Bigger Is Better?

 

     Growing up in the 1950's was great. We didn't always have everything we wanted but we seemed to have everything we needed and that was always enough, we knew how to make do with the things we had.

      Our family was not the standard for the day, large families were starting to go the way of the DODO bird, most families were three kids at most where as I am the oldest of five. My family was not rich by any means, dad was the soul income and it wasn't much but we always had food on the table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads. We called that roof our home, it was not the Taj Mahal but it kept us warm and dry. The first house I can remember was on Bledsoe Street in Gallatin, Tennessee about 1950. I don't remember much about it except it was old with many coats of paint on the walls that was peeling and contained lead. Over the next few years we lived in several houses, old frame houses with no or little insulation. Some had minimum electrical service, no indoor plumbing and a pot belly stove for heat. They had an odor about them of old wood and floor wax, they weren't big houses but then we weren't a big family - not yet anyway.

      I was eight years old and starting the third grade at Donelson Elementary when we moved into a small two bedroom house on Colonial Dr.. There were three other rooms in the house that made up the bath, kitchen / dinning / laundry and living room. Although remembering things to be bigger than they were has disappointed me in the past, this little house could not have been more than eight or nine hundred square feet. The family had grown to six by this time, little sister was still in diapers at the time and the youngest of us, Ronnie, was still just a sparkle in dad's eye. 

     The house was small but we made it work for us. Mom and dad occupied one bedroom which was the same size as the other bedroom. Me, brother Pat, Clint and sister Vickie slept in the other bedroom, we had a double bed that Pat and I used, Clint and Vickie slept on bunkbeds. When little brother Ronnie came along, he slept in a wooden baby bed with mom and dad.

     The next house came when I went into the six or seventh grade, it was on Tamworth Dr. in  Donelson. It was a little bigger but not by much. It had three bedrooms, one for mom and dad, one for me, Pat and Clint and the other for Vickie and Ronnie. Small as it was, we made do with we what we had.

     The next house came when I started the eight grade. Dad moved us to Mt. Juliet, to a new subdivision. one of his customers was in real-estate. The house was new, brick and the largest so far, about 1300 square feet, it was three bedrooms and one bath.  The most important thing to know was it was not a rental, dad finally bit the bullet and bought a house. Up till now, none of the homes had central heat and air, actually they didn't have central anything, this house was no different but it was new. While all of the homes held many memories this one was no different except that I'm now a teenager in the country. We were less crowded and more comfortable than any time before, Vickie and Ronnie were still not of school age and shared a bed. We lived there till the start of my senior year then dad wanted to be closer to work so we moved to Hermitage Hills and I finished my last year riding back to Mt. Juliet with a teacher. 

     The house in Hermitage Hills was a little older and a little smaller but it had a window unit air conditioner in the back wall of the kitchen / den and it had 1 1/2 baths. We were crowded for a while but I wasn't there for long because I left for boot camp after turning 18. at the end of my senior year.

     It seems like the average home back then was maybe 1300 square feet or less. A large home ran around 1800 to 2000 square feet and mansions, only found in the better parts of the city, went well above 3000 square feet. In comparison, the homes of today are huge, it's like everybody has to have at least 3000 square feet but 5000 would be better. If you have a family of four you better get at least five bedrooms though six would be better and at least three bathrooms with a powder room in the foyer, I didn't know what a foyer was. And what home would be complete if it didn't have a full basement and a three to four car garage?

     I don't know what is driving people today when it comes to the size of their home. The family size is smaller, just one or two kids, sometimes it's just the husband and wife. Home sizes today have given the saying "bigger is better" a whole new meaning, Of course, that bigger home comes with a cost, prices have skyrocketed as has the interest rate and therefore the mortgage payment but it hasn't slowed down the desire for a bigger and better home than the guy down the street. 

Hatred

 

     I grew up in the 1950's and 60's. Back then racism and hatred towards black people was rampant in the south. I remember when the first black students were admitted to our school. To be honest, I didn't want them in my school only because neither did a lot of people. 

     In the Navy, I worked and lived along side of several black guys. I met my first Mexican Americans, Asians, Arab and guys who were born in Canada and England and white guys from all walks of life from all around the country. I had many friends in the Navy from all over the place and every color, I would like to say they were life long friends but I have always had a problem holding on to long distance relationships.

     At some point, I became interested in history and that interest grew as I learned more about the history that was not taught in school or maybe I just wasn't listening in class that day. When you get older some things start to come together, for instance, all wars are started because of religion, hatred or power. Wealth keeps them going when the men in power realize how much money can be made in war, territorial expansion is a consequence of war. Historians will state several reasons for a war being started but if you probe deep enough you will find that religion, hatred and power will be a major contributing factor and hatred of the enemy was paramount to winning the war.

     One thing I have come to realize is that hatred plays the biggest role in war, it plays the biggest part in racism and bigotry and right now it is tearing at the very threads of society. Although a lot has happened to improve the quality of life for the African American race since the 1960's, racism still divides the country.

     In the world of politics there should not be room for hatred, politics is a game of give and take working for the betterment of the country and it's people but there are times when hatred for one person's beliefs will endanger the society it's pledged to serve. In 2016 this country elected a president that had never held public office, he was a businessman worth billions and he gathered enough people to put him in office based on his promise to "drain the swamp" of Washington. Whether he will go down as a good, bad or indifferent president will be written in history long after I'm gone but the hatred that has been shown to this man by the Democrat party has created the worse divide I have seen in my lifetime. He served only one term and is now running for a second time and the Democrats are continuing their efforts to keep him out of office, many believe their hatred is his driving force. The next couple of years will be interesting to say the least regardless of how the election turns out. 

     A few weeks ago, a terrorist group of Palestinians called Hamas attacked Israel, without warning, killing over 1400 men, women and children in just a few hours and taking hostage hundreds more. Many of the hostages have been summarily executed by various means. Hatred has again reared it's ugly head of war. The war between the Jews of the world and Islam has been going on for a long time, it is difficult to say this is a war of religion or a war of hatred but at the moment it is a war that is spreading it's hatred in many countries. I don't know what the outcome will be but I do know the hatred will continue.

     The truth is that hatred is not something a person is born with, it is a learned trait passed down from generation to generation, the most fervent have been taught to hate since the day they learned to walk. My father-in-law was a racist and bigot, his hate for people different from him was boundless, the list of groups of people was long and I often wondered if he really knew why he hated them other than his father and grandfather probably hated them also. 

     I learned a long time ago that there are good and bad people in all walks of life. Linda and I made a decision that our kids would not look at people and make their decision about liking someone based on their race, color or beliefs. I used to think, or maybe it was hope, that after just a couple more generations had passed racism and hatred would become obsolete words spoken only in the terms of teaching history, reality is telling me it is going to take more time than I had hoped. However long it will take, I can say with pride that my sons and their children will be in the forefront of the endeavor. 

 

Laundry Day

 

     I remember watching as my grandmother Riggan went about her day, grandpa took care of the animals, except chickens, planting and harvesting of the crops and generally all strenuous manual labor. Granny took care of the house, the cooking, mending, the chickens and the washing among other things and worrying about me. As for me, I got to play and get dirty.

     In her day and long onto the 1950's, she washed her dirty clothes by hand. The house hardly had enough electricity to provide light and there was no space for a washer and dryer so she did all of the laundry just as she had been doing it since she was a young girl - by hand.

     By the time I came along, her family was grown and out of the house so it was just she and grandpa and me when I visited but there was still a fair amount of washing to be done.

     To start with she had to drag out the wash tub and get it on a table or stand so she wouldn't be bent over while scrubbing the clothes. Next was to fill the tub with water, this was done by either fetching several milk pails of water drawn from the well was that about twenty yards into the backyard or during the rainy season she could fill the milk pail with water from the rain barrel outside the door. For those who don't know, a rain barrel is a large barrel that sat at the corner of the house and caught rainwater from the roof. Next she had to heat at least half of the water on the wood burning stove, in the winter, this part was great because the kitchen was nice and warm, in the summer it would get real hot and humid.

     After the tub was filled with water, detergent and bleach, dirty clothes were added to soak for a few minutes. Now she drags out the scrubbing board and places it in the tub at an angle, each article was then rubbed hard against the scrubbing board with an up and down motion until all soiled areas were gone or she was satisfied that was the best she could do. As each piece was washed and scrubbed it then had to be wrung out to remove the excess water, this was done by grabbing one end of a piece of clothing in each hand and twisting it in opposite directions till as much excess water was removed as possible the n it was tossed into a basket.

     When the basket was full, granny would take it out to the clothesline where each piece was hung up with clothes pins that would hold them in place. Weather would determine how long it would take for the clothes to dry, warm days would quickly dry the clothes, warm breezy days would dry them quicker. Cold damp days took the longest and if the temperature dropped suddenly you could be bringing in clothes that were stiff as boards. Rainy days gave her options, either put off the laundry for another day or two or hang them on a rack or drape them over pieces of furniture in the house. 

     Either way you looked at it, doing laundry like this was hard especially if you had a large family then you hoped for daughters to help out.

     My mother had it better in the 1950's, she did start out like granny Riggan but by the time I was going into the third grade she had modernized. Mom had what was known as a "wringer washer". It was a tub with a built-in agitator and a swing away arm with two rubber coated rollers to squeeze the water out. Mom's was electric although some cheaper models were equipped with a hand crank for turning the rollers.

     The operation was somewhat simple in that there was a hose that hooked to the kitchen faucet for filling it with water and another hose to drain the water from the tub either into the sink or down a pipe that drained into the yard. Once the water was added along with the clothes and detergent the electric motor was turned on and the agitator would spin and bounce up and down. If things got out of balance the machine would start bouncing all over the place and rolling across the kitchen on it's roller feet. 

     Operation of the "washing machine" was fairly simple at least until it got to the wringing point. The electric models could sometimes get away from you and the clothes would get wound around the wringers or worse you could get your fingers caught between the wringers and squeezed hard between them before you knew what was going on. There were horror stories about women who got their hand caught between the wringers all the way to their armpit and if they were alone they would be found passed out with pain and serious damage to their arms.

     I started helping mom by the time I was nine and as much as I tried to get out of it, I was almost a teenager. before she got one of the younger ones to help. By then mom had gotten ticked off at dad one day and went to the Western Auto Store and bought a new washer and dryer. 

     Laundry technology has come a long way since the youth of my grandmother, it has come a long way since my youth. Now days the hardest part is deciding what clothes go together i.e. colors, whites and jeans. 

Momma's Cooking

 

     Momma was a good cook but then she had to be as the women of her time were raised to be housewives and knowing how to cook for their family was essential. She cooked in a time when frying was done with lard and leftover bacon grease, this was known as "Southern Cooking". There were five of us kids, dad's was the only income so meals were often planed with the cost in mind. Dad was a butcher but we didn't always have meat on the menu but when we did it was the best cut.

     Breakfast was simple and easy enough that one would also think it cheap but when you factor in two adults and five kids even the simple meals could be expensive. Dad would have fried eggs with toast and bacon or country ham washed down with coffee. Us kids had cold cereal, corn fakes, Rice crispies or Cheerios in bowls filled with cold milk and sugar. As I aged my appetite grew as much as I did, I was always hungry and often was accused of having a hollow leg because I was so skinny it was wondered where all the food was going. By the time I was a teen my cereal bowl was a large mixing bowl that was filled with Cheerios and milk with many spoonsful of sugar. The household food budget dropped considerably when I left home at 18. Every morning we could easily go through a half gallon of milk, a cup of sugar and most of a family sized box of cereal. Every now and then during the winter we would get hot oatmeal with and slab of butter and spoon full of sugar on top. Sometimes there would be toasted bread with melted slabs of butter covered in jelly or jam, usually grape, and occasionally hot biscuits on Sunday morning. 

     So, what did mom eat for breakfast, I don't think she ate anything until we had all gone our various ways then she would take care of the younger kids who were still homebound, there was eleven years between me and my youngest brother. One thing for sure is she would go through copious cups of coffee in the winter and in the summer, she would start drinking iced tea by lunch time.

     Lunch time, when we were in school, consisted of either bologna and cheese sandwiches or peanut butter and jelly wrapped in wax paper and served from a brown paper bag, cookies or chips would be included.  We had to fold the bags and bring them back home for the next day. During the summer it was much the same minus the paper bag but now and then we would get tuna fish, potted meat or beanyweenies.

     Mom's culinary skills came into play for dinner, that was when she would pull out all the stops. She would cook things like mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas with turnip greens, sauerkraut with bits of hot dog in it, dad's goulash (hamburger meat with stewed tomatoes and onions with noodles) roast beef and sometimes liver. White bread was a staple that we used to sop up the plate with but the one I liked was her cornbread made from scratch and cooked in a cast iron skillet, sometimes she would make cornbread patties fried in the skillet with Crisco lard. She always kept a can of used grease on the stove that would have some bacon flavor that she would pour into the skillet before frying something. Some things were over boiled and the steam clouded the kitchen as heavy as the aromas.

     I have to say that I was a picky eater, there were some things I just couldn't get down my throat, turnip greens and asparagus along with boiled cabbage come to mind. Dad's goulash was too greasy for my taste as he didn't pour off the grease before adding the final ingredients, his version of fried liver I could eat but it was usually fried so hard that it could be used as a hockey puck. Mom nor dad would pour the grease off the pan as they cooked or cut fat from the pieces of meat and I had a problem with that. One of my worst whippings came when I held my nose trying to down the goulash. I'm still a picky eater but not as much as I used to be.

     I have to say the meals I remember most were in fact the meat and potatoes meals. Mashed potatoes, Navy / White Northern beans, some roast beef and cornbread were and still are my favorite. I dare say that every week we went through close to twenty pounds of potatoes, several ponds of beans / peas and at least one pot roast. Throw in at least three pans of cornbread and I was a happy camper.

     Don't get me wrong, there were variations of different items just to spice things up. In addition to navy beans and Black-Eyed Peas we had green beans, crowder peas, and butter beans although I didn't like the butter beans. If, and I do mean if, there were any leftover roast mom would chop it up to make hash with diced potatoes and diced onions. 

     Dad would have two fish fries each summer, mom would freeze all of the fish he caught and dad would fire up the grill and deep fry fish and hushpuppies. The fish were not filleted and still had bones but none of us ever got one hung in our throat - at least not for long. There were the occasional cook outs with hamburgers and French fries and us kids would be in charge of turning the hand crank on the ice cream maker.

     Mom was sick from time to time and once brother Pat and I became of age at around 9 years she started teaching us how to cook. We learned to cook the standard smashed potatoes and beans, toast and sandwiches and bacon. in our teens we tried making more intricate foods like biscuits but the best we could get was a flat, rock hard somewhat round disc best suited for skipping across the lake.

     There were other people that didn't eat as good as we did and a lot who ate better. We thought our meals were standard for everyone but we never went hungry - there were always meat and potatoes.

Grandpa's Pockets.

 

     A thought crossed my mind today, I really don't know where it came from or why but it got me to thinking. I was fortunate to have known both of my grandfathers. One was 66 when I was born and still farmed his land with a team of mules. The other was in his late forties and still had kids at home. One was a big man who told stories, the other was skinny and hardly said a word but they both had something in common, besides me. They had pockets and there were things in those pockets and I remember those things.

     Grandpa Wade was the younger and bigger of the two. He was a Production manager who oversaw the production of shoes and boots. I always saw him in dress slacks and white shirts and the occasional necktie. You wouldn't think he would have too much in his pockets because he didn't have that many pockets to begin with, I mean, we're talking about five pockets, six if his shirt had two pockets but then you could add another four if he was wearing his a sportscoat or suit jacket but grandpa's pockets had things in them that defined him.

     His front pants pockets always had coins that sometimes jingled when he walked, there was also his keys. The other front pocket usually had his pocketknife that he used to clean out his pipe, sharpen a pencil or cut off a chew of tobacco, the hunk of tobacco was most likely in there too. One back pants pocket had his billfold stuffed with folding money, drivers license, several business cards and Masonic membership card amongst other things. The other back pants pocket would hold a zippered leather pouch that contained his pipe tobacco, it was filled daily from a large can, the tobacco was flavored to give it a different and aroma. 

     His white dress shirt would have one pocket maybe two, let's go with two. The left pocket usually had what was known as a pocket protecter with several ink pens and pencils. The protecter kept leaking pens from staining the shirt. The other pocket had a couple of cigars, maybe a box of wooden matches. Somewhere, depending on usage he would have a handkerchief either neatly folded or wadded up full of mucus, it always started out in one of the back pockets and could migrate to a front one by the end of the day. Somewhere, in his pants or shirt there was a pipe, it was one of many he had, they had straight stems, curved stems, small bowls and large.

     Grandpa Riggan was a simple man who dressed simply except on Sunday and maybe Saturday if he went into town to sell his produce. The rest of the week he dressed in his work clothes, bib overalls, with a long sleeve shirt, well-worn work boots and a sweat stained fedora hat. His days were spent in the fields walking behind a plow pulled by mules so whatever he might need he took with him.

     Bib overalls afforded the working man with all kinds of places to put the tools of their trade, in grandpa's case it was more the items of necessity. The pockets of the overalls had whatever grandpa might need while in the field, in the bib he carried a small cloth pouch of pipe tobacco that was closed with a yellow draw string, sometimes the tobacco was a slender can of "Prince Albert" tobacco. A front pocket would hold a box of wooden matches and "Old Timer" pocketknife, the other pocket had a small leather coin purse that would unfold when gently squeezed.  A twist of chewing tobacco might occupy a front or rear pocket and like grandpa Wade there was always a handkerchief. He didn't carry a billfold in the field and to be honest I can't remember him having one but somewhere he had to keep his driver license and folding money. He smoked a corncob pipe that would be stem first in a slot of the bib reserved for a pencil.

     He would be headed for the fields by daybreak and stay there until lunch or dinner as he called it, everything he might need he carried in his pockets except for a quart mason jar full of water, that he carried from a length of twine tied around the top like a handle. Oh, and there was an old kerchief that would be tied around his neck, it was used to wipe away the sweat.

     The things they carried in their pockets were typical of the day, typical of the jobs they had and the men they were. Some of the things they carried would lead to things for us kids, the tobacco pouches became holders of marbles, as did the Prince Albert cans, when Grandpa Wade emptied a box of cigars they were sought after by all of the grandkids as jewelry boxes for the girls and treasure chest for the boys.

      So here I am, a grandpa and what things do I carry around in my pockets ? I'm afraid my pockets are not as interesting as theirs. Years ago I carried a pocketknife but as small as the one I had it can be construed as a weapon by todays standard. When I smoked, there was always a pack if cigarettes and a lighter in my shirt pocket but I don't carry either nowadays. I'm retired now and most days around the house, the most I carry in my pockets is a cell phone. When I go out, I will have a billfold in my right back pocket, my left front pocket I will have my folding money and any receipts I have collected that day and my car keys will be dangling out of one of the front pockets. Nothing as mysterious as my grandpas but the times are different. Wonder what grandpas of the future will carry in their pockets.

                                                                                                                                                                     

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The Quest For Knowledge

 

    Imagine if you will, having all of the knowledge in the world from the beginning of time in the palm of your hand, oh, you have that now. Well growing up in the 50's and 60's, the idea that we could someday type a question on a keyboard, push a button and the answer would magically appear mere moments later was so far into the future that it was considered science fiction. Today all of the information and knowledge you would ever need is in a handheld device called a "cellphone" and everyone has one - except me. Sorry gang but I'm "old school", I have a laptop and can find my way around in it but I'm not tech savvy, MJ at 10 years old knows more than me.

     Back in the day we kids would be given a homework assignment to report on some world event, invention or historical personality. We would be given maybe a few days or even weeks to gather all of our information and compile it into a report to be handed in to the teacher but where to get all of this information. 

     The school library was the answer, it was full of the research material of the day. There were copies of major newspapers from around the country like the New York Times and Chicago Tribune., Washington post. There were magazines like the U.S. News and World Report, Look, Life, Time and Saturday Evening Post. Complete sets of the Encyclopedia Brittanica, thesauruses, dictionaries and reference books of all kinds. This was how history was documented and in grade school we were taught how to access all of these things in the library. Many of these publications are still available but on line. We would spend hours and days gathering information from various sources that would then be transformed into a ten page, handwritten report that would take the teacher 10 minutes to read and grade. It was a way of life for us kids, just another day at school.

     Linda was a book junkie when we met, if she wasn't reading for an assignment she was reading for the pure pleasure of it. Not long after I got out of the Navy a salesman came by the apartment and talked us into purchasing a set of very nice Encyclopedia Brittanica with the edges of the pages trimmed in gold. As I remember the set cost several hundred dollars, a lot of money when the two of us maybe made $8000.00 a year but to Linda, it was a bargain. Linda was adamant that our children would be smart and they would need these encyclopedias. The day they came Linda lovingly unpacked them and placed them on a shelf purchased to hold them. She would pick one and scan the contents, stopping to read some interesting article. Each year she would purchase the annual update volume that kept the set current. Needless to say they were her pride and joy, her legacy to our unborn children. 

     We were married 13 years before our firstborn entered the world, two years later he was followed by his younger brother. In the meantime, Linda took care of her books, personally packing and unpacking the for each move and we moved a lot, by the time the boys were in grade school we had moved about 26 times, several time cross country. At one point, we had to store our belongings. When we unpacked the books moisture had erased the gold trim from several volumes, Linda was heartbroken.

     Linda's legacy to the boys went largely unused by them. The education system was not that of the 1950's and 60's, computers were becoming more common place. All of the knowledge of the world was only a type and click away. She decided then to donate then books to the local library or school but they didn't want them as they took up too much space, so they sat in a box in the corner. Our neighbor was  an elementary school teacher, she happened to be over one day and asked what we were going to do with the books, Linda had no idea. At this point the teacher offered to take them to her class of 3rd graders so Linda gave them to her, the teacher was happy because her kids enjoyed cutting pictures from the pages of old books and magazines. Linda was heartbroken.

     As it turned out, Linda's legacy was the care and love she gave our boys, they are smart because she was their mother. It was her job and she did it well.

Things That Keep Me Awake At Night

 

     I guess I'm as normal as a lot of people when it comes to laying awake at night, unable to go to sleep. It's not a bunch of little things that worry me, it's the little memories that have been hiding in the darkness of my mind because they were considered minor to the reality of life today. I previously created "Sleepless Nights" and "Fleeting Moments" to accommodate a place for these short stories but it turns out there are many of them and I need more space for them, most likely I will have to create other spaces in the future. In the meantime check back to see what else I have added to this post

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Wade was a teller of stories, I doubt I will ever remember even half of them but as they come back to me I will try to pass them on to future generations because they are the things that you wind up trying the hardest to remember. 

     Grandpa Wade used to tell the story of an old country doctor, As the story goes, the doctor had been practicing for many years, he was well into the time when he should be retired and enjoying life but people depended on him and it was the life he knew. There was a lot of thought about how a man of his age could still do the things he did so one day he was stopped on the street.

     "Hey Doc" a man asked. "I've been wondering what it is that keeps you going, what is the one thing that you can contribute to your longevity". Without hesitation the Doctor said "well, every night when I go to bed, I take a shot of whiskey to relax me, every morning when I get up I have another shot of whiskey to get my heart started". With that the old Doctor turned and walked away.

     Like many story tellers, Grandpa told this one many times and those who listened would laugh. Was the Doctor real, I don't know but was a good one and considering the medications I take and the doctors I see I'm starting to think maybe the Doctor had a good idea.

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     Linda was the oldest of three daughters, her father wanted a son but he had to make do with girls so he set out trying to make them over as tomboys. One of the ways he tried was to take them fishing. Linda related to me how she would always catch the little blowfish that would puff up into a ball shape and had prickly spines. Mostly the girls would play at fishing. 

     One day while fishing from a small pier in the Indian River, Eileen noticed the Mullet that were jumping out of the water. Mullet do this quite often but why I don't know but according to Dad they jumped out of the water so they could pee. Many years later, after Linda and I were out of the Navy, we were fishing when a fish jumped out of the water, she told me the story and asked if it was true.

    Linda's dad continued with his attempts to interest the girls in fishing. One year when they were still young and wanted dolls for Christmas, they were surprised to find fishing poles  next to the tree, Eileen laughed saying that silly old Santa had brought dad some fishing poles.

     Dad's attempts to turn them into boys continued on into adulthood, at one point he paid for a few lessons for Eileen to learn how to fly helicopters. he wanted Linda to take the exam to be a general contractor. He wanted them to do these things so he could somehow benefit from them financially.  Dad would usually tell me about one of his "great ideas" but I didn't always go along with them and tell him so, I wasn't going to let Linda go through with them, she would thank me when I told her.

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     Back in the 1970's, I worked as a debt collector for a large bank in Tennessee, I traveled all over middle and east Tennessee and northern Alabama. One day I headed out from Nashville on my way to Chattanooga on I-24, east of Murfreesboro I realized that I needed to go to Shelbyville first. I was coming up to Bell Buckle at highway 64 so I took that exit and turned south. 

     Highway 64 was a two-lane country road back then that followed the terrain over the hills and around the curves. Going to Shelbyville first was going the put me late to Chattanooga but I didn't worry, there was not much traffic back then and I had a heavy foot on the gas pedal. So here I am in a '73 Impala going like a bat out of hell when I topped this hill.

     The road was straight as an arrow with open fields on both sides and at the bottom of the hill sat an old style general store with the high front porch and the road took a sharp 90 degree turn to the right about 30 feet in front of the store. I immediately hit the brakes but the road was damp from a shower so I started to slide, first to the left then to the right and back again and again. Customers were coming out on the porch to watch me, they were probably making bets as to whether or not I will make the turn. As luck, and I do mean luck, would have it, just as I reached the turn I happened to slide to the right so I quickly came off the brake and tromped on the gas avoiding what could have been amess. When I got to Shelbyville, the first thing I did was find a restroom and check my shorts.

     You might think I would have slowed down after such a close call but the truth is that after two and a half years on the road with the bank I wrecked two bank cars and accrued several speeding tickets and before each ticket I had slowed down.

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     Did you know that men's trousers / pants didn't have belt loops until 1922? Belt loops were invented by Levis and for many years they were only found on the Levis brand of jeans. Prior to this time pants had buttons that allowed you to attach a pair of suspenders to keep your pants from falling down. The style back then was that pants were worn waist high meaning that the tops of the trousers came up to the belly button, it was the boomer generation that started wearing their pants lower. It was during WWII that the buttons for suspenders were done away with as part of the war time reduction of materials needed for the war.

     Both of my grandfathers grew up wearing suspenders to hold up their pants. Grandpa Wade needed them because his belly was so big a belt just didn't have anything to grasp to keep his pants up. Grandpa Riggan needed suspenders because he was so skinny his pants would have been falling down all the time. I can't say as I remember either grandfather wearing a belt although I do seem to remember being told how grandpa Wade would pull off his belt to whipp one of his boys.

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     When I was a kid of maybe eight years old, mom got into this mode of canning some foods to help cut down on cost. The family at this point consisted of four kids and two adults. We would go to grandpa Riggan's farm and pick peas beans and other vegetables that she would can. I was not real big on vegetables but I did like the blackberry jams she made and grandpa's farm was loaded with patches of blackberries. 

     Picking blackberries was that difficult, there were many berries on a stalk and you just had to pick off the darkest one as they were the ripe ones. Sounds easy enough until you get into the blackberry patch. First off, although every stalk was covered in berries not all of them were ripe, you may get four or five berries but then you moved on to the next stalk. The stalks were thickly entwined with each other so it was too hard to go from one to the other. The difficulty came from the stalks, in addition to being covered with berries they had three or four times as many thorns that were designed to prick, stick and scratch your hands and arms and legs if you wore shorts. They would snag any bits of clothing and when you would try to pull away it was inevitable that another would grab you from another direction.  Even the best picker arms would be covered in tiny red spots of blood from encounter with the thorns, some thorns would break off from the stalk and you would have to stop and pull it out of your skin.

     But thorns were not the only issue. Blackberries patches were thick with the stalks that could reach four or more feet high with thick grass at the base and small leaves on the stalks. All of this was a prime home for "chiggers". I can't say that I ever saw a chigger as they were a minute little bug that you would need a microscope to see but they were the most irritating little varmint on the planet. Chiggers favorite places on your body were the waist line where your pants  snugged tight against the skin or the ankles where your socks stopped. They would bore into the skin and take up residence causing a small bump that would itch like crazy, the more you scratched the more it itched. You could squeezed the bump and get some clear liquid to come out but the bump would still itch. 

     The only way to rid your body of the chiggers was to cover the bump with nail polish, it smothered the chigger and he would die after a day or two. Mom didn't always have clear nail polish and any color would do so there were times that we would look like spotted aliens from space.

     Another benefit from blackberry picking was that they were ready to eat at the moment they were picked so you would often pick two handfuls, one for the container, one for your tummy. All of this for a jar of jam or a pie but it was worth it and we did it every year.

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     Back in my childhood, mothers, grandmothers and aunts wore aprons everywhere or carried a handkerchief  or had a rag or used dish cloth in there pocket. Thes clothes were for the soul purpose of aggravating young children with dirty faces. It seemed that all women back then had this fetish about dirty faces. They would sneak up from behind you and put their and pull your head back hand on your forehead then the rag / cloth would come out. They would actually spit on the cloth and proceed to clean you face while they lovingly scolded you for getting dirty. I had a lot of dirt removed with granny's or mom's spit and lived to tell about it, since then I have never been too concerned about germs because I figured that their spit sort of inoculated me.

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      Back in the 1950's, people of my parents generation," The Greatest Generation", had some habits that were hold overs from their parents. For instance, the husband made the money and the wife tokk care of the home and kids, my mother didn't work out of the house until all of us kids were out of the house, she was in her late thirties before she got a drivers license. Dad would give mom money to pay the bills because she was better at balancing the check book but he always held back money that in some cases was his play money. I have doubts that mom even knew how much money dad made.

     One of the things dad liked to do was play poker with his so called buddies. I can remember times when dad would come home and tell mom that she would have to fend off the bill collectors because he lost his whole paycheck playing cards, then there were other times he would come home and give her several hundred dollars to catch up on the bills, this irritated mom to no end.

     There is an old saying that goes "too many straws will break the camels back", well one day mom reached her breaking point. Dad had lost his paycheck again and as usual he came back a week or two later and gave her several hundred dollars to catch up on the bills. She got the bills caught up then she went down to the local "Western Auto Store" and bought a new washer and dryer.

     I don't know for sure when it started but I wouldn't be surprised if this was dad's straw also but dad started wearing a money belt.

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     Dad was a Democrat, at the time the Democrat party was strong in the south and always had been. He had some strange ideas about certain things, one of them was paying taxes. I sometimes thought taxes were the real reason behind having five kids, the more kids you have the less taxes you paid. For years, dad would go to the bank and borrow money on a short-term loan to pay his tax bill, he also always claimed the maximum number of dependents allowed when it came to the deductions on his paycheck.

     I was in my twenties when one day dad was complaining about taxes and the interest the bank charged him on the loan. I told him he should claim zero on his deductions, that would have more money taken out of his paycheck but when he filed his income taxes he would at least break even and maybe get some back. His answer was "hell no, I don't want the government using my money for free". So dad went on taking out loans to pay his taxes and paying interest to the bank.

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     You know you're getting old and any inkling of modesty has flown the coop when a female nurse inserts a catheter in you and you didn't even blush. 

The Go Cart

 

     About the time I was in the fifth or sixth grade I was always into something, mom said I was mischievous. I was never in any real trouble but somehow some form of trouble would come my way. Back then school would shut down for three months every summer, that's a long time to keep kids on the straight and narrow.

     We lived in an old neighborhood in Donelson, there were other kids my age and we hung out together every day riding bikes, climbing trees, one day we built our version of a tree house. Then there was the day we decided to build a go cart to ride down the hills of the streets.

     There were three of us, brother Pat, me and a boy down the street, we had an idea but not the knowledge or skill but we didn't let that stop us. We started by gathering the materials, a couple of old 2x4s, 4 wheels from a lawn mower with their bolts, a short length of rope (old close line rope worked well) and some nails of varying sizes and slightly used, slightly bent (the longer the better). The longest piece of 2x4 was the body connecting the rear axle to the front axle, it was maybe 48" long. The rear axle was about 36" and front was maybe 30" the seat was 2 pieces of 2x4 nailed side by side to the body, they were 10 - 12 ". The lengths were not exact as we didn't have a tape measure but they only had to be close enough, the cuts were made with an old rusty somewhat dull handsaw, we weren't allowed the use of the good tools.

     All of these things had to be connected with nails so we started out with hammers and a section of concrete sidewalk, we beat on the nails until they were as straight as we could get them. The biggest / thickest nail was used as the pivot nail connecting the body to the front axle and allowing it to turn right or left. The rear axle was connected to the body with several large nails in a square pattern so the axle remained in a fixed position. Don't ask how I know but it is important that the body sat atop the axles otherwise the nails could have straightened out and the whole thing would fall apart. Even with this knowledge we still left nothing to chance so we would use long nails that went all the way through both boards then we would bend them over with the hammer.

     The wheels were attached to the bottom of the axles with the bolts, the bolts were attached by driving several nails into the board part way on either side of the bolt then bending them over. This was done with all four wheels. The length of the rope used for steering was carefully measured to accommodate each of us then nails were again driven into each end of the front axle and bent over the rope.

     Now we were ready to ride. We would take turns, one of us would ride while the other two would push on our backs. Steering was accomplished by placing our feet on either side of the front axle, if you wanted to go right you would push forward with your left foot while pulling on the right side of the rope. The right foot would be ready to push in case you went to far to the right, to turn left you just reversed the push - pull sequence. Braking was accomplished by placing both feet on the ground or jus the heel of your shoe but if you were going real fast there was the sure-fire method of just running into a ditch. We quickly discovered that when using only the heel of your shoe the asphalt would quickly eat away the heel.

     We had a lot of fun with our go cart, for sure we expended a lot of energy and sweat would drip from our bodies. Eventually we got tired of pushing and or tired of pulling the cart back up the hills so we came up with another idea. We attached a longer rope to the front of the cart and the other end to a bicycle, that worked good. 

     One day we were making some repairs at the other boy's house, his dad had the tools we were allowed to use. Our friends dad worked on lawn mowers as a side job but his real job had him away from home a couple of days a week. So on this particular day we had the idea to attach a 5 horsepower motor from a mower to the go cart. It took a little thought to figure out how to do it but we came up with a plan. Modifications were made to the rear axle, it had to be shortened to receive the drive axle from the mower. We had to create a mounting base for the motor and bolt it on, we added a back to the seat so we wouldn't touch the hot engine and get burned.

     The biggest issue to overcome was the throttle control, the mower had a long throttle cable we were able to attach to the body between our legs. That worked well until the cable vibrated loose and our friend had to run up a hill in a neighbor's front yard in order to stop.

     Our fun with the motor on the cart was short lived, our friend's dad came home the next day and made us remove the motor. In that one day we experienced the power of the motor on our cart and pushing it around by hand lost it's alure so we directed our energy elsewhere. I think we must have started a new phase because a couple of years later motorized carts became a thing, grown men welded steel frames and attached up to two chainsaw motors to them, I heard they would go up to 60 mph. 

     As for me, I went back to riding a bicycle. On a long down hill run the speed would build up, the wind would blow your hair but then you would have to start pedaling again but it just wasn't the same. It was several more years before I got behind the wheel of a car and felt the power of the motor again.