Forever A Hillbilly: Diamond James Archer

Forever A Hillbilly: Diamond James Archer: Back during my diamond mining days in the late 1970’s, I was fortunate enough to buddy up with, and work alongside the most famous Arkansa...

Forever A Hillbilly: Diamond James Archer

Forever A Hillbilly: Diamond James Archer: Back during my diamond mining days in the late 1970’s, I was fortunate enough to buddy up with, and work alongside the most famous Arkansa...

Diamond James Archer

Back during my diamond mining days in the late 1970’s, I was fortunate enough to buddy up with, and work alongside the most famous Arkansas diamond hunter of all time. A lot of what I learned by watching James Archer enabled me to find my first two diamonds during that first three day trip, the first being my largest find ever, a beautiful 1.00 carat canary diamond. During those three days, I was determined to learn as much as possible from this legendary diamond hunter, and be just like James Archer. Alas, I failed miserably.

James Archer made his first trip to the Crater of diamonds by horse and wagon, sixty some odd years ago.  Later on in life, he and his wife came there again, determined to find a diamond. He failed, but his wife did find one. This galvanized his determination to also find a diamond. He surface hunted for two years, off and on, and never found one, gently being  teased  about that by his wife the whole time. When he changed to digging deep holes, and washing the mud through screens, He quickly became successful, finding his first two, a 1.7 carat and a 1.71 carat brown diamond, all in the same day. In the early 1970’s, he worked at a sawmill, unloading railroad ties by hand, then going to the diamond mine to dig after work. At one point, he was not at the mine for two days. When he returned, his arm was in a sling. His hand had almost been severed at the  sawmill.   He should have been at home recuperating, but the hard working James was not the type to ever sit still. He could not stay away from the crater.

When he returned to the  sawmill, they told him they no longer had a job for him. This was a turning point in his life. He decided to become a diamond hunter, six days a week, every week. The number of diamonds found  varies from one report to another, but the best estimate given by park officials was 5,000.

As I said, I met James and worked alongside him for three days in 1979. The characteristics I noticed about James that were not present in anyone else seemed to be that he worked very hard, very fast, all day long, every day. For thirty years. I did meet one other man who compared to James in all of these categories, except that he always kept a full time job otherwise, and he’s still raising a family, so he does not get to go every day.  Henry Emison and his wife Lori were digging away when I met them. They were beginners at that time, but they quickly changed all that. Henry soon was recognized quickly by all other diamond hunters on the field as a digging machine, a true man among men. He could work all day at his job landscaping, then drive to the mine and do as much work as we fully human diggers could do in a day. Of course, he quickly found a lot of diamonds. At one time, they moved to my rental house at Gurdon, partially because they loved that 120 year old, six bedroom brick house. But mostly because it was close to the diamonds. What is it about rare, driven men like James and Henry that makes supermen out of them when they step onto that diamond field? I wish I knew. I would buy up a few gallons of it and enhance my own diamond collection a bit. Henry moved to the other side of Arkansas, because that was where his job was, a few years ago. But I know he’s still not out of range of that diamond mine, so we still don’t know how his lifetime collection will look.

 James told me the story of finding a very nice diamond on his screen just as two rough looking and talking men walked up. Afraid they might try to take it away from him, he simply dropped it in the bucket of fine sand he would be taking home to look over closely that night. He was never able to find it again.

In 1994 James unearthed a very nice 5.25  carat diamond. This was, officially, his largest find. But, when a story came out about him in the National Enquirer, it was said he had found a 7.9 carat diamond. When asked about that later, he stated, “Well, they did get things sorta messed up in that story, all right. About my age and stuff. But I did find that 7.9 carat diamond.” When pressed about this, James related this story.

“One morning several years back,   I was out here in the parking lot getting ready to go in one morning, soons’ it opened. A man started talking to me, telling me he was here to find the largest diamond he could, and buy it for his fiance’ for her engagement ring.  I told him I didn’t have any diamonds on me now, but maybe  you’ll find one today.” James went on to say, “A lot of folks talk big like that. But when it comes down to it, they don’t have the money to back up their talk.”

James continued his story. “So the park opened  it’s doors, and we both went in and bought our ticket, and went into the mine. When we got to the search area, he turned left and I turned right. I only went a couple of hundred feet before I saw something shining at me.  I went over and picked it up. It was a big, canary diamond, sitting right on top of the ground. I shouted, Hey, Mister! I got a big one for ya’. The man came over, said he wanted to buy it as soon as he saw it. He asked, How much ya’ want for it?” James told me, “I didn’t even know how much it weighed, and I usually set my price on that. So I just said, $7000. Then that fella reached in his pocket, and pulled out a huge roll of money. He counted out 70 100 dollar bills into my hand. When he was finished, that man’s roll looked as big as it did when he started peeling bills off’a there.  I said to myself, I shoulda’   said $10,000. But I didn’t know he really had the money. The man took the diamond and never registered it at the park office. I heard from him later, and he’d had it cut and set in that ring. He said the jeweler weighed it before it was cut and it was 7.9 carats.”

 A lot of people have been wondering for a long time about just how  well  James has done. Tourists have been trying to pry that out of him six days a week for 30 years. Most people don’t like having people trying to get information about their business, and James was no different. We do know he never lived in a mansion, or bought a new truck. When tourists ask, “Is it true all your children graduated from college?”  James just said, “That’s what they say.” When asked later how many children he had, he said, “seven.” Is it true they all graduated college? “Yep. And my wife will graduate college this year.” Seems James did not invest his money in himself, but invested in his family’s future.

On Wednesday, January 8, 2003, James Archer went into the Crater of Diamonds State Park as he had for thirty years.  And, at the age of 77, he died there doing what he loved, digging for diamonds.  The Crater will probably never see a more diligent, consistent, determined prospector than Diamond James Archer. And I feel fortunate to have had the opportunity to work alongside James, and learn much about diamond hunting, and about life, if only for three days.

Rest well, James. Your accomplishments at the Crater of Diamonds State Park will never be equaled. Nor will I ever find a nicer guy on that diamond field.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Day the Sky Fell

Forever A Hillbilly: The Day the Sky Fell: By Pat Gillum    A First-Person Story      The big day for the OBU Father-Son Golf Tournament had arrived. Corey, my son, the OBU...

The Day the Sky Fell

By Pat Gillum    A First-Person Story

     The big day for the OBU Father-Son Golf Tournament had arrived. Corey, my son, the OBU grad, the skilled golfer, and I, the novice, were entered as a team. Not novice, as in beginner, but the eternal type, as in no good.

     We struggled through a dark, rainy morning. Fortunately, everyone else struggled too.It was March 1, 1997. A date seared into my brain forever. Not because it was the date I finally amazed everyone by suddenly becoming a good golfer. That didn't happen. Not by a long shot. Or by a short chipshot, or even by a putt. Not because Corey once again played well, which he did, Well enough to carry me to something close enough to victory to win us both a large umbrella. It is because weather straight from hell was on the way, weather that these umbrellas could not touch.

      After lunch, bad weather predictions were coming in. I went down to our photography studio in downtown Arkadelphia. The tornado sirens started going off. I called daughter Kinley. She was in her house, half a mile down Main street, already taking cover. Kinley has always had an unnatural fear of tornadoes. It had became a family joke. We said, "Kinley, think about it. How many people ever get hit by a tornado? What are the odds?" Still, she was always in a hidey hole at the first hint of a bad storm.

     She told me she already had it figured out. In an interior closet, on the floor, her little dog Spanky in her lap, a pillow over her head. I told her that seemed about as good as any place.

      I went outside. The sirens had stopped, then they started again, along with the report that a large tornado was on the way, scheduled to hit Arkadelphia at 2:20 PM. It was now 2:10. The electricity went off. I wondered for years if it went off because the coming storm hit a line somewhere, or because someone, somewhere, threw a switch, knowing what was about to happen to Arkadelphia, and what hot power lines could mean in the aftermath. Jim Burns, our Emergency Services Director,  recently filled me in. The lines went down west of town, probably about the time he was getting help from Gurdon firemen clearing out his truck from downed trees so he could rush to town.

     I went in and got our best camera, a Hasselblad. I loaded it, because if a tornado was about to hit, I wanted a good picture of it. I was standing on the sidewalk next to my door, and a man from the Honeycomb restaurant next door was beside me. At 2:15 we beagn to hear a loud roar in the west. "Sounds like a train." he said. "No tracks over there," I replied.  The noise increased, and he went inside. I readied my camera. Then a very strange thing happened. Clouds, from all over the sky, started rushing toward a single point, the point of the sound. I decided this thing might be about to form up right on top of me, and it was time to go inside. I was playing chicken with an F-4, and I blinked. I could not see anything that looked like a tornado, but I snapped a picture any way, and went inside. That would be my last picture for weeks. Afterwards, I could never justify to myself worrying about pictures, when so many people needed help. I don't have a single picture from that time.

     The dressing room, in the middle of the building, looked like the best place. Just as I started in, the wind really picked up. "Aw, man, my awning is blowing away." Then a house trailer, or what was left of it, mostly the frame, came through the front picture window. The back windows of the building were sucked in, the suspended ceiling around me was sucked down to the floor, and the two swinging doors behind me slammed with a loud bang. I went in the dressing room, lay the camera on the floor, and covered it with my body. My thought processes ran something like,

 "We've got to have something left to make a living with when this is all over." I heard the most awful groaning sound I have ever heard, as my front brick wall, three bricks thick, moved farward a few inches at the top.

      I waited a few moments to make sure this was all over with, then I headed for the phone to call Kinley. I was  relieved for her. The tornado was moving across the street, I got hit full force, so I felt like there was no way it could have hit her too, half a mile away. Little did I know. Just as I picked it up, it rang. It was my brother, Harry, saying he had just heard that downtown Arkadelphia was just blown off the map, and I told him I was OK, but now I had to call Kinley. He hung up, and I was thinking, I'm OK, but he won't be OK. He was dying of Cancer. I tried a couple of times to reach Kinley, but I got a busy signal. I headed that way. When I got to the door, I saw a bright, sunny day outside. But Arkadelphia was pink. The town was covered with insulation. The trailer was also on my car out front, and the front door was a hard squeezee. A car in the street had a ton of bricks on top of it, but I could see nobody inside. I just cannot describe the town, and do it justice. Buildings everywhere were in rubble. Dazed, silent people were beginning to emerge. Screams from trapped individuals were coming from all directions. I headed down the street toward Kinley's house. When I got a couple of blocks down the street, I saw her. She was coming up the street, Spanky in her arms, being escorted by and Angel. No, I'm not speaking figuratively, I'm dead serious. This woman beside her had, I later found out, helped dig her out. She had told Kinley she lived across the street, but neither of us had ever seen her before. As Kinley and I ran to each other, hugged and cried, the Angel was smiling. We looked around, and she was gone. We've never seen her again. To Kinley and I, she will forever be "her Angel."

      Kinley seemed to be all right, and so was Spanky. I led her to a clear space in the street, and told her to not dare move from that spot. I had to try and help some of the screaming, trapped people.

     I found a wrecked building with a woman inside. I talked to her. Yes, she was OK, but could not get out. I heard a scream near by, different from the others. It was filled with total agony. I  found out later it came from a young man who had just found his mother's body.

     As I started moving boards, to try to help this trapped woman, a strange thing happened. A squad of fully dressed National Guardsmen, complete with camo on their faces, moved into my area. "How could they be here already?" We were 10 minutes into this thing, yet here they were. I later learned they were returning from a drill, and had to take cover on the edge of the tornado, just as it hit. Anyway, their leader told me to step aside, they would get the woman out. They formed a line, and started moving the boards, one by one. Later, I never had a chance to tell the trapped woman that I didn't just desert her. I've always felt bad about that. As I worked my way back toward Kinley, I saw a man. A merchant. He had cleared out a little spot beside his door, and was standing fast. He was later declared a hero of the tornado, and maybe he was. I only saw him for a moment, and no telling how many people he rescued before or  later. But when I saw him, at that moment he was just guarding his stuff.

     The alarms were going off at all the banks. I never knew if any unofficial withdrawals were made that day, but I do know of a hundred dollar bill being found nearby.

     When I got to Kinley, the excitement was beginning to wear off, and she was not feeling good. I had to find help. I saw a police car in the distance, finally got him as close to Kinley as I could, and loaded her aboard.  He said he would take her to the hospital. She was finally moved on to Hot Springs, because our hospital was overflowing. I later caught it, full force, from Barbara, for not going with her.

      Walking up the street, I saw a strange thing. A unit of national guardsmen were marching down the streeet, in perfect order. At each intersection, the leader halted them, one went forward into the intersecion, and held up his hand to halt traffic. Well, the streets were full of wreckage, and there would be no traffic on them that day. Oh well, I guess if you ain't discipline, you ain't got nothin'.

     A renter, in one of my duplexes a mile away, called me. The front half of the building had been smashed to the floor. His mama was having a heart attack, and the lady from next door was out in the street, looking for help. I told him I was afoot, and could not get there. Call 911.

     Finally, it seemed to me, rescue people began to arrive, and take over. I realize now, they got there very quickly, everything considered. But it seemed like forever at the time. I had no idea of the scope of this thing. Help was needed all over.

     The police moved in, full force, and secured the buildings. I talked an officer into letting me go into our building and  get our cameras and money, while he watched me like a hawk. About that time, Barbara and Corey were arrriving. They told me Kinley had been moved to Hot Springs. Her back was injured. Walls and brick from an old chimney in the wall that we knew nothing about fell in on her, sitting cross-legged in the closet. Spanky was between her legs. It had forced her face to the floor. Bricks hit her head, but it was covered by the pollow, and segments of the chimney probably held the walls up-just enough. Most of the rest of her house had just disappeared. The monster F-4 had to be at least a half mile wide. We went to where Kinley was.

     The next day, it was raining. Lois Barksdale, Mickey's Grandmother, along with my family, had mobilized a crew to help salvage what was left at their house. The town was shut down, tighter than a drum. We need in, but only rescue persons were allowed. I found an old Red Cross shirt, and led our caravan to the roadblock. "They're with me," I told the cop. He looked at my Red Cross shirt, and waved us in. Sometimes, you just do what you gotta do. Kinley and Mickey's house was a mess, what was left of it. While the others salvaged what larger items they could, I looked for little things. Kinley had always collected, and dearly loved, hundreds of little things. We were soon forced out of downtown by a gas leak.

      I wish I could wrap my mind around the scale of this thing and tell you all of it. There were hundreds of stories in the making there, alongside mine. Many had a much worse ending. I just can't. All I can hope to do is tell you my family's story. Just one tiny ant in a very large anthill.

     The next day, thank goodness, the rain stopped. My car was still trapped. I needed wheels. Officials were coming down the street, checking each building. Danger zones were being roped off.  I knew my car would soon be inside a no-go zone, and I could forget about it for days. Trying to move it would tear it up worse, but I had to have it. I got in, started it up, and gunned it. With much scratching screeching, it came out.

     As soon as I could, I went up on the roof of our building. The roofing was mostly still there, but it was all torn loose. I looked up and down the street. Every building that was still there had people on top that day.

    Most of the old brick buildings, except one, were still standing, although badly damanged. Almost all of the wooden buildings in the main path of the storm were just gone. If you ever have an F-4 swooping down on you, look for a brick hidey-hole. Not brick veneer, but the old fashioned type, three or four bricks thick. Or, concrete block with brick outside.

     The streets were littered with roofing nails. I got a lifetime supply of flats in the next two weeks.

     I have a confession to make.The days after the tornado are sort of blurred together in my mind. Some of this story may very well be out of order. But it all happened.

     I was in our building one morning, still checking the damage. Fortunately, our business equipment was still intact. The front wall had been pushed out six inches at the top, and would have to be replaced. The side walls were questionable. Heavy cables would have to be strung from one side to the other, then tightened, to hold it together.

     A girl with a notepad wandered in. I warned her the building was still dangerous to be in at this point, but she didn't care.She was looking for a story for Dateline. My son, Corey, a good writer in his own right, and a good a salesman to boot, came in. He started telling her about Kinley's experience, and about Mickey, her husband, a paramedic.Mickey, though he  knew his neighborhood was hit, he was unable to check on Kinley because he was too busy pulling survivors out of a trailer park across town. Corey told her about Kinley, and about she and I finding each other afterwards. She wanted to meet her. He took her to Kinley at our house. She talked with her, then called her boss. A story was in the works.

      I went to check the damaged rent houses. The nearest one, on Crittenden Street, was on the very edge of the tonado's path. It was still standing. Everthing across the street was rubble. In seconds, it went from being the worst house in the immediate neighborhood to being one of the best. Some roofing was off, small trees were laying on it, the windows were all broken, the electrical service was torn off. Except for that, it seemed to be intact. It was vacant when the tornado hit.

     I went to the Clay Streeet house.While it was out of the main path, the associated high winds had blown a huge oak tree across the street down and crushed the front one third of the house down to the floor. It also crushed a tenant's car in front. The lady who owned the car had already salvaged her things and moved out. The tenants of the other apartment consisted of an elderly lady and her son. She had suffered a heart attack during the storm, but was recovering. The son was still there salvaging when I arrived. He told me, "The living room furniture is brand new. We just paid $2,000. for it." It was totally intact, not even wet, though I don't know how. The store they had bought it from, not a downtown business, had offered to buy it back for $300. They were to pick it up the next day, he told me. I told him, "You can get a lot more for it than that. Why sell? We can move it back into the protected part of the house and run it in the paper." He answered, "We are living in Little Rock, and we need the money now." They were in a bad situation. "All right," I said. "I will buy it from you right now for $300. I'll run it in the paper, and call you when it sells. Whatever I can get is yours." He agreed. Two days later, it sold for $1200. I called him, and two hours later, he was there to pick up the $900.

     I didn't see the lady from the other apartment in that house again, until later, I ran across her up town. I apologized for not being able to get there when she needed me, and gave her what money I had on me, $100.

     President Clinton came to town. He was walking up the street toward our business, and a Secret Service dude was ranging out in front. I told him, "You better keep him away from my building. That front wall is going to come down," I said. He looked at me. "Today?" he asked. "Well, I hope not!" He looked me over good, then started going through my tool bag around my waist.

     Our building would be unusable for a long time, but our equipment was intact. We were in the running for the job of photographing the Arkadelphia Prom. We needed that money badly to help stay afloat. They decided to use the big city Photog' from Little Rock. I try not to hold grudges for a long time, but I have to admit that bothered me for some time.

     Dateline NBC was coming to our house that night to interview Barbara, Kinley, Mickey and I for their segment. Barbara always keeps her house very neat, and takes a lot of pride in it. It was spotless. Well, the Dateline crew descended on our living room, and just changed everything around completely. They moved a couch, and there was a big pile of stuff under it. Mostly shoved there by me, I would imagine. Barbara was horrified! Oh well, at least the cameras weren't rolling yet. That pile got gone quickly.

     The lights were on, cameras ready to roll, and Fredrica Whitfield was sitting there, smiling, her notebook in hand. Now, me, I'm not always a good spontaneous speaker. Never, I would guess, with a national audience. I could not think of a single intellegent thing to say, the best being a few "uhs" and maybe "duh." I just knew I was about to become a major fool, on national TV. Fortunately, Barbara interviewed first, and that gave me a chance to settle down some. Barbara did great, as we all knew she would. But every word she said wound up on the cutting room floor, because she was not actually "in" the tornado. I did not say anything profound, but I got through it. At least, the whole town was not laughing at me the next day, not to my face, anyway. Kinley interviewed well, as always, a little gift handed down to her from Barbara. Mickey told of being busy hauling injured people out on doors, etc. while knowing his house had been hit, not able to go there. Also, about the total loss of their house, the loss of a very large number of family antiques. But he jerked a lot of tears with his declaration, "But I got what I most wanted from that house!" Tears on his cheek really set it off, and he was instantly every woman's hero. After the Dateline show aired, they also got a trip to New York to be on the Montel William's show, where they got a new living room and bedroom suite out of the deal.

      Insurance appraisers descended upon the town in droves one day. Before I knew they had even seen the house, they came to see me, bringing me a check for the total loss of the Crittenden street house. I told them, "The contractor said he could repair it." But for the amount of the policy?" he asked. "Well, I don't know, I haven't got a bid on it yet." Finally realizing I was talking against myself, which is not uncommon for me, I shut up, thanked him, and gracefully accepted the check.

     I decided to repair it myself, I did, and three weeks later, it was leased again.

     One day, as I sat on top of that house putting shingles on, I sat awhile just looking over all that destruction with a bird's eye view. It still had a pink cast to it, from all the insulation lying around. FEMA  was doing a great job, hauling off the waste. I had heard this town was the first one in which they went onto private property, instead of requiring the landowners to haul it to the curb. This was back in the days when FEMA was still run by a good ole' Arkansas boy, and it was getting done right. Volunteers from everywhere were all over down there, chain saws going. I looked down at the nice little lady, trudging along the street, pulling her little red wagon filled with cold water for the workers. She had been doing that for days and days now. I didn't know her, but I wished I did. I just lost it, and sat on that roof bawling like a baby for my town.

     The neighbor across eighth street were not as lucky as I. His house was just a pile of rubble. His Dad came to town, and they set in to rebuild it themselves. They worked endlessly, day after day—Even the young children. When I had finished my house, I asked the dad, a tough old man from the old school, if I could help. He thanked me, then said, "As sure as I do start letting people help, someone will get hurt, then they'll be sueing me, sure as the world."

     They finally got ready to put the top on, but there was just no plywood to be had in town. They were stalled. Then I remembered. I had some plywood in a storage building, and I knew it would just about be the right amount for that small house. I told him I would give it to him if he would let me help. The Dad was in a bind. No top for his house, and it was supposed to rain in a day or two, or risk getting sued. I told him, "Now look! I've built three houses, almost completely by myself. I've worked on these rent houses of mine for years. I don't get hurt, and I wouldn't sue you if I did."

     He just looked me over good for a long time, started shaking his head, grudgingly agreed, and walked off, muttering about getting his pants sued off

.

     I got up on the house, drove a nail, then took a step. My right foot slipped off a 2x4 down to another, 3 inches or so, and my sometimes trick knee gave out, and something went bad wrong with my foot. I didn't dare tell the dad, just said I had to run an errand, but he knew by the way I was hobbling, and I knew he thought I was headed for my lawyer's office. But I drove to the emergency room. Seems my big toe had popped out of place.

     The doc came in, gave me pain shots.But I had been wearing the same pair of tennis shoes every day since the tornado, and my bare foot smelled really ripe. Rather that endure all that waiting for the pain shots to kick in, he just grabbed my toe and yanked. I thought about screaming.

     When I got back out to the house, I was not going to be able to climb for a while, so I just had to fess' up to the old man, along with another promise not to sue him.

     They continued on with the house. A group of Mennonites came down from up north somewhere, and they helped finish it. Just as they had put on the finishing touches, The city decided to use that land for the new City Hall. So it was torn down again. But I guess the old man, (who reminded me of my Dad) his hard working son, wife and kids, came out better financially. When the city takes land, I've heard they pay by the square foot, which also means through the nose. I never did know their names, or what became of them. But I still think of them occasionally, with a lot of respect.

     Much of this next segment is based of fact, as I remember it. The rest is based on the scuttlebut around town about what was going on at City Hall. Scuttlebut is not necessarily true, but it sure began to seem to me like it was. Some said City Hall was being transformed. Since so many were rebuilding, It was a really good time to toughen up the city building standards. The new City Manager seemed to me to be a bit of a gunslinger, and, as he came from Cut and Shoot, Texas, maybe he was.

     Our Clay street house was rebuilt, for about what the house cost me in the first place. This was the first rebuilt house to be finished since the tornado, I was told, and the scuttlebut was, it was destined to become the test house for the new building policy.

     The current City Inspector left about that time. Scuttlebutt had it he couldn't stomach what was about to happen. Three or so new, temporary, building inspectors were brought in, from different parts of the country. I won't go so far as to say they were extreme hard cases, but in my dealings with them, I had every reason to believe they were.

     When the contractor finished with the house, they would not approve it. They had me doing more and more little changes, call them to inspect it, then they would add another list of things. The house sat empty, for days and days. There was no shortage of people wanting to rent it, because there were tons of people without a house. I spent days sitting in city hall, waiting for an inspector to look at the last batch of improvements I had been required to do.

     A man from Catholic Relief Services came by. He had a family, he said, huddled in what was a piece of a house. A bulldozer sat in the front yard, ready to tear it down. They had no place to go. He wanted to rent my house. I told him I could not rent it to him, City Hall was not happy with it yet. He just said, "Let's go to City Hall." Well, when he got down there in front of those inspectors, I finally learned what a true hard case looked and sounded like.

     The city eased up a little. An inspector came out. He finally said, "If you will build a wooden box around the breaker box on the front porch, I'll release the house. I reminded him the breakers were already enclosed in a metal box. He looked at me hard awhile, then pointed to the front steps. "You know," he said, there really needs to be a rail there." I shut up and started building a box.

     Remember, that was 1997. this is 2011. Today, we have a local guy as City Manager, who turned out to be, in my opinion, our best. And, our inspector, he's a firm but fair man. He still calls me to task, on occasion, and he holds my feet to the fire. But only when I deserve it. As a landlord, I have every reason to suck up to those guys. But what I have just said is true, never the less.

     A little side note here: Last winter, I ran this story on facebook,  well before I started this blog, finishing up in early march. I soon got a letter from City Hall, saying my grass was way too high, at that Crittenden street house. Remember, it's right across the street. Now, I've never got one of those until the grass started growing good before. But I will admit, the grass at that house does start growing very early in the spring. I feel that it was just a freak coincidence, or they didn't read that last part where I sucked up to them, or they were just reminding me; The sword, at times, can be mightier than the pen. It has been said, just because I'm a paranoid old man, does not necessarily mean they're not out to get me.

     That was our last year in business. The tornado did not drive us out, we already had that planned. Our family was very lucky, all in all. But I sure would not want to go through it again.

     Hundreds, and I mean hundreds, of volunteers stepped in and helped our recovery. I can't say enough about the university students.They really came through for Arkadelphia when the chips were down.

     During the time when the National Guard was deployed in Arkadelphia, two of them had planned on getting married. So, Arkadelphia threw them a free wedding. Business people chipped in to help out in their specialty areas. Barbara and I made the wedding pictures. It turned out to be a fun wedding for Arkadelphia, and them too, I think. It was a pleasant little respite during very hard days.

     We lost some of our best people. We all grieve for these families. They will never be forgotten.  A lot of people lost a great deal. Arkadelphia has recovered, and the physical reminders of those dark days are gone, except for a blank space here and there. But March 1, 1997 will always be in the minds and hearts of all of us who were there that day.

     Nowadays, our family tells Kinley when a storm comes up, "Kinley, think about it! Nobody, but nobody, ever gets hit by a tornado – twice!" It dosen't help her attitude about it much that she has since twice had to be moved out into the hallway of a hospital when she was in labor, or after a surgery, because a tornado was heading that way. So, don't expect to find Kinley when the dark clouds roll in. She will be in her hidey-hole. I will probably be there with her.

Forever A Hillbilly: Uncle Franz

Forever A Hillbilly: Uncle Franz:  I WAS BORN WHEN MY  DAD was 52, my mom 40. The youngest of the Gillum Wing generation. My cousins were grown and gone, all my siblings w...

Uncle Franz

 I WAS BORN WHEN MY DAD was 52, my mom 40. The youngest of the Gillum Wing generation. My cousins were grown and gone, all my siblings were gone by the time I was 12. So, I pretty well grew up with all the old folks. The Gillum’s mostly lived side by side, or about as close to side by side as we got in Wing. A mile apart.

     Most of my uncles and my dad were pretty serious, no nonsense, hard men. At least, they were by the time I came along. I never knew any of them when young blood flowed through their veins.

     But Uncle Franz was different. He still laughed a lot, and he found things in life to enjoy. He was very, very, smart. He spent much of his working life teaching, as an administrator, or as a Civilian Conservation Corps director after the depression. He had retired by the time my memories of him began. He came back to Wing, built a house, a big fishing pond, got land and cattle. His girls were still finishing up school, so Aunt Grace hung out at Conway until they were grown. He was so sick of dressing up every day, he came back living and dressing like a sure enough hillbilly.

     He taught at Fountain Hill awhile. He told me once they lived in a pretty rough part of town, and when they came back to Wing for a visit, (Everybody from Wing comes back as often as they can. Wing is just about the perfect place to be. Just about. The one thing missing is a lot of options about what to do for a living. So he, like me, had to scramble around in other, lesser parts of the world to make a living and raise a family.) He was a little worried about his house and his stuff while he was gone. So, he found the biggest, roughest, meanest man in the neighborhood, took him his house key, and asked him to watch his stuff while he was gone. That worked perfectly. Nobody ever messed with his stuff. I told you he was smart. It was a hard day's drive from Southeast Arkansas in those days, what with all the mud holes to get through.

     Uncle Franz seemed to go to bed about the time the chickens went to roost. But he was up by the middle of the night, and a whole lot of that time, he was pounding on his old, beat up typewriter. I saw him doing that many times, but never knew what he was doing in those days. It was not until recently, when I began to see some of his work, that I realized he was a world-class poet. But his work seems to be pretty much lost to the world. The copies of his poems that I have been able to get my hands on are pretty dim, probably copies of copies of copies from an old typewriter not much good to begin with. But I'm going to do the best I can to figure out some of them, and share them with you. Hope you like them too.

Three Shots Rang Out

                                        

A man was riding on parade                                                                                                        

A great good man who fervently prayed

For peace and freedom the wide world O'er

When three shots rang out and he's no more.

A man so young and sincere too

Ambition spurred to drive him through

A fearless man with wisdom's store

But three shots rang out and he's no more.

A speechless world rose quick and fast

To honor him whose soul had passed

From life through death to live once more

For in hearts those shots closed not the door.

A mortal form lies lifeless now

No wicked worry to fret his brow

Yet he's greater now than e'er before

Since three shots rang out and he's no more.

                 **

No Sparkles Show

Sometimes the dew on blades of grass

That crowd in over the padded path

And hide the footprints in the dirt

Goes by unnoticed as I work.

No sparkling diamond hue I see

Because my eyes are so busy

Searching for another sight

A little spot of red and white.

It's hidden somewhere in the grass

I must not miss it as I pass

Of course it probably would be

As well that I did not see.

Yet something inside me tells me “no”

And that’s the reason no sparkles show

On blades of grass when wet with dew

At early day when morn is new.

Dew sparkling grass is just as wet

And sparkles just as bright, still yet

It bothers me not as much by half

When looking for a newborn calf.

                       **

Oh 'my gosh what was that

That weird sound out yonder?

Sounds just like a squalling cat

followed then by rolling thunder.

Curiosity got the best of me

Out the window I looked to see.

Then quick as lightening's flash

I rushed over to the window

Pulling up the bottom sash

I saw kids on the biggest bender

No, not drunk, I didn't say

Just a frolicking group at prankster's play.

On they came so thick and fast

Noisy costumed witches leading.

Followed behind by lad and lass

Street decorum knew no heeding.

Turned the corner down my street

And at the door yelled “trick or treat!”

Treat. The choice was made post haste.

What was left for me to do?

I knew I had no time to waste

When I viewed closely this weird crew

Dressed so spooky from head to feet

Playing innocently “trick or treat.”

                    **

     Uncle Franz drove his Farmall Cub tractor by our house just about every morning. I knew he was going to check his cows. But I also knew that before lunch, he would be down at the lake or the river, fishing. If I was able to get loose, I grabbed my pole and headed down that way. Sitting on the river bank with Uncle Franz, catching one bream after another, was always time very well spent. I always rode out on the back of his tractor.

     In his later days, a doctor discovered he had an anurism in his stomach. He was told that if it burst, he would die before he could get to a hospital. Uncle Franz said, “That sounds like a good way to go.” He had no operation. A while later, he did go. Just that way.

Forever A Hillbilly: A Bath in God's Love

Forever A Hillbilly: A Bath in God's Love: I just returned from 11 days touring the Middle East, the Holy Land. On the way back, something strange happened to me. I remember walking ...

A Bath in God's Love

I just returned from 11 days touring the Middle East, the Holy Land. On the way back, something strange happened to me. I remember walking quickly through the airport at Atlanta, trying to catch the plane to Little Rock. I was out of my head for the rest of the trip home. The next thing I remember was being in the emergency room in Arkadelphia, Arkansas and a doc was telling me, "This will be a big stick," as he stuck a big needle in. I have been told I put on somewhat of a show on the plane - Barbara had quite a time corraling me. The next thing I remember, it was mid day the next day. and I was home in bed. My memory has not returned of that time. I still have fever. When I get back to being my old self, I will tell you some about my trip.

                                                             

  

THE WORD KAIROS refers to a type of time. There is chrono time, as what our clock keeps, and there is kairos time. If the doctor tells a woman that the baby is due to be born on February 23, that’s Chronological time. If, however, severe and regular pains begin on February 15 at midnight, this might prompt her to wake up the husband, tell him it is time. He may tell her, “No. it’s not due yet. Eight more days. Go back to sleep.” He’s dealing in Chronological time. Yet she knows better. She is dealing with Kairos time. God’s perfect time.

     Kairos is also a prison ministry. It was started in the early 1940’s. For a time, it moved very slowly.

     Two priests requested the opportunity to spend the last day and night with a condemned man who was to be executed the next morning. The prisoner agreed. “Sure. Why not.” The men talked for a long time that day, yet the prisoner was unmoved. The talks continued into the night.

     After midnight, things changed. The man cried. He became more and more emotional, as his time was growing near.   Eventually, he asked the priests what he could do to help right all the wrong he had done in his sordid life. This discussion continued for some time. Toward daylight, one priest approached the condemned man. “You are going to be seeing Jesus this morning. Will you ask him to bless our Kairos mission?”

     The condemned man agreed. Kairos was soon growing  quickly.

     From its humble beginning, Kairos has now grown into a world-wide organization, with more than 18,000 volunteers having only a handful of paid staff. Today, Kairos operates in eight countries.

     I joined the Kairos group operating at Pine Bluff Prison five years ago. We go into prison for four days, twice each year. While it is difficult to recruit new Kairos men, almost all who stay the course for a year never seem to quit. They stay the course, and will die a Kairos man. My Kairos is made up of men from many different Christian denominations, and they come from all over Arkansas.

     A man is allowed to lead a Kairos Weekend only once in a lifetime. Lest he become prideful. Many of the men in my Kairos have already led. Last spring, nobody stepped forward to lead our August weekend, and it was cancelled.

     I am not a leader. I’m a great follower, always have been.  The Kairos leader should be a skilled computer person, which I am not. And, it requires a major commitment in time. I was not ready to step forward. But God decided otherwise, and I agreed to lead Weekend 43 in February 2016.

     Recruiting the team came first. The experienced men were easy to recruit. Since we had missed one weekend, everyone was ready. But, for Kairos to continue, we also needed new blood. My goal was seven new men. Initially, I though it would happen. I had at least seven really good prospects. But, as the training commenced, that number dropped, for one reason or another. When we walked into Pine Bluff Prison six months later, only two new men remained, with twenty-eight experienced men.

     The training came next. For five Saturdays leading up to the event, we met at my church, Fellowship Church of Arkadelphia. Training is not the best word here, for I had little to teach these men that they did not know. Conditioning ourselves, becoming one very tight knit group, and, maybe, training up a leader, may be more applicable. We worked toward leaving all our denominational differences at the door, and worked toward common ground, our love for Jesus Christ. We worked toward becoming humble, vulnerable. Toward allowing us to let God use our bodies to model unconditional love and total forgiveness which is available only through God, and reflect God’s love on the men in white. We worked toward making the entire weekend a bath in the love of Jesus Christ for our twenty-four men in white.

    Two weeks out, I went to Pine Bluff for a job I was not looking forward to. Picking twenty-four participants from the dozens and dozens of applications. There are many reasons to want to be involved other than spiritual. Really good food, all the cookies anybody would ever want to eat, three days off work. Following prison guidelines, I did not meet the men before choosing, I simply looked at their records. Keeping a racial balance. Old men and young men. Their rating, from 1A, trusted men, to 4C, the other end of the scale. Represent each dorm equally. Then, a lot of praying. In the end, there were twice as many 4C’s as 1A’s picked. Three Muslims. We do not look for the easy men to work with, but the leaders. Good and bad. Men who, once turned, could influence a lot of others during their stay.  

     On the way home, I had to cry. I had just given twenty-four men a great boost toward a more spiritual, and much better, life with Jesus in a very dark place, while rejecting dozens of others. Without even meeting them, or really knowing them. But I prayed to God about them, and God knows them well.

     One week out, I went to Pine Bluff Prison again, to meet with the selected twenty-four, along with sixteen alternates. Telling the alternates they were on our list, and would receive a certificate, but they were not invited to the party was not easy. However, knowing they would be first on our list six months later for Weekend 44 helped. The twenty-four who were picked were elated. To the best of my ability, I started thinking in terms of their bath in God’s love that day. And, I again had to cry for the alternates on the way home.

      Our last training day ended with a ceremony to officially make us Kairos Priests for the duration of The Weekend, and the Foot Washing Ceremony. We were ready. We could hardly wait.

     We use a Church in Pine Bluff for our home base. Our first job was to bag up 1000 bags of cookies. Every Kairos man brings fifty dozen cookies, mostly donated by our Outside Team, church members and others who furnish agape and prayer for the duration. Every person inside those walls would receive two bags of cookies, delivered by Kairos men to their bunks; Cookie Runs. Each man with a laundry hamper filled with bagged cookies. New men seem to always be involved in the Cookie Runs. If God has not removed every last shred of fear from these men, this is where it will show up. But I’ve never seen it happen. A Kairos man cannot function with fear in his eyes. He can never reach these men. He might as well go home.

     Thursday afternoon we went in. The Bath in God’s Love was about to start. My job was now distilled down to making speeches. Speeches until my throat was sore. Yet, joyful speeches.

     I wish I could tell you more. Take you along every step of the way. But I can’t. I cannot risk spoiling the surprises for hundreds of other Men in White at Pine Bluff Prison who may yet experience a wonderful Kairos Weekend. Wonderful for the Men in White, and wonderful for free world Kairos men as well.

     Last week, on Sunday morning, I was back in my usual place in Fellowship church, on or near the back row. The pastor was giving a great sermon. At one point, the word Muslim was mentioned, and a thought hit me hard. I sat there sobbing. I had just, at that moment, been struck by a realization. Though every one of our twenty-four men had hugged me and the other Kairos men long and hard at the end of our closing ceremony, I had no idea who the Muslims, the A1’s, or the C4’s were. At that point, they were all just twenty-four men who badly needed someone, or something more in their life, and many had found it. They had just experienced a Bath in God’s Love. 

Forever A Hillbilly: BEYOND Forever Cry

Forever A Hillbilly: BEYOND Forever Cry: Now available  at amazon.com, in the US and Europe. Locally, it can be found at Hardman Interiors, or order a personalized edition from me....

BEYOND Forever Cry

Now available  at amazon.com, in the US and Europe. Locally, it can be found at Hardman Interiors, or order a personalized edition from me.

MARTHA JANE (TENNY) TUCKER GILLUM, the star of Forever Cry, Died in Wing, Arkansas in 1941, shortly after her eighty-second birthday Party. I was born in that same house in 1944, three years later. As I look at the group photo from that birthday party, I see twenty-four mostly familiar faces, from infants to adults. These were the people who surrounded me, and loved me, as I grew to adulthood. As I move into my seventies, only four of these people survive today. Enjoy those around you who love you. Life is short.

     Forever Cry is a historical fiction book, inspired by my grandmother’s colorful life. She was born as the Civil War was about to start, and most of the book took place during the Reconstruction.

     Sarah, Tenny’s mother, was a strong mountain woman who held her family together as the war wound down. Her children give her much joy, and much shame, during a time of violent upheaval in Arkansas.

     My best first-hand information about Grandma Tenny came from my older siblings. My brother Harold, as a small, rowdy boy, remembers her as a very old lady, his worst nightmare. Once, she told him to do something. He replied, “Just a minute.” She laced her fingers in his hair, and swung him around a couple of times.

     My sister Jonnie, as a frail and sickly little girl, remembers her as the one who held her in her arms and rocked her all day long. Every day. When she grew too large for Grandma Tenny to hold, she sat beside her in her rocking chair. And rocked. All day long.

     I remember my dad’s comments about Grandma Tenny as a very old lady, when a man came up missing. “The Law wanted to come question her, but was afraid to.” I never understood that. Why would they fear a very fragile old lady, nearing death?

     In researching for Forever Cry, I noticed a little side note on a family researcher’s paper. “Her family hung a man early one morning.” That’s all it said. What??

     Other bare comments. “Grandma and her sister were hidden in a cave once. For two years.”

     “A big wild hog ran in and got the Baby.”

     “Men were killed in her behalf.” Needless to say, all this stimulated more research.  What a life this woman lived!

     This comment, written in by my editor, stated, “This could never happen.” Actually, I could not change it, because it did happen. Truth, at times can be stranger than fiction.

     My two great grandfathers also make their appearance in Forever Cry.  LaFayette WAS held as a POW in the Civil War. He DID survive by eating white oak acorns. He WAS the first constable of Atkins, Arkansas.

     James, my other great grandpa, DID haul in his year’s cotton crop, got drunk, and threw all the money away in the road ditch. He DID marry his daughter’s husband’s baby sister, LaFayette’s youngest daughter, at age 78 and produce two children.

     All the actual events in Forever Cry, woven into the fabric of the story with lots of undocumented happenings I strongly suspect are true but can’t prove, along with pure fiction, at times, make for a story I think you will like.

     My real-life uncle by marriage, Harry Poynter, DID face the sheriff, deputy sheriff, and county clerk in the streets of Dover, killing one man, and sent the other two racing for Russellville. He DID face down a thirty man posse in downtown Dover, sent to arrest him, with the words “I will give up my guns with my life, and I will make the man who takes it pay a heavy price.” They, also, chose to go home instead, without Harry. Once the Reconstruction was over, he became a leading citizen of Dover and founded the Bank of Dover. Even as a very old man, he DID travel to Wing and solve Tenny’s  problems that came up.

     Several early readers have already finished. Comments: “That girl just completely destroyed the whole family’s reputation.” I dread telling her: “That girl never existed.”

     “I just kept being drawn back to it until I finished.”

     “That first major event was just horrible. So bad, it could not have actually happened.” But it did.

     I did a lot of research about the wars and politics of that time, doing my best to keep that factual. I hope you enjoy it. Either way, my contact info is at the end of Forever Cry. I hope you contact me when you finish. We need to talk. I will laugh with you, or apologize to you, depending upon which seems appropriate.

Forever Cry Excerpts -

          Leading Bob’s two horses, James rode up to the Dudley cabin about noon the next day. He could see four other cabins nearby, and there were probably more. One of the children had run into the cabin yelling, “Pawpaw, there’s a man ridin’ in – from the outside!”

          Mr. Dudley was soon on the porch. Again with his scattergun. His wife was right behind, and two or three armed men were walking over. “Ya never stop surprisin’ me, Thacker! We bin told by the Alabama constable about Bob gettin’ shot. And since ya have Bob’s hosses, you musta’ been there. Whatta ‘ye say about that, Thacker?”

          James had survived the first thirty seconds. If he could survive the next thirty, he might live. He must pick his words carefully now.

          “Mr. Dudley, let me tell you first of all, I didn’t shoot your grandson. I notified th’ law, and they did. Bob was holdin’ a knife at my daughter’s throat. I am not that gooda shot.  I wanta express my condolences for your loss. I brought Bob’s personal things for Mrs. Dudley. And, I felt it was right to bring your horses to ya’.”

          The old man spat a long brown stream at James’ feet and just stared at him for a long time. “Jest how would ya know to go to Talladega?”

          Before James could answer, Mrs. Dudley stepped up beside her husband, her head held high, a determined look on her wrinkled face. “I tol’ him.”

          With a surprised look on his angry face, her husband whirled to face her. She held his gaze.

          Mr. Dudley was in shock. “By damn! Why in hell would you do that, woman?”

          The younger men around just stared, and listened. “Clint, jest hear me out, an listen good. Do you remember why, forty two long years ago, we brought our young children up here away from that sinful and murderous mess of Dudleys in Alabama?”

          The old man didn’t say a word, but his shoulders drooped a bit as he looked at his wife.

          Mrs. Dudley spoke, more forcefully now. “Well, if you don’t, let me remind ya, and I want my sons around us to hear me too. We decided we wanted no part of the scum our awful families were wallowin’ in. We knew our babies would turn out the same. But we couldn’t get my firstborn, Alfred, to come up here with us. It was too late for him. He’d already been tainted by that mess.

          And he raised Bob jest the same way. Jest what we were tryin’ ta get our babies away from. But then Bob came up here with us; he was already too far gone. He started spreadin’ his infection around up here, talkin’ how us Dudley’s never let nobody cross us. Then, our sons began to act the same way. That’s why I tol’ him. An let me say this. If any of my boys around us think this man standin’ before us did wrong when Bob stole his daughter, an hauled her off to hell to become like those no good folks, then jest get away from me. I don’t wanta see ya ever again!”

          Having had her say, she rose to her full height, as if the weight of the world was now lifted from her weary shoulders. She turned, and walked back into the house.

          Nobody moved or spoke for a long while. Then James turned to the big black and pulled a bag from his saddlebags. He walked over and handed it to the old man who reached out and took it. He looked James in the eye, and said, loudly enough for all to hear…..

          “It’s over, James.”

          Mr. Dudley turned, and as he too walked into the house, looked at each of his sons in silent support of his wife.

          James mounted the big black and rode away.

*

          Sarah walked again to the front door. She had been watching that trail for two hours now. Then Sarah saw the big black, loping up the trail. She was out the door and running.

          James pulled the big black up and stepped off to meet her. Sarah threw her arms around him, and kissed him long and deeply.

          “Oh James, I’ve been worried sick! I thought I might lose you! And I’ve got somethin’ ta’ tell you.

          You’re right. Goin’ to Arkansas will be hard on us for a while, but we’ve got to make that sacrifice for our kids so they kin have a future. And besides, what an adventure it will be for us all!”

          James hugged her. “Well, if that’s not some turnaround since last night! Mighty glad ta’ hear it. Now, let me tell you a little ‘bout my day.” As they walked up the trail arm in arm, James leading the black, told her the whole story.

          Now it was time to start making travel plans. Everything they would do from now until the day they headed for Napoleon, Arkansas would be geared toward that moment. April was not that far away. Of course, Tenny was totally excited out of her gourd!

                                         *

The homecoming from the war…

     Very late that night, after the excited children had finally gotten off to sleep, and Tom and LaFayette were finally dozing off, Sarah grasped James’ hand and led him toward the door. James was very easily persuaded.

     LaFayette pretended to be asleep, but he opened his eyes slightly, and a light smile played on his lips.

     Arm in arm, James and Sarah strolled across the lush spring grass. The green fields were beautiful in the dim moonlight. When they reached the creek, James could wait no longer. He pulled her tightly to his body, and they kissed tenderly. Sarah held him as if she would never let him go. James gently unhooked her dress, and it floated like a butterfly to the fresh green grass. He eased her to the grass, and ran his loving hands hungrily over her beautiful body. Their bodies entwined, and they made sweet love, long and deeply. She lay in his arms, where she had longed to be for two years.

     They talked for a time. Again James pulled her tightly to him. Sarah giggled. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Sarah soon found out he was.

     “Sweet baby, I’ve got a lotta time to make up for. I may just keep you out here all night, and most of tomorrow.”

     She giggled. That was fine with her. Sarah was a hard mountain woman, all fire and determination during the day, but she turned into sweet melted butter in James’ arms after dark. She had him home once again, and she would never let him go. They finally dozed off, tightly wrapped in each other’s loving arms.

     As a faint light appeared in the east, they strolled back across the meadow. Sarah stopped, and turned to him. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

     “What’s wrong, sweet baby? What’s bothering you?” Sarah laid her head on his shoulder and sobbed. He quietly caressed her.

     Sarah pulled away to arm’s length. “Oh James. There is something I’ve got to tell you, my darling. I didn’t want to ruin your homecoming with it, but it can’t wait any longer. This was the most wonderful night of my life, but what I have to tell you I must tell you now.

                                          *

                                                              *

     Tenny would soon turn seventeen. She felt she was old enough to make her own decision about spending the night alone with Kade in his house. She cooked Kade a big meal that night, and they talked long about the events of the day. Afterwards, Tenny had just finished cleaning up the kitchen and was about to head to her room for the night. She had to get an early start the next day. Also, she suspected this was about to become a touchy situation, and she didn’t trust Kade, or herself with Kade, that night. She knew Sandy was not a loyal wife to Kade, but she kept telling herself that did not matter. Sandy was her sister. She had to stay in control of this situation, and get away from Kade quickly tonight.

     Kade was standing in the hallway. She stopped, and their eyes met for a time. Tenny was softly chewing on one side of her lip, in the fashion she sometimes did when she was in an uncomfortable situation. He looked at her lips, pushed ever so slightly to the right, and he thought, at that moment, they were the most sensuous, wonderful lips he had ever seen.

     World class lips; lips he just had to kiss, and right now.

     He gently grasped her arms, and pulled her to him. Tenny did not try to resist. Kade put his fingers under her chin, and guided her lips toward his.

     Their lips almost touched; she pushed back. Tears came. “I can’t do this, Kade, even though I know you realize I want to, so badly. I just can’t. I cannot do this to my sister.”

     “Tenny, we both want this. And you know full well Sandy is not a loyal wife. We both could have died today. In this war, I could die tomorrow, and that would be the end of us. This is our special occasion, our one night. What harm could just this one time do? Tomorrow, we will forget about tonight, and just go on with our lives, like nothing happened.”

     “Loyal or not, Kade, she’s still my sister. And I would always remember. Good night, Kade.”

     Tenny brushed by Kade and, with tears on her cheeks, walked to her room, went inside, and closed the door. Kade was left standing in the hall, his thoughts of those  wonderful lips still running through his mind, heartbreak in his soul.

     “Someday, I will kiss those world class lips.”

     Someday, he would.

 If you like this, please share. Thanks for reading! My next post will be in about two weeks.

Forever A Hillbilly: Excerpts - Dead Eye Samantha

Forever A Hillbilly: Excerpts - Dead Eye Samantha: This book is ready for the publisher SHE WAS A BEAUTIFUL BABY. Samantha was born with a full head of the brightest, most beaut...

Excerpts - Dead Eye Samantha

This book is ready for the publisher

SHE WAS A BEAUTIFUL BABY. Samantha was born with a full head of the brightest, most beautiful red hair anybody in North Eastern Alabama had ever seen. Her deeply-set dimples, destined to later just drive men wild when she smiled, showed up at a very early age. Samantha was born in 1847.

     Samantha was fortunate to be born into a very nice family, with an older sister and brother. She was born with a smile on her face, and in her early years she maintained that smile most of the time. Her brother and sister simply cherished Samantha. Her parents did too. She never seemed to be in a foul mood, and nobody remembered seeing Samantha cry.  She was destined to have a wonderful life, with her loving family…had it not been for the Dudley clan.

    

                                        *                                      

     The Dudley clan had lived in the hills near Talladega, Alabama for generations. Nobody seemed to know how long, for sure. They were not good neighbors, of that most everyone in that part of the country was sure. Actually, nobody seemed to know much at all about the Dudley clan. They kept to themselves, except for occasional trips into town for supplies. They always seemed to have plenty of money, though where it came from, nobody knew. The Dudley’s never seemed to be trouble makers when they showed up in town. Just take care of business, buy their supplies, and leave. They never spoke unnecessary words to others, and they never smiled.

     In each generation, according to stories circulating around Talladega County, a few unfortunate beings had been overcome with curiosity, and set out to investigate the hills of the Dudley clan. Word had it none had ever returned, according to the stories. But it happened so seldom, nobody could really put their finger on whether this was really happening as a pattern, or was this just fodder for campfire stories? It could well be that these curious ones had simply gotten lost in those brush covered hills, and never been found. But by now everyone had heard these stories, and nobody wished to be the next poor soul to disappear into the hills of the Dudley clan. So, few alive knew anything at all about the Dudley Hills. Except for the Dudley’s.

     As time went on, with all the scary stories about the Dudley clan, fewer and fewer brave souls wished to risk a trip into those hills.  Fear overcame curiosity.  And, since the Dudley’s never seemed to harm anybody in Talladega County, what was the point? They obviously wished to be left alone, so Talladega County obliged them.

     One thing that had been noticed, and talked and gossiped about a great deal by the old men setting out in front of the hardware store,  whittlin’ and spittin.’ One never saw a Dudley man who was not carrying a .50 caliber buffalo gun. They never seemed to have a pistol strapped on, as was very common at that time. And they all bought a lot of ammunition for that gun. But the few neighbors of the Dudley’s who lived close enough to hear a report from the big gun claimed they almost never heard a shot. Just an occasional deer hunter, or the like. But soon a Dudley would be back in at the store, buying another four boxes of .50 caliber ammo. Where were the Dudley’s doing all that shooting?

     By far, the single most notable thing about the Dudley’s was, they were almost all red heads. Persons who knew about such things just explained that away with “Well, they been inbreedin’ up in them hills fer generations. Most all th’ first families to move in up thare musta been redheads.” And, nobody knew of an outsider who had ever married into the clan. But if constant inbreeding was the answer, why were the Dudley’s so big, strong, and healthy looking? Everybody knows, constant inbreeding takes a heavy toll, after a while.

      In the 1850’s the study of genetics, the study of inherited traits, was just beginning.  Gregor Mendel, the father of genetics, was hard at work growing his pea plants, cross breeding, and recording the results. His work was first published in 1866.

     We now know that red hair is a recessive trait. So, both the father and mother must carry that gene, in order to produce children with red hair. But if even one of the parents carries a dominant hair color gene of another sort, it could be generations before red hair shows up again. So, in a given population, red hair is relatively rare. But in the Dudley clan, there seemed to be as many, or maybe more, redheads maintained as other hair colors. Relatively intellectual men had noticed. “That ain’t normal. It just ain’t how things are supposed to work,” one had already proclaimed. But, very few even understood what this man was trying to say. Of course, they all understood that the situation with the Dudley’s was different, somehow. But nobody worried too much about it, as long as the Dudley’s kept minding their own business like they had always done in Talladega County.

                                                 *

    Great grandpa Will and his wife Serenity had first brought their family to Talladega County many years ago. He was the mastermind. He laid out his plan for the future of the clan they would establish. Both Will and Serenity were redheads, and this trait had been passed on to three of their four children. He was a highly educated man. He held a high teaching position at a respected institution of higher learning in the East, but he had been dismissed when it became common knowledge that he had a tendency to do things not acceptable for one placed in such a high station in life. He was forced to gather up his family and move west, out of the state. This had to be done quickly, as the rumors were spreading that a farewell party was being planned for him involving tar, feathers, and a rail.

     Once a very remote, untraveled plot of land was obtained and a cabin was built, he laid out a plan for the future of his Clan. His rules, which must be followed by all, was destined to make the clan rich…

                                                       ***

     Millie explained. “As we get older, and deal with big men, men who know how to fight, all the tricks I’ve shown you with the boys won’t work. And we can’t beat them. They’re stronger. All these people around us from the outside want to hurt us, even kill us.”

     Samantha was getting a very bad feeling about this.

     “Every one of us, even a girl, must get very accurate with this gun. So that when bad men who come onto our land, planning to hurt or kill us, they will know that we are able to take them out long before they can get close enough to hurt us. Most of these bad people surrounding us already know that, so they usually stay away from our land.”

     Samantha burst into tears. “But I don’t want to hurt anybody! I hate guns! I never want to even hold one! All they are good for is hurting people!” Please don’t make me touch that thing!”

     Millie put the gun aside, and hugged Samantha. Millie realized this was not going to be easy. “We have many needs for this gun, and this skill. Don’t you like the meat you eat back at the compound? How do you think we get that meat? We Hunt! And we all get very good at it. When we get good enough, these mean people around us realize they must never come here. If you work hard enough with this gun, and get to be the very best around with it, people will soon know, and you will never have to shoot this gun at a man. It’s just like fightin’ with the big boys at the compound. Don’t you remember how they’re afraid to wrestle me? They know I can hurt them, and they leave me alone. They’re even beginning to leave you alone, simply because they know you know all my tricks. All you ever have to do, mostly, is bluff. Isn’t that true, Samantha?”

     Samantha was still sniffling, but she had to admit, that was true. It did seem that the more the boys respected her abilities, the less she had to actually wrestle one, which Samantha completely detested.

“Let’s go in the cabin. There’s always snacks and drink there. We’ll rest a bit, and I’ll show you how this gun works.”

     While they ate snacks and rested, Millie started showing her the mechanics of this gun. Samantha was thinking about all this. She did not know if she could ever get good with this gun, but it was seeming like that may be her only means of not having to shoot at a man, like her family seemed to be all about. And what about her name? Her family seemed to act like they considered Samantha to be a sissy, girlish name. Would people respect the abilities of Sam more than Samantha? Must she always be a Sam? Deep in her heart, she knew Samantha was more like the real her.

     For her demonstration, Millie chose to shoot from two hundred yards.

      Millie braced the big gun on a post, got in position to fire, then wet her thumb, sticking it up in the air. “You have to learn to sense the wind blowing on your wet thumb. You have to know how much to allow for wind. This new buffalo gun is made to shoot a long way. You have to learn how much the bullet will drop in two hundred yards, or however far away your target is. See those three pumpkins I set up out there?

 They’re about head sized. Watch that middle pumpkin. You need to learn to do this. Just watch.”

     Millie carefully sighted the target in, held her breath, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The big gun roared so loudly, it scared Samantha, and hurt her ears. The middle pumpkin exploded. “Okay now, Sam, it’s your turn. We’ll move up to the hundred yard marker for today,” Millie said. “A good place to start.”

      “This gun will kick, but the stock is padded. Hold it tight against you shoulder. There’s almost no wind now, and the bullet will drop less than half the length of your little finger. Squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it. Aim at the left pumpkin.”

     Samantha was scared. She was shaking. This gun was far too big and heavy for her, but she tried. The first try nearly kicked her down. Dust was kicked up four feet or so to the left of the pumpkin, and was way short.

     Millie’s instruction went on and on, with each shot being evaluated, and corrections made. Samantha never hit a pumpkin that day, but she was slowly getting closer.

    “OK, Sam. That’s enough for today. Your shoulder will be sore for a day or two, but we’ll come back in a few days. You’re getting better.  And you will get better each time. I’ve got confidence in you. Good Job.”

     Samantha was thinking, I’ll work as hard as I can with this gun. I will get so good with it, I will never have to shoot at anyone. And I will show everyone how good I am, every chance I get, so they will all know, and leave me alone. It’s my only way out.

                                                    ***

     When she found this man, it was sudden. And shocking. Samantha was coming back into the hospital late one afternoon from talking with the constable. She was completely worn out. She was heading for her room, planning to catch an hour’s  sleep, before she started walking the halls that night. Once again.

     She turned the corner close to her room, and there stood Jeff.

     Though this man looked half starved, wore ragged clothing, a beard, appeared to be very dirty and exhausted, there was no doubt. This was her husband, the love of her life.

     Their eyes met. He did not run, as Samantha had always expected he would, if and when that moment ever came. He appeared to be even more shocked than Samantha. He could not take his eyes off her red hair. Or maybe it was her dimples. Or, most likely, both. Slowly, Confusion seemed to replace the shock in his eyes. Samantha knew she could never catch him, if he ran. She did not know what to say. All she could think of, for the moment, was smile, and talk gently to him. She did not try to approach him. She just talked quietly and softly.

     “Jeff, I’ve missed you so much. I love you so. It’s time for us to go home. I know you don’t know who I am, right now, because you’ve had an injury. But I want to take you to our home, so you can rest.”

     Samantha thought she detected one, very brief, flash of recognition in his eyes, as he stared at her red hair. He slowly took a few hesitating, short steps toward her. He was almost close enough to touch her now. He slowly, very hesitatingly, reached out and touched a strand of her beautiful hair. Then he took two short steps back. A word seemed to form on his lips, but no sound came.

     “Yes, my darling, it’s me. I know you don’t know just who I am right now, because you’ve been hurt. But that’s okay, because you will soon get better. I’m your wife.” Maybe she was moving too fast. The confusion seemed to intensify in his eyes. “Come with me into our home. It’s right over here. There, you can rest. I can see you’re very tired.” Samantha took three very slow steps toward Jeff, held out her hand, and he hesitatingly placed his hand in hers. Slowly, she led him to her room. She led him to the patient’s bed, gently sat him down, pulled his worn shoes off, and lifted his feet onto the bed. She sat beside him, stroking his hair. He didn’t try to resist: he just looked at her face with wonder in his eyes. As she stroked him, she sang gently.

 “ Everything is going to be all right, my darling. I’m here, and I will always take care of you. Go to sleep, now, sweet Jeff. And rest.”

     Slowly, his eyes closed. A peacefulness seemed to wash over him; a peace he had not experienced in many, many days.

     Samantha pulled a quilt over him. He seemed to gradually relax. Soon, he was in a peaceful sleep.

     As Samantha sat beside him, stroking his hair softly, words  came gently to her lips. Words long forgotten. Words from far back into her dark past, words that could only have come from the beautiful lips of her sweet, loving, mother…

     Hush little baby don’t say a word,

Mama’s gonna get you a mocking bird,

And if that mocking bird don’t sing,

Mama’s gonna buy you a golden ring…………