Decoration Day

I always go to  Decoration Day at the Rover Cemetery. My son Corey and my grandson Carson went with me this year. They were short on time, so I took them around and reminded them where all the Gillum and  Lazenby graves were. As I started telling stories of some of those people, Corey could finish up many of them, because he had heard them before. My daughter Kinley had planned to come, like she always does, but she was waylaid by a stomach bug, and didn’t make it this year. As I started putting out the flowers, they had to go on home, so I worked alone.

     About the first time I bent over to place a flower, I heard the seat of my pants start to rip. Seems each time I placed a flower, they ripped a little farther. I never had realized before just how hard it was to keep everyone else in the cemetery on Decoration Day in front of me each time I bent over. By the time I had the last flower placed, the seat was completely gone.

     I had to go to a big church social immediately when I got home, but I managed to get Barbara to bring me a new pair of pants to Caddo Valley and meet me at a gas station on the way to it, and I was able to change pants.  I had planned to tie an extra shirt around my waist and just tell everyone I brought it along in case it got cold. As usual, Barbara again saved the day.

     Decoration Day was a very big thing when I was a kid. We spent the whole day there, ate dinner on the grounds, and had a big singing. Then, the rest of the day, us kids spent the rest of the day playing in the cemetery. I realize now that was a part of our training, so that hopefully, we would continue to come to Decoration Day at Rover when we became adults, and train our kids to do likewise, so that the old Gillums and Lazenbys  would not be totally forgotten for a long, long time.

     In the spring of 1997, my brother Harry who had cancer called me up in late April, and asked me if I would be at Decoration Day. That was the spring that our F5 tornado that wiped out a good bit of Arkadelphia. I told him no, I had a job to do that day, and would not be able to come. Our photography business was shut down then from the damage, and I was taking work anytime I could, to try to keep it afloat. Harry said, “You’ve got something else more important to do that day, do you?” Ten days later, right after Decoration Day, Harry was buried in that cemetery.

     Well, I haven’t missed a Decoration Day at Rover since. Although, we did hit a deer on the way one year, tearing up our car, and were a week late.

     Some months back, I got a letter from Ms. Perry Whitlow. She is one of my readers of my column in the Yell County Record. She also grew up in Wing, and told me a lot about my Gillum relatives from the old days that I did not know. She finished up by telling me she would like to meet me, but I best hurry because she was about to turn 94. A week or so later, I was up that way, so I decided to look her up. All I knew was that she lived at Ola. I managed to find a nice lady that knew her, and gave me directions. It was several miles back out the Kingston road. When I finally found what I thought was her house, nobody was at home. We’ve been letter writing buddies since then, and I planned to make another attempt to find her.

     Well, as I walked through the cemetery yesterday, a nice young lady approached me, asking me if I was Pat Gillum. I told her I was. She pointed to another lady a ways back, and said, “She’s Perry Whitlow.” Well, I was really glad to finally meet her, gave her a big hug, and we talked a long time. That made the whole trip up to the Valley worthwhile, I told her. She clued me in about the fact that her house was the next one down the road from the one I found. She is every bit as wonderful as I pictured her being. I managed to keep the seat of my pants turned away from her the whole time we were talking.

I always make sure I locate every Gillum and Lazenby grave, and I think about each person a little, whatever I remember, good or bad. If my kids are along, I tell them a little about that person. There is one man in that cemetery who is not a Gillum or Lazenby at all, but he still commands so much respect in me that I always give him two flowers. RL Whitten. Back during WW II, he was a very close friend of Elbert Lazenby, my cousin. Elbert was a radio man on a bomber, his plane was shot down, and he became a casualty. RL continued to almost be a part of the family. Elbert’s sister, Delphia, was born with severe disabilities, and seemed to me to be bitter about her lot in life. This was back when cousins still kept a close associations with cousins. RL and Delphia soon married, and RL made her his princess, caring for her all their lives, very attentive and very tolerant of her mood swings. And, he single handedly raised her life up far above reasonable expectations. As a boy, I was around them a lot. I never knew what was in his heart, only what I saw. He was one of my best examples of what a good man should be.

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     I just finished reading a biography of Daniel Boone, most of which took place in the late 1700’s. At one point, they outlined how those pioneer women washed clothes in those days. I was a little surprised  to find out it was exactly how my mother did it when I was a small boy, black pot, rub board, lye soap made from hog fat, and all.  

     Daniel Boone’s mother was a Morgan. Any relation, Elaine H.?