Forever A Hillbilly: Totally Wonderful, Completely Heartbreaking

Forever A Hillbilly: Totally Wonderful, Completely Heartbreaking: Barbara and I attend Fellowship Church in Arkadelphia, Arkansas. We have been at Fellowship since 1999. Ever since we returned from a ye...

Totally Wonderful, Completely Heartbreaking

Barbara and I attend Fellowship Church in Arkadelphia, Arkansas. We have been at Fellowship since 1999. Ever since we returned from a year on the road, seeing America. We were looking for a church. We attended the first corporate service of this church, at the Wesley Foundation at Henderson State University. We are the only members still in attendance who were here for that first meeting.

     We attended Calvary Baptist Church in Hannibal, Missouri for three years, but we lost that church when we moved back to Arkansas. It was our most wonderful church experience we had ever had, up to that point in our lives. The services were never really quiet. Churches like Calvary, who bus in a ton of disadvantaged people, especially children, and who have tons of outreach going on, local and abroad, and a church whose members are excited to be there for the right reasons, seem to often be that way, I guess.

     When we left Hannibal and moved back to Arkansas, we searched for another church like Calvary for twenty three years. We attended several really good churches, met tons of wonderful people, had some really fantastic pastors during that twenty three years.

     It's hard to really explain to you exactly what we were looking for, during all that time. Maybe it was that feeling of excitement just to be there. That certain feeling that makes us want to come to church just a little bit earlier, before the services actually start, just to be in the midst of that group of people. Or because we get well fed spiritually every Sunday. Or that feeling that makes us reluctant to leave when its over.

      When we showed up for that first service at Fellowship, it didn't take long for us to realize, that feeling we had experienced so many years before was returning. And it's been there ever since.

     We are fortunate enough to have two universities in our town. Along the way, a number of pastors who are associated with the universities came aboard. Many students followed. We now have hundreds of great college students attending Fellowship regularly. It just seems that students who come to our universities are just the cream of the crop. Then, those who choose to attend church regularly, and become an active part of that congregation, on there own, are usually just the cream of THAT crop.

     Instead of having Sunday night church services, we meet at homes in small groups. Like the first church. We meet, break bread, fellowship, study the word and pray for each other. Then we often have a campfire, roast marshmallows, and explode bamboo bombs, or the like. A few brave souls have even chosen to ride my zip line, sight unseen, down into the totally dark woods. Toward that big tree at the bottom nicknamed “splat.” Then they go home.

     This gives us the opportunity to really get to know and love these students. I cannot describe to you how great that is for us, and what a blessing this is to us. We have the opportunity to almost be substitute parents to these wonderful students for years. They become tightly woven into the fabric of our lives. But then, they graduate, and they often are soon gone, some forever, at least in this world. Many are reluctant to leave Arkadelphia, and work at jobs related to the universities for a time, or whatever they can find. But Arkadelphia has few job opportunities of the type they can hang their hats on, and raise a family around. Sooner or later, we lose almost all of them. It breaks our hearts, again and again, to see them go. We like to think of them as young people we have had the opportunity know, love, have an impact on for several years, then send them out as Fellowship's missionaries to the world. Our loss is the world's gain. That's the wonderful side of it, but it does not stop the heartache.

 

     But that is not the end of our story.

     I'm almost certain Griffin and Stephanie fell in love in our living room, many years ago. They now have three wonderful boys. We not only correspond, but visit occasionally. Griffin called us on Christmas night. They were coming through Arkadelphia during one of our very rare snowstorms, the road was getting bad. They asked about spending the night, and I told him our home was always open to them. But in all honesty, I had to tell him. Barbara and I were both flat on our backs with a bad stomach bug. Your choice. After a short discussion, they sadly chose the slick highway, instead. But they will be back, and we will be there, from time to time.

     Candi and Jeff had graduated, but they chose to stay around awhile. And, they were in love. Candi was a nurse at Hot Springs. Not just a very good nurse, but the one the hospital chose to deliver very bad news to the family about a patent, when those times arose. That kind of nurse. Jeff was temporarily training HSU students to be pilots, while waiting for a real job. Candi was ready to marry, start a family. Jeff seemed to have some reservations about being able to support a family, at that moment. I took Jeff aside after our group meeting, told him that if he missed out on this girl, he would never, in this lifetime, find another like her. He just smiled. Seems he had the ring in his pocket at the time. They have two wonderful youngsters now, and Jeff is a commercial airline pilot in Houston.

     Lisa was our one connection between Calvary, the church we attended and loved in Hannibal, Missouri when we lived there, and OBU in Arkadelphia. She grew up in Calvary, and when she showed up in Arkadelphia, we took her under our wing. She worked for Barbara, on occasion. She was a photography assistant, cleaned our baseboards when Barbara was down in her back, and helped Barbara throw a tea party. Those kind of jobs are more plentiful in Arkadelphia, more so than the real jobs. She was training to be an athletic trainer, and had to transfer to continue that pretty quickly. Way too quickly. She just got married. This year.

     Dayton graduated last year, and is currently getting a good, long look at some of the hard things in life, as well as some of the beautiful ones, as an African missionary. She's had dozens of marriage proposals while there, and took a young child, dying of Aids, in to live with her. She's there for a year.

     Bethany is a Spanish major, and is currently studying in Spain for a year. We miss her. But we'll get her back, for a time.

     Hillary and Annie have an even longer relationship with Fellowship Church than we do. Their parents, Michael and Shirleen, were some of the founders. Michael, my best friend, was killed in a motorcycle accident, years ago.

     In later years, I suddenly felt a need to call Hillary. Then later Annie. And finally, Shirleen. They later reported that each of those calls came during a major low point in their lives, and were a bit spooked by it. They wanted to know how I knew to call at that moment. I didn’t know, but I have a strange feeling about how that came about. Michael was the strongest lay Christian I have ever known. I’ll let you write your own ending to this little story. I already have mine.

    Hillary graduated from HSU, Annie from OBU. 

    Hillary and John now live in Tennessee, Annie and Clayton in Texas. Fortunately, they both pass through Arkadelphia to visit each other. That gives us a chance to see those beautiful babies they are having. 

     I took Aaron catfishing several times, setting out sixty or so cane poles. Aaron says I taught him a good lifetime hobby. Aaron is a biology major, like I was. He soon hooked up with Cayla-Marie. They married, and have moved on to Fayetteville. Cayla-Marie is a distance runner, like I once was, sixty pounds and fifty years ago. They are a perfect match. Like two bookends. With emphasis on the word perfect. Africa became their next home.

     Gobi was two weeks short of a master's degree when diagnosed with cancer. He was alone in this country, a student at HSU. Our church took him in, along with a lot of help from HSU. We drove him to Hot Springs to chemotherapy treatments regularly. When he became too weak to look after himself, Barbara and I took him home with us. Barbara often helped him dress to take him to yet another chemotherapy treatment. Barbara stood up in our small church one Sunday, said Gobi needed to go to MD Anderson Hospital at Houston. She needed $2000 by Friday. On Friday, she had $2000, a plane ticket, and paid motel reservations. He is now cancer free, a professor in Malaysia, has a beautiful wife and daughter.  Our daughter put up a wonderful post on Facebook recently about her parent's love. A comment immediately popped up from a world away. “I know all about that love. It saved my life.” Barbara and I had a good cry.

     Joann graduated from OBU, sold everything she owned to raise money to go to China as a missionary. She stayed for years. When in this country recently, she came by and spent the night. I got out a truly weird thing I bought at a garage sale in Australia, to ask her if she knew what it was. She ran away screaming. Seems it was a Chinese idol or god of some sort. But it has been a totally well behaved weird thing in my closet for years now. Maybe she knows something about it I don't, but need to.

     Daniel is one of the few who has not broken our hearts. He graduated from HSU, and found a real job in Arkadelphia. A rare thing. He still shows up regularly at our house on Sunday nights.

     Another Daniel spent much of his time, while in Arkadelphia, wandering the poor neighborhoods, meeting children, bringing them to church, playing with them, as well as making them totally adore him. A local lady once saw what he was doing, called him over to her car, handed him several hundred dollars. She told him to spend it on the kids as he saw fit. He did. He also visited elderly, lonely ladies regularly, and drove them wherever they needed to go. We finally hired him to do his thing for the Church, and train others to do the same. But there was only one Daniel Graham, and when he and others he trained moved on, that work lessened. But others were inspired by him, as we all were, and are beginning to take up the slack. Before he left, Barbara asked him to be her Words with Friends (internet Scrabble) buddy. He told Barbara he would take it easy on her.

     Barbara replied, “No! I want you to do your very best!” Soon Barbara was beating him like a drum. There's only one sixty-four year old scrabble player like Barbara. I learned that long ago.

     Kate hung around Arkadelphia after graduating, even ran her own business for a time. She worked tirelessly on the Kid’s Festival for our church. Now she and Brian have moved on. Seems a seminary is now in their future.

     Yet another Daniel, and Kathleen, are twins. They were both in our group. Daniel and Lauren fell in love. That romance, also, could have started in our living room, but maybe not. We now see their beautiful baby regularly. On facebook.  Kathleen is a gifted dancer, a talent best used in a larger city.

     Most recently, Tim, our tireless power point and computer expert at our church, and his wife Kayla, who could always be found at our church working with the kids, left for Colorado, he for seminary and she for a university job.

     Kylie was my best renter ever. An old soul, still in her twenties. She hung around for an advanced degree. Then, she had a chance to work with Neal Nelson, one of our pastors and director of HSU's Baptist Collegate Ministries. Who could pass up a chance to work with Neal? As a really big plus, she met and married Daniel, (We just love our large flock of Daniels!) still finishing up his own degree, a budding Sports Analyst or Sports Information Director. But, we fear he will soon carry her away from us, to a larger city, where his expertise will probably lead him. But we won't like it.

     This is just a sampling. I could go on and on. My apology to all those equally loved students I didn't have room to include. Wherever our wonderful university kids/adults are in this world today, they will always be in our hearts. But we'll see them again. In this world or the next.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Great Barrier Reef

Forever A Hillbilly: The Great Barrier Reef: WE WERE TOURING AUSTRALIA. The cost of our plane fare, both ways, was $75 each, plus bonus miles from our credit card. We rented a car, no...

The Great Barrier Reef

WE WERE TOURING AUSTRALIA. The cost of our plane fare, both ways, was $75 each, plus bonus miles from our credit card. We rented a car, no plans ahead. Just find a motel at the end of each day’s travel. We moved on up to Bundaburg and found a nice little inexpensive motel. This was at the southern end of the Great Barrier Reef. We booked a snorkeling trip, but since the weekend was coming up, we had to wait there 3 days. We were determined to see this. We made the most of it, and took several shorter sightseeing trips. On one of these, we saw an animal in the distance that was as big as a cow, but was something else. When we finally found a way to drive up close to it, it was a giant red kangaroo. When it stood up and looked at us, it looked seven feet tall!

     When Monday finally rolled around, we drove to the town of Seventeen Seventy. It was named after the year Captain Cook explored that coast. We got in a very fast jet Boat, and we tourists sat down in the middle area, unable to see out. It was a very rough ride, and the people sitting on both sides of us, and in front and back, and many others, threw up. We did not. I guess you could say we were lucky, somewhat. We didn't produce any of it, but we caught some of our neighbor's produce. It saturated the air. We felt like galley slaves of old.

      After two hours, we reached the reef. We stopped at the Lady Musgrave Island, several acres. There was absolutely no soil there. It was formed by a few trees growing up, with Nodding Terns visiting and nesting there. The trees, at times, secreted a sticky substance, trapping many birds. The Island had grown up from bird waste, rotting trees, seashells and decaying bird bodies.

     We ran into a woman who was stranded there, and had been for days.  A boat had dropped her off, and just did not come back to pick her up. She begged for a ride. The last time I saw her, she was still begging the captain.

     Before anyone was allowed in the water, they raised a chair several feet in the air for a guy who told us he was making sure no one drifted off.  We knew enough by then to know he was watching for sharks. The Great Barrier Reef is known to have numerous types of sharks.

     We moved into the beautiful blue lagoon to snorkel. Barbara was a marginal swimmer, she was sucking in a lot of salt water, and I swam over to her and told her I was just barely holding my own, and not to count on me to be able to save her if she got into trouble. She finally went back to the boat and requested a life jacket. The boat crew didn’t have her board the boat. She sat on a small extented platform and raised both arms, like they told her to do. They quickly popped a lifejacket on her, snapped it closed, and pushed her back in the ocean. Time here was not to be wasted!  When we were exhasted enough, they called us all in for lunch. They had prepared a nice lunch of assorted sandwiches, fruit and cookies. We were all starving!

   We had a fun day, and saw many kinds and sizes of colorful fish and coral. They took us on a ride in a sub-boat. It took you underwater where you could see the colorful coral and fshes up close. This truly is an area of incredible beauty. We felt we were lucky to have seen it!

     The ride back was long, but not quite as rough, and besides, we were all too tired to mess with throwing up by then.  On the way back to the motel, after dark, we learned that kangaroo, unlike our deer, just felt it was their obligation to jump out in front of us if we came anywhere close. We slowed down. The next morning, we headed into the outback. People were very excited. No, not to see us. But because they were getting their first rain in three years.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Safari

Forever A Hillbilly: The Safari: WE PREPARED FOR OUR FOR OUR SAFARI. We were to fly, instead of driving as was normally the case, because people were still killing each ...

The Safari

WE PREPARED FOR OUR FOR OUR SAFARI. We were to fly, instead of driving as was normally the case, because people were still killing each other in the countryside. The tribal violence in Kenya was still in full swing. When we arrived at the dirt runway in our 30 passenger plane, a man was busy clearing the wild animals off the runway. We were at the Masai Mara, the Kenyan portion of the Serengeti. When we stepped out, Our guide had a small folding table set up beside his 4 wd vehicle. He constantly watched for dangerous animals while we had cookies and tea.

     Our guide, Wesley, drove toward Kichwa Tembo camp, which would accomodate 60 or so, but only we and 4 women were there now. All white people in Kenya now were UN related or missionaries, and this group was no exception.

     Wesley had been one of Kenya's top distance runners. He told us they all got into distance running because it was the only chance they would have to come to America. He ran a 4 minute flat mile in the finals, but didn't qualify.

    We went to our tent to stow our stuff, and get ready for our first outing. Monkeys were all around us, and Warthogs were everywhere. When we left our tent, I tied the doorway tightly, as instructed, to keep out Baboons. Our first trip went well, for a time. It was a big plain with sparce trees. Many large animals could be seen scattered throughout the plain. After we had gotten a good close up look at a lot of animals, and were miles from camp, a major storm blew up just before dark. Wesley got out rain gear for us all in that open Jeep, But it did little good in this storm. The plain was flooded, and we got stuck, again and again, each time finally managing to get out. After dark, I kept my face covered to try to keep out some of the rain. I once looked out, just as a big lion jumped out from in front of the Jeep, and stared at us hard. I knew this was the last place on earth that I wanted to spend the night. I covered my face back up. For once, I had no wish to see what was out there, waiting.

      We finally got back to our tent, on the edge of the plain. We were freezing, but felt safer, and they had placed hot water bottles in our beds. Two guards wandered about, armed with bows and arrows. "Arrows? against a Lion?" I thought. But These were Masai Warriors, the most experienced people in the world with Lions. I had read that President Obama had also used Masai Warriors for security when he went on Safari.

      Early the next morning, I was awakened by big animals of some description, growling loudly, around our tent. "You've got to be kidding me," I thought. This just had to be recordings, played to make our experience more real. Didn't need that. It had been far too real already, last night. Turned out, a Warthog was in heat and a couple of males were fighting.

     Once in the Jeep for our morning outing, Wesley got a message from another guide, in Swahili, so we didn't get the drift, But he headed out fast. On the way, he explained; Large animals just see the Jeep as one big unit. Step out of the Jeep, they see you as a meal. Don't get out for any reason. He told us of a honeymoon couple he took out a few weeks earlier. They were filming a lion, and the husband stepped out to get a better picture. The wife was operating a video, and she filmed her husband's death.

     Two female lions had just killed an antelope, And as we got in close one tore the face off. Barbara was on the corner of the Jeep nearest the lions, and for once in her life, she should have gladly given up the best photo angle. But she would not. With misgivings, we shot pictures like crazy. Maybe get something for our kids to show at our memorial service back home.

     Soon two male lions came running, trying to take the kill over while hyenas circled, waiting for their share. One female lion jerked off a large chunk of meat, and ran off with it, chased by a male.

     Water Buffalo had another lion treed, and each time he would try to come down, they ran at him with their sharp horns, trying to protect their young. He just went back up the tree to wait them out. These kind of encounters continued for a while, then Wesley drove us back in some woods along a river bluff, overlooking a river full of hippos, and set up a table for our breakfast.

      I picked up a huge bone, and brought it to Wesley. "Never do that. There could have easily been a black mamba under that."

     He got a call, someone had spotted a leopard, and we were off, scattering water buffalo as we went. Sure enough, a leopard was treed. We got photos. We got many good photos that morning. One of the most beautiful birds I have ever seen, many animals in the deer family, then a herd of elephants. Next was a herd of zebras rolling in the dust. "That's why nobody ever rides a zebra. Their first instinct, with something on their back, is to lie down and roll over on it," Wesley said.

     When we got to lunch, back at camp, we only filled up one table of many in the lunch room. "It is just hard to get tourists to come in,"  Wesley said," when someone's getting hacked to death over the hill with a machete."

     Our group consisted of a war crimes recorder, with the UN, her two sisters from Canada, two missionaries, and us.

     Using my trademark charm, I told the ladies, "I would have been here long before, if I had only known I would be dining with 6 beautiful ladies." I know they all were inwardly swooning over that, but ourwardly, It looked a little more like they were gagging.

     The waiter, not very busy, sat down and talked to us a lot. He was explaining how his generation of Masai were trying to change old customs of his tribe. The old customs largely stripped them of their wealth, and also contributed greatly to the Aids problem. Their dad wanted to buy yet another wife, but his sons told him he didn't need another wife, he had given far too many of the cattle they had for the group of wives he already had. The dad was pouty about that, but he didn't get the wife.

A dead man's wife was traditionally taken by his brother, helping further spread the Aids problem.

     A group of Masai Warriors, complete with spears, danced for us. They recruited Barbara to come up and dance with them, but she couldn’t jump quite as high as they could. Besides, she had no spear.

     A Masai leader of some sort came to talk to us that afternoon. I think he sorta expected our women to swoon at his full dress costume, But these were strong, outspoken women, and they had their own agenda. "Why do you circumsize your women?" was their first question. Well, all he could tell them was, "It's just our custom." The UN War Crimes woman stated, "Well, its a bad custom, and you need to stop it." Poor guy. He was just never able to get around to his prepared speech, and was happy to see us go. He did manage to ask me if anyone in America had cows. When I told him many people do, he said, "Tell them we will be coming for them." The Masai feel they own all the cattle in the world.

     Wesley got a big scare on the afternoon outing. He saw the end of a woman's toe in the corner of his vision when driving, and I thought he was going to dive out of the moving Jeep. He later told us black mamba's, when ran over, sometimes wrap around the axle and get into the open Jeep, and by then it would be very mad.  If that happened, it could take out all of us.

     We flew back to Nairobi. When we stepped off the plane, our regular driver was waiting. I proudly introduced him to the five new women, my five new "wives," and told him I had spent all my cows.

     Back at Rafiki, we had e-mails waiting. Corey and Kinley, our kids, were on pins and needles, and wanted to know it as soon as we were off Safari.

Forever A Hillbilly: Polio Hits

Forever A Hillbilly: Polio Hits: This story was written many years ago by my sister Jonnie, about her struggle with Polio.   by JONNIE SUE GILLUM WILLIS      &...

Polio Hits

This story was written many years ago by my sister Jonnie, about her struggle with Polio.

  by JONNIE SUE GILLUM WILLIS

     " My parents, and my two older brothers and I lived with my Grandma Gillum until I was four and a half years old. From the start, I was the family weaklin'. They tell me that Grandma rocked me in her lap as long as she could hold me. Then I sat beside her as long as there was space. I remember rocking so hard in my own chair that I turned over. This girl might have been sickley, but determination led her to pick up the chair and ride it to many big towns which were foreign to my country environment.

     It seems that I had tonsilitis very often. The doctor never considered  me well.enough to remove my tonsils, until I was grown. Because of my weaknesses, I had to take many medications. Many months of my fifth grade year were spent in bed. I had some problem with my heart, and the doctor advised complete bed rest. Santa Clause Brought my gifts to my bedside table that year.

     Because of my frailty, Mom insisted  that I wear long handles and long stockings to school. My first grade picture reveals my rebellion. The stockings are rolled down and the long handles are rolled up.

     Several months of my first grade year I had to stay home battling bronchitis and tonsilitis. By that time, I was so caught up in the magic of reading, writing, and arithmetic that I kept up with my school work at home. School was such a joy.

     As I reached those pre-teen years, I felt it necessary to play as rough as my brothers and sisters. We would ride homemade carts with blinding speed down hills, played in the creek, built playhouses around trees, played ball, rode bushes to the ground, swung on grapevines, and climbed every tree in our yard.

    

     From a very young age, I struggled to get a squeaking sound from our worn-out pump organ. Then one day, I succeeded. That was it! I wanted to play the piano. Of course that was out of the question. We couldn't afford to buy a piano, and there was no piano teacher available in our small rural town of Wing. That didn't keep me from dreaming. I walked around playing the notes with my fingers in the air. One day I found an advertisement for music lessons by correspondence. I begged and pleaded and continued to play in the air until my Dad finally found an old piano that he could afford. Then he agreed to order 12 of the 96 lesson correspondence course. After he saw how faithfully I practiced, how hard I worked, he ordered the remaining lessons.I could picture myself as a famous musician, music teacher, or at least a church pianist. (This was a major, major concession for Dad, coming at about the time the sharecroppers notes were being paid off after the Depression.)

     In January of 1946, I accepted Christ as my Savior. I was on top of the world. I just knew I'd outgrown the health problems and live happily ever after. Ours was a very busy life, and I always enjoyed my part in our many jobs to be done. When a new brother, Pat, arrived I learned to help with the cooking, housework, food preservation, gardening, etc. I continued to make time for those all-important piano lessons for one year. Thats when my world came tumbling down.

     The pain in my neck began on a hot, dry August day in 1946 when I was 13. My right arm was weak. Mom insisted that I rest while she, Jan, and Barbara continued to carry water from the creek, bringing it up the hill to water the flowers. (Mom always kept a variety of pretty flowers around the house, and always made time to care for them.) I insisted on carrying a bucket after they got it in the yard. I never realized that this would be the last thing my right arm and hand would ever do.

     The next day, I was in bed, in pain, with total paralysis in this arm and hand. My entire body grew weaker as I lay in bed for three days. The country doctor had never seen a case, but he suspected polio.(That country doctor was uncle Arthur) My parents hired a neighbor to take us to a doctor in Russellville. In a short time, he headed us to the University Hospital in Little Rock.After the painful spinal tap, my diagnosis of polio was confirmed. My memory left me after I was rolled through a door with a sign which read, "Isolation Ward - No Admittance." I was put to bed, unconscious, on a Saturday afternoon.

     By Tuesday morning, the doctor felt sure that I'd never survive, so he allowed Mom to put on a mask, a gown, and gloves to visit me. Evidently this was the turning point, because I remember the tears flowing as I opened my eyes and saw her. I couldn't talk because of a tube through my nose to my stomach. Also, my entire body except my head was in an iron lung. I can still hear the laborous sound as it forced my lungs to breathe. Since I am a very modest person, I still remember the embarassment as the doctor came to check on me daily, housed in this respirator for a week, no gown or covering was placed over my naked body. The pain in my neck had intensified because of the rubber collar surrounding it. I still have a scar from the irritation of that collar.

     Gradually, I learned to breathe without help. Then I was placed on a firm bed with no pillow. My left hand, eyes and mouth were all that moved above my waist. Both arms were tied above my head at night. Later, I learned this was to help my lungs expand.

     Two weeks after the initial attack, I was moved to Children's hospital. There was my Dad outside that isolation ward. He had spent many hours there the past two weeks. Tears of joy flowed from my eyes as he rode in the ambulance across town with me. During all this time to save my life, no brush or comb had ever touched my hair. It was matted, tangled, and dirty. I felt like a mess, but I was alive! As soon as they had me in bed one nurse shampooed and brushed my hair. After a bath I began to feel much better.

     Now the real workout began. The heat packs felt good to my sore, stiff muscles. Slowly, the physical therapy began to loosen my limbs. Strength gradually returned, and I couldn't wait to be on my feet again. I can still see the frightened shock on the nurse's face the first day I put one foot against the side of my bed and raised myself up. She was afraid I would fall flat on my face, but I didn't! From that day on, I began to experiment to see what I could do. Many days, planning creative ways to do simple daily tasks was half the challenge. There was no time to say "I can't". The act of sitting up in a wheelchair one afternoon was one of the hardest tasks I ever accomplished. I gradually relearned to walk, feed myself, and to write in manuscript with my left hand  (before polio, I was right handed.) Soon I was able to help other girls, and I felt like the most blessed girl in the ward.

     After three months I was fitted with brace around my body which held my right arm out and up. "Oh please, don't make me wear this out in public," were my thoughts as the nurse strapped it on. The Barnum and Baily Circus had come to Little Rock and the nurse was taking some of us. "You might as well wear this and start getting used to the public," she said as we left the hospital. After I began to enjoy my first circus, I soon forgot how I looked.

    Just before Thanksgiving the doctor said I could go home. My dreams of going home and starting to school in the 8th grade had kept me going all those sleepless nights in the hospital. Dad came on the bus to get me. Normally the bus didn't come by our house. However, the driver made an exception and took us to our driveway. Seeing my home again and my family running to meet us brought tears of joy. I was a survivor, and I was home!"

Forever A Hillbilly: Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell

Forever A Hillbilly: Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell:  – Not a contest entry, because I wrote it as she told me the story. But a good family story, so here goes.  ******      Many of us ol...

Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell

 – Not a contest entry, because I wrote it as she told me the story. But a good family story, so here goes.

 ******

     Many of us older people have trouble remembering what happened yesterday. Or this morning. Or, often, five minutes ago. But often, we still have a pretty good long term memory.

     Take me for example. I have memories of several things that happened to me when I was two years old. And, I can sometimes remember what my thought processes were, long before I could talk at all. Although I do have to admit, I couldn't talk a bit until I was nearly four.

     We pretty well like to tell our old stories, and when we run dry, we just start repeating. Again and again. Or maybe you noticed.

     Most all of us have a few, or at least one, really good story mixed in. If one just takes time to listen to a person who has lived a long time. Such was the case with Dorothy Bell.

     Dorothy, as a young girl, lived near Gurdon, Arkansas. It was December of 1942. (Dorothy Bell, you see, has an amazing memory of dates, times, places.)  She was living with her mama, Artie Mae, and her father. Things weren't going well between her parents along about then. She knew her Papa had just started having an affair with that big, red haired woman that lived out that way.

     Papa and Dorothy Bell were sitting at the kitchen table one day. Artie Mae, just recovering from a miscarriage, had gone out to the well to get a bucket of water. The well was right beside the kitchen door. When she walked back in, something just set her papa off. Dorothy Bell didn't know what set him off at that moment, but both Dorothy's parents had pretty well been on a short fuse for some time, ever since his dallying about had come to light. Well, Papa just jumped up and hit Artie Mae really hard with his fist, breaking his little finger. He knocked her clear across the room and up against the wall, and she was unconscious for a time. Papa sat back down.

     Artie Mae finally came around; she slowly picked up a piece of stove wood, and set in on Papa. As Dorothy Bell said, “she just totally beat him into a pulp.”

     They lived together three more years, but things were different after that. For one thing, Papa never hit Artie Mae again.

     After the divorce, Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell lived together for a long time. They move to Dallas, to a house with six apartments. They had a neighbor, Dewey, who came to see them from time to time. One day, he showed up with a sorta mean looking young feller, who they had never seen before. Seems his name was Malcomb Wayne. In the course of the conversation, a neighbor lady walked by, and Malcomb Wayne made an off color remark. Artie Mae didn't seem to care for that, and let him know it.

     Malcomb Wayne never came back with Dewey again. Time rocked on. On Halloween night of l957, Dorothy Bell had the Asian flu, and they had both gone to bed early. Both their beds were in the same bedroom.

     “I just heard a screen being cut,” Artie Mae said. Then, they listened hard. They both heard it. They quietly got up, Dorothy Bell was given a claw hammer. “If you get a shot at him, try to hit him real hard right in the head,” her mother told her.

     There was only one other weapon in the apartment for Artie Mae. Seems the last tenant had left a really big, long, custom made butcher knife. They tiptoed to the door of the room the sound was coming from. It was dark, but in the moonlight, they could see a figure climbing through the cut screen of the back porch. He flipped out a switch blade knife.

     Artie Mae and Dorothy Bell started running for the front door, then headed down the stairs; they could hear him running behind them. They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs when he caught them. The switch blade flashed, and a long, deep gash was cut in Dorothy Bell's forearm. That scar is still visible today. Blood was spurting. Artie Mae took a swing at him with the big butcher knife, and cut off an ear, barely hanging on by a little skin. Blood was gushing from him too, even worse than Dorothy Mae's slice. As Artie Mae was taking another long stab at him, his fist hit her arm, and the knife went sliding across the floor in the dark. Dorothy Bell knew she just had to beat him to it, as she ran and slid across the floor.

     He turned his attention to Artie Mae, knocking her down, up against the wall, hitting her again and again with his fists. When Dorothy Bell found the knife, she headed into the fray. Her Mother was getting beaten badly. Dorothy Mae swung hard, not stabbing, just whacking hard with the blade, right between the shoulder blades. Every time the blade landed, she said, “Let her loose.” She swung again. And again. When each one landed, she ordered “Turn her loose.” After about ten blows, he was losing a lot of blood, getting too weak to continue. The Police had been called by a neighbor who heard the fuss. The police were accompanied by a long black hearse. The hearse doubled for an ambulance in those days.

     Artie Mae told Dorothy Bell later, “You really hit him hard. I could feel every lick you hit, jarring his body into mine!”

     From the ambulance lights, they could see him. It was Malcomb Wayne. He was put on a stretcher, none too gently, and slid into the hearse/ambulance. Then Dorothy Bell was loaded into the front seat.

They were taken to Parkland Hospital, on Harry Hinds Blvd., the same hospital President Kennedy would later be taken to after he was shot.

     Dorothy Bell waited outside a long time, while Malcomb Wayne was being attended to. Then they sewed her up too. Artie Mae, though beaten badly, didn't get a ride in the hearse. Not enough blood on her, and the hearse was pretty well full.

     Later, in court, Dorothy Bell was filmed testifying. She got to see herself on TV that night, Pony tail and all. A very rare thing in those early days of TV and video cameras.  The judge said to Malcomb Wayne, “If those two women had killed you, there's not a thing I could have done about it. You weren't supposed to be there.” Turns out, that was the extent of his punishment.

     A few days later, Dorothy Bell and Artie Mae went to get the stitches out. As they sat in the waiting room, Malcomb Wayne came in, sat down right behind them. Dorothy Bell watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was pulling out his switchblade; he held it a few moments, looked at her hard for awhile, but then he thought better of it, and started cleaning his fingernails. He never bothered those two ladies that day.

     They had a shock when they got home. The landlord told them to move out. The only time ever, Dorothy Bell says, they were evicted.

      In 1976, Dorothy bell moved to Denton, Texas.  Her mother later moved up to join her in a large apartment complex. In 1980, they saw a new tenant move in one day. Artie May asked Dorothy Bell, “Did you see who that was?”

      Dorothy Bell shook her head. They both knew. Malcomb Wayne and his Mama. But he never got anywhere close to those two women again.

     Dorothy Bell and her mother later moved to Arkadelphia, Arkansas. Artie Mae passed away a few years ago. Dorothy Bell now lives alone, quietly. She still has many good stories to tell. A long life and very sharp long term memory makes her well worth visiting, especially if you like good stories!

Forever A Hillbilly: A Love Story

Forever A Hillbilly: A Love Story: This story was written by Jackie Greear Leffingwell, and is the third entry into the Best Family Stories contest.             My mot...

A Love Story

This story was written by Jackie Greear Leffingwell, and is the third entry into the Best Family Stories contest.

          My mother, Ruby Lazenby, grew up in Wing, the third youngest child of Will and Lavinia Lazenby. She was one of seven girls and two boys.

          Even though she was raised in a rural area, pictures I’ve seen tell me that she was up on the latest fashion.  Her dark brown hair was styled with a little spit curl over her left temple, and she dressed her slim 5’2” frame in the latest flapper style.  Evidently, J. R. Turner was pursuing Ruby, but avoided the subject of marriage until he made his fortune.

         In the summer of 1930, at age 21, Ruby took the train from Arkansas to California for an extended visit with her married sister, Ollie Croney.

        In California, Ruby joined in with the activities of Ollie and her husband, Lloyd, and their circle of friends. She couldn’t help but notice a tall, handsome young man who was part of that group. At a little over 6’, he towered over her, even in her high heels, and his blue eyes and dark straight hair topped off the white shirt, tie, and blazer he liked to  wear.  His name was Homer Greear, and he was quiet and somewhat shy.  So Ruby, being the outgoing type, engaged him in conversation. One thing led to another, and they began dating. By the end of the summer, they were serious, but Ruby’s vacation was over, and it was time to return home to Wing. One evening before she left, still being the bold one, Ruby turned to Homer and asked “So, are we getting married, or what?”  With no hesitation, he replied “Sure we are.”

       So Ruby returned home, and Homer continued to live in his room in a boarding house in Upland, CA.  Meanwhile, he went to the local Ford agency and put in his order for a new Model A Ford, complete with rumble seat. In a month or so the car arrived fresh off the assembly line, and he took delivery – One of the first to come to Upland.

       But back in Wing, things were not going smoothly for the young couple. Her parents couldn’t be convinced that this “California Man” was right for their daughter. After all, they never met him, and her older sisters had married “local boys.”  But after much conversation and numerous letters back and forth, Ruby’s older sisters, Ora Carter and Irene Gillum, helped plead her case, and they finally gave in.

       So in the middle of December 1930, Homer left for a long, cold, solo trip to Arkansas, and he arrived in time to spend Christmas in Wing with Ruby and her family.

       On December 29^th, they were married in Yell County and spent their honeymoon driving back to Upland, where they lived the rest of their lives. Ruby passed away in early 2001, just a few weeks after they celebrated their 70^th wedding anniversary, and Homer continued on in an assisted living facility for three more years.

Jackie Greear Leffingwell

My name is Jackie, and I’m a native Californian. I retired as a secretary from our local hospital six years ago, and I enjoy reading, writing, crossword puzzles, computer games, and watching TV.  I’ve traveled throughout countries around the world, but I’m content now to stay home. I have a son and daughter, and two adult grandchildren.

Forever A Hillbilly: My Story......

Forever A Hillbilly: My Story......: History will tell you that the Great Depression lasted from October 29, 1929 until 1939.  Times were hard in Wing, AR during that perio...

My Story......

Entry number two, Sixty Year Promise Contest.  Written by Cindy Buford.

History will tell you that the Great Depression lasted from October 29, 1929 until 1939.  Times were hard in Wing, AR during that period, and for some years thereafter.  My Uncle, who lived 102 years and 9 months, told me more than once that the Depression started earlier and lasted longer in Wing than in other places.  He was a young man just turned 20 in 1929 and very aware of the starkness and absence of opportunity in Wing.  Many folks in the area left, looking for a better life in the land of milk and honey, California, (now known as the land of fruits and nuts).  

Many of my relatives went to California and were lucky enough to find work.  My parents also made the journey, and I celebrated my 2nd birthday there in 1937.  My Dad could not find steady work, however,  and they decided to make the long trek back to Arkansas.  

Things were primitive in 1937, and towns were few and far between in many places.  My Dad miscalculated on his gasoline supply, and we ran out of fuel on a long lonely stretch of road in Texas.  Night was falling, and Daddy decided he would just have to walk to the next place where he might find civilization.  Leaving my Mom and me in the car, he started out.

When he did find a small community and a service station, he asked for a can of gas and also if someone would take him back to his car.  The men at the station were incredulous.  They were very suspicious of this fellow who walked into their station from the falling darkness, with dust on his shoes.  His clothing was not impressive either, being Camp Reform CCC issued Khaki, well worn as he had been out of the CCC since shortly before my birth.  (I can guarantee you that they were patched, if necessary, and starched and ironed by my Mom's standards. You might be poor, but you would be clean and neat as possible.)

He told them he had to get back as he left his wife and baby out there in the car.

One man said, "Why, there is not a woman in Texas that would let you leave her out there on that road at night!"  

Daddy straightened up his shoulders and said, "Well, she's not from Texas.  She's from Arkansas!"

They got him a can of gas and gave him a ride.

Loucinda Buford

This is short, believe it or not, Pat!  As far as bio, you probably could write mine but I will say I was born in Wing and spent my childhood there, with the exception of about 3 1/2 years during the war and shortly thereafter.  Graduated from FV High School in 1952. and from ASTC (Now UCA in Conway) in January 1956. After retirement, I was fortunate enough to return to Wing for a while.  My heart remains there, and in the Valley.

Forever A Hillbilly: The Dog Days of Summer

Forever A Hillbilly: The Dog Days of Summer: This is the first entry story in the SIXTY YEAR PROMISE FAMILY STORY CONTEST!  Linda Hatcher of Arkadelphia is the writer.  Thanks, Linda...

The Dog Days of Summer

This is the first entry story in the SIXTY YEAR PROMISE FAMILY STORY CONTEST!  Linda Hatcher of Arkadelphia is the writer. 

Thanks, Linda, for your prompt action!

Summer time is dragging into the dog days of August here in central Arkansas where I now live. August is always a mixed bag. The summer months offer a relaxed schedule (good thing) played against a backdrop of extreme heat and humidity (bad thing). August heats up even more fiercely in Louisiana where I lived for most of my life after marrying Jimmy Hatcher, the Southern boy who stole my heart. One year many summers ago after ten days of triple digit temperatures,  Jim and I arrived suddenly at a place of desperation. In our usual last minute form, we made plans to travel north to escape the fiery furnace our state had become. We hurriedly packed the car with changes of clothes, inner tubes and ice chests, and set out to seek cooler temperatures and relaxing venues before school started in the fall. It was usually a matter of making the budget stretch, and so often Jim suggested sleeping in tents on air mattresses. I countered, “I see that camping trip and raise it to a quick Motel 6 weekend to Hot Springs.”

Or better yet. We responded to a postcard that came in the mail inviting us to a complimentary weekend in Hot Springs. And so, off we went with the two kids to Arkansas.The only catch was that we had to endure the long tour of the Hot Springs Village and listen to the sales pitch from our friendly host who pressed us to buy some property to which we could retire eventually and meanwhile use as a  vacation spot. We were honest people, we insisted, and promised we would indeed really think about buying a time share in the piney woods of central Arkansas. For the present, we answered the salesman, we would have to politely refuse to buy but gratefully accept our two night/three day stay in a cabin on beautiful Lake Hamilton. Oh the memories. Stolen nights in comfortable quarters on the lake. Vacation swimming and boating. Sunburns. Horseshoes. Card games. And best of all, time with family away from the stresses and demands of home and work. We did not have smart phones in those days. Thank God.

Hot Springs offers a myriad of distractions. Oops, I mean attractions.There is the $15 ride in the amphibious vehicle rigged out for tourists named The Duck. The driver with a microphone talks to  you about the points of interest around town. The spas, the springs, the wax museum, the boutiques and eateries. Then suddenly, the tour host drives the road vehicle right into the lake and suddenly the waters of Lake Hamilton lift you up and you are indeed, like your name sake, bobbing on the water like a duck. One of the places the tour guide points out once you are water born is the lake property of a famous gangster who had a secret escape tunnel out to the dock in case of raids by the FBI during the Prohibition era. For a youngster this is pretty exciting stuff, and I have to say as the responsible parents in the party charged with keeping our kids on the boat and out of the lake during the tour, Jim and I were having fun too.

Sometimes we did go on the ever-popular-with- Jim camping trip. We would make it to Lake DeGray in Arkansas or (even closer if we were really broke) to Caddo Lake just over the Texas line. We set up the tent and gathered wood for the campfire. The kids were excited, and Jim was in heaven. He often relived memories of camping trips out west with his family when he was just a boy. He happily regaled us with stories of the bear that he could hear breathing outside the tent. How his Dad had taught him to take no food into the tent and to tie up any food items and hang them high in a tree overnight. How he went exploring the camping site and nearly walked right off a cliff. These tales did not inspire courage in me, and you can ask the kids, I almost always slipped out to the car to sleep after everyone else in our intrepid family group was asleep. Jim was always trying to recapture those halcyon days of his youthful adventures. His main challenge was getting me into those joyfully recalled outdoor memories.

I am the quintessential city slicker. I grew up in Baltimore playing hopscoth on the pavement and riding my bike. For our annual vacations there was one scenario and one scenario only. We went ” down ne oshen.” Ocean City, Maryland. We stayed in motels that opened right onto the beach. At night we strolled the boardwalk and bought Thrasher’s french fries and corn dogs. There were no tents or campfires involved in these beach vacations. My early adventures did not equip me with the skill of getting excited about arriving at a campsite and setting up a tent and emptying all the articles out of the car which you had just packed in the car. I had not learned to be patient while the coals got hot enough to cook the food while everyone was starving after the long drive to the campsite. But I tried. God knows I tried.

Usually the first nights of these camping excursions really were a treat. Change of pace. Rustic settings.The smell of campfire food. I usually had imagination enough to unpack franks and beans. Jim opened a can of potatoes and cooked them with bacon in a skillet on the fire.The makings for S’mores which had been hastily purchased on the way out of town were retrieved from the car. Hey now on that first night, I could get into eating around the campfire.Also I enjoyed the lingering around the fire to tell stories and sing songs. Fun! But I had different emotions when we started the let’s get ready for bed routine. This involved walking to a restroom facility (sometimes quite a hike) if we were in a state park. Sending the beams of a flashlight ahead into the night, I stumbled my way to the facility that was crawling with Daddy Long-legs spiders and attracting moths and mosquitoes like crazy to the lights on the cinderblock building. There was a brave attempt made to potty whilst darting looks around for spiders, and then the brushing of the teeth in a disgusting sink, and then the trudge back to camp if the batteries in the flashlight had not already started to fade.

If it were a more primitive camp like Daisy State Park where Jim took us to camp when the babies were still in diapers, there were no restroom facilities. It was dark and wet because the rain had not let up since we crossed the state line into Arkansas. We had to rig an indoor potty with a large cooking pot which of course tumbled over before the night was through and sent us packing– loading the toddlers and all the equipment hurriedly in a downpour into the car for home. That was one first night that was not so good. Another first night that comes to mind  is the one none of us slept a wink at DeGray in our new pop up Jim could not wait to try out. The large black crows called out so early in the morning it was impossible to sleep and thus began the second day of camping when everyone is tired and grouchy. We had quite a few of these second days of camping in our married life. Enough said.

Oddly enough many years after these memories come unbidden into my heart and mind with the arrival of the sweltering last days of summer, I now live in central Arkansas just minutes from Lake DeGray and those crows. My camping enthusiast husband is now gone and hopefully organizing camping trips in much more beautiful climes and pest free places in heaven. How I wish I could share another miserable night with him and my now grown kids during the dog days of August.

Linda Hatcher