite side of the house needed to look good. Now that the weather was warm, she wanted to cover the black sooty fireplaces with some attractive screens.

The Sears Roebuck catalogue had some like she wanted. She’d seen them in the neighbors’ houses, and Knights’ store carried some. All the money needed to go for buying the essentials. She and Robert had no money for frills.

Myrtle was an excellent manager, and Robert didn’t care what she did as long as she didn’t ask him for money he didn’t have. A clever woman, she could always make do with whatever was available.

On the walls of the living room were two large square pictures. The identical frames were thirty-four inches square. Susan, known as Sukie, and Nehemiah, nicknamed Chobe, posed for pictures, which were professionally framed. They covered a hard surface painted tan and brown. The wide borders had fancy designs pressed and painted on them. Instead of having square edges, the pictures had curved sides. Each picture was lightweight wood about two inches thick. Around the edges, frames held the glass in place.

The pictures were already starting to fade. Robert didn’t seem to care about them, and she needed some fires screens. Using whatever tools that were handy, she removed the frames and set the wood aside. In the process she dropped one of the glass covers. She’d take the pictures and roll them up. Eventually she’d find some other way to reconstruct the frames.

But no, the pictures were stuck. Sukie’s picture was stuck to the board, and Chobe’s was stuck to the glass. Taking the mountings apart, she managed to tear up both pictures. Quickly she hid the evidence. She put away the tools. Behind an outbuilding, Robert kept pieces of glass to be used for window panes leaning against the wall. She hated for him to leave the glass out there because she was always afraid the children would cut themselves. She placed her three pieces of glass in the pile next to the building. It might be possible to cut it and use if for something. Myrtle had no choice except to build a trash fire and burn the pictures. Now she had some pretty fireplace screens, which she wiped clean.

When the children came home from school, they didn’t comment on the screens. They didn’t seem to miss the pictures. Instead they went to the kitchen and filled their mouths with molasses teacakes.

When Robert returned from the field where he’d been preparing the ground for planting, he didn’t seem to notice the absence of the pictures or the presence of the screens. As usual, he was cursing because he needed all the hands to help him with the chores. As they did every day, Myrtle and the children silently went to work. Cows always waited in the pasture for Tom, Edwin needed to see about the mules and horses, and the chickens wanted Ruth to give them corn. Myrtle led out in the milking so she could get back to finish cooking supper.

The next day Myrtle went exploring in the woods near the house. She found some pretty vines and tacked them onto the screens. Still no one seemed to notice.

~~~

Continuing the walk…

Albert turned down the lane toward the old farmhouse he knew as home. Myrtle had the yard looking fine. Flowers from his mother’s bulbs bloomed, and the roses over on the east side were the way she’d left them. The only difference in the yard was grass. Ma kept a sand yard, which she used to make the kids sweep for her. He didn’t know how Myrtle managed, but Bermuda grass grew over most of the yard.

He knocked on the porch floor with the stick and called, “Anybody home?”

Myrtle came to the door. “I’m sorry. Robert took the kids with him to the field. He wanted to get in a few hours’ work before we head to town.”

He placed his hat on an empty chair and propped his stick against the hedge. “I see.”

“I’ve got fresh cobbler. Fried chicken’s waiting on the stove. Rice and gravy. Turnip greens. Wait around a few minutes and the rest of them will be back. Sit and rest a spell. Then we’ll have dinner.”

The smell of the food made his mouth water. “It sure is tempting.”

She sat down in a straight chair, placed a dishpan in her lap, and went to work snapping beans. “I’ve got some early snap beans. They don’t take long to cook.”

Was he imagining she wanted him to stay on the porch? He started to open the door to the living room. He didn’t want to seem too forward, but he came to look inside at his parents’ faces once more.

Myrtle followed him. “Go on in.”

The wall seemed bare, but his eyes needed to adjust. When he could see normally inside, he looked all around the room. “Where are the pictures?”

Myrtle had pink skin to go with her red hair. When he asked the question, he noticed she first turned white and then broke out in red splotches.

“The pictures?” She laughed. “Oh, they were starting to fade. I took them down and made fire screens out of the wood they were mounted on.”

“Fire screens? Who needs fire screens anyhow?” He was of a good mind to slap his sister-in-law, but he’d never do that. “The very idea. You need to be more responsible. I shouldn’t have come up here.”

Albert slammed the door on the way out. Grabbing his hat and stick, he headed home.

The Dream Bucket

How was Uncle Albert ever going to get married if…

…he didn’t go to town or to church or to taffy pullings? Back then they didn’t have social media or dating sites.

He sat on his front porch and watched the world go by. He was a pleasant sort of guy, and the world came to him. I can still remember his pleasant smile. Women came to him. My brother Tom had some wild stories about those women.

Here I am beside a sign near Uncle Albert's old home site.

Tom may have been wrong though. It seemed from my point of view Uncle Albert had only one girlfriend, an incredibly rich, well-heeled widow from town. She spent her Saturdays with him. Most of the time they sat on the front porch. Sometimes we’d pass his house and find her car in his front yard parked by his well, but they were nowhere in sight. Mama said they were probably picking pears in the back yard.

Since Uncle Albert didn’t go to town, how did he get his groceries, “supplies” as he called them? This morning in Lectio Divina our pastor, Rachel McConnell Switzer, read Matthew 6: 1-4.

These verses caution us to be careful not to brag or call attention to ourselves when we’re doing acts of kindness or giving gifts to others in need. If we go around bragging about what we do so others will notice us, this attention will be our only reward.

You’ve heard the metaphor of not letting your left hand know what your right hand is doing. It’s in this passage. The promise is that if we do good in secret, our Father will reward us openly.

These verses made me think of Uncle Albert, who made a habit of being kind to others.

It also reminded me of going to town. We always drove by Uncle Albert’s house. Daddy would say, “Albert, I’m taking corn to the grist meal. You want me to take your corn for you?”

Uncle Albert would give him a sack of corn, and Daddy would have it ground into cornmeal. Then on the way home he’d stop and deliver it.

Mother would say, “Albert, what do you need from Arrington’s store?”

Albert would give her a list with specific instructions and enough money to pay his bill. We’d deliver his groceries too.

My parents never bragged about these acts of kindness, but their actions taught my brother Buddy and me how to give in secret.

Uncle Albert would have been a great husband. 

Mary Lou Cheatham's most beloved book: The Dream Bucket

One more theory about why Uncle Albert never married:

Albert had planned to get married, and he bought a used Model T. His bride-to-be had let him know that she thought highly of the new Ford automobiles that were becoming more popular around Smith, Jones, and Covington Counties. She let him know she thought a lot of the Ford cars.

After some research he found one, not the latest model, but a recent model. Not too worn, and he bought it to surprise her. The occasion had to be a special one not to be rushed into. 

The wedding date was approaching. So he planned an evening out on the town in his new car, and the news of an approaching severe thunderstorm did nothing to dampen his spirits.

On the night they were planning to go out, thunder clouds were gathering and hard showers began just at dark, followed by hail. The storm didn’t last more than half an hour, but every exposed piece of metal showed the effect of the hard hail. Metal roofs, feed troughs, silos—nothing escaped the fury of the hailstorm, not even his shiny Model T.

What would he do? He decided to leave the Model T in the barn, hitch up his mules, and take his wagon out on the town. He knew his bride-to-be would enjoy the starlit sky of the evening. The old standby would do just fine. He knew his love would never complain. They were so in love.

But after the evening was over he could feel the coolness of disappointment in the air. The whole deal eventually chilled off the romance. The hailstorm brought more disappointment than his optimism could rule out.

They didn’t get married.

Going forward, instead of a car, he drove a wagon pulled by his quality mules; therefore his vehicle was never hit by hail and he didn't have to suffer the humiliation of riding around with dings.

He used to say, “Life is not a pool. It’s a flowing stream filled with stones, which make it engaging. We're always going somewhere, and we bump along the pebbles. The Master of all Creation knows where we're going but we don't. We never know which way the stream will flow, but we have a vision of our final destination.”

Uncle Albert had a reputation of being a wise man.