Early Memories

     I was born in Wing, Arkansas in 1944. All of my best memories as a child took place in Yell County.

In 1947, we bought a brand new, one ton cattle truck. The first automobile we had owned since the Depression. Sometimes we all loaded into the cab and went to Danville, although we were a little crowded. Headed up that first very steep, muddy hill on the Fourche Valley side of the mountain, Dad had that truck in granny low by the time we were half way up, and I always pushed forward on the dash, hoping I could give it a little boost and we could make it to the top. Once, when Dad took a curve a little too fast in Danville, the right side door swung open. Sister Barbara, pressed against it, rode that door all the way out, all the way back in. Coming back home was very scary if the dirt road was wet.  Once, during a very muddy time, Dad had us get out at the foot of the mountain and push. When he got going, he spun up as far up as he could. When it stopped, we ran along and put a chunk behind the back wheel. We pushed again, chunked it again, and repeated this until we got up the mountain. That road is paved now and not nearly as much fun – or as scary!

      A diet of salt pork, corn bread, lima beans, poke salit' and the like all one's life can super-enhance one's appreciation for the finer things in life that we take for granted today. I went with Dad and some of the family to Conway to pick Sis and her things up at the end of the term at ASTC. Being the youngest, I was just naturally the one pushed out of the cab on the way home, with all her stuff, in back. I opened a box, and staring me right in the face was most of a jar of mayonaise. (probably called salad dressing in those days.) Well, we just never bought real groceries at our house. I had never seen anything like this. I opened the lid, tasted it. My taste buds went, absolutely, into shock! I quickly finished that jar off, right there on the spot. By the time we pulled into Wing, I had licked it clean.

     Uncle Arthur, the doctor, lived at Belleville. He was always there when we needed him. On a very cold day, Dad chopped a finger off chopping stove wood. It was barely hanging on by a little skin. Dad jumped in the truck and drove to Uncle Arthur's house, and he sewed it back on. We were all surprised when it grew back.

      We were about to have a big extended family dinner. I knew we would have fried chicken, pies, and all the other goodies Mom could cook at that dinner. Barbara Lou had the measles, and Uncle Arthur came over. The big dinner was only a day or two away, and I didn't want to miss that, so I hid from him. Finally, when I came out, Uncle Arthur was still waiting for me. He took one look in my mouth, and declared that I was coming down with the measles. I was banished to bed with Barbara, and when the big day arrived, I lay there with my mouth watering while everyone else feasted. I never did get the measles. After thinking this over many times, I now believe Uncle Arthur may have fudged on me. Knowing I had been around Barbara, who had the measles, he may have decided to quarantine me, just in case, so that I could not possibly pass measles around the dinner table with the food, and only looked in my mouth to pacify me. Could that be?

     Once a rustler stole some of Uncle Arthur's cattle. The rustlers were arrested, and I went with Dad to the jail at Danville. I remember when one of the rustlers was introduced to Dad, I expected Dad to kill him. Instead, they shook hands. I never did understand the ways of grownups!

     Uncle Arthur's death brought about my first funeral. When we came in, I noticed two signs in the church. One side for "friends," one side said “relatives.” I could not understand why we sat on the "relatives" side. I assumed that “relatives” must mean “enemies.” After the funeral, I followed Dad around for the final viewing. A big red wasp sat on Uncle Arthur's face. Dad brushed it off with his hat.

     When I went to Danville, I always did all I could do to avoid people. I would normally cross the street to avoid meeting someone on the sidewalk. Once, however, I saw a crowd, very large, gathered around a store window. I just had to see what they were looking at. When I finally worked my way up to the front of the group, I saw a box with fuzzy, squiggly lines moving around on it. Every now and then I could see a figure of a person on it! Some of the other people called it a television. My world was changing, and fast.

     I spent a lot of time chasing down grasshoppers for fish bait. I soon learned that if I rode with Dad when he came to Danville for a load of cattle feed, I could sneak into the back door of the chicken processing plant and pick up a batch of rejected chicken livers off the belt bringing the remains into that room before someone found me there and ran me out. They were going to be thrown away anyhow, so I didn't feel bad about that. But I never let Dad know about it. I knew I would have heck to pay if he ever found out. Those livers caught catfish even better than grasshoppers.