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

Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year promise Contest

Forever A Hillbilly: The Sixty Year promise Contest: The Sixty Year Promise Today, I am announcing – SPREADING WING'S – My Best Family Story Contest - . Here's why - When I fi...

The Sixty Year promise Contest

PLEASE NOTE: SINCE SOME OF THE WRITERS ARE CLOSE FRIENDS OF MINE, AND SOME I MAY NOT  KNOW AT ALL, IT WOULD BE MORE FAIR TO JUDGE THE FINAL WINNER BASED ON THE NUMBER OF READS A STORY GETS IN THE FIRST THREE DAYS IT IS UP. I HOPE THAT'S OK WITH ALL OF YOU.  PAT

Today, I am announcing – SPREADING WING'S – My Best Family Story Contest - . Here's why -

When I first started writing, about four years ago, here was my goal. I wanted to find out as much as I could about my ancestors.  Not just names on a genealogy sheet, not just their picture. I wanted to know how they lived, the ups and downs of their lives, who they loved, and yes, also, who they disliked. I wanted to turn them into flesh and blood people, so that my offspring, and later generations, could feel like they actually knew them. A few stories, or the start of one, sometimes came through on genealogy sheets from researchers from generations past. Like, “Grandpa Tucker (my grandmother's father) and his family hung a man one morning, down in front of his house.” or “Great great grandma had a little brother who was eaten by a wild hog.” or how about this – my great uncle, Harry, “faced down a thirty man posse who came to arrest him in downtown Dover with the words, “I will give up my guns with my life, and make the man who takes it pay a heavy price.”  The posse finally turned around and left. Without Harry.” What!? How could anyone just let a story like that lie, without giving any details? Well, maybe the old time researchers could not find out any more, with the resources available to them at the time. But in this day and age, especially with great historical societies like the one in Pope County, Arkansas, I was able to dig up the whole stories, and tell them in SPREADING WING. 

     Now, most of the stories I was able to unearth and record were not that dramatic. Most were just sweet little stories, but they still told me much about those people. The oldest people in one's family are always the best sources, if their long term memory is still somewhat intact. Many older people may not remember what they did yesterday, but the long term memory is good. All one need do is ask, and sit and listen. They love that. I was born the youngest of a generation, by several years, so almost all the old Gillums were long gone well before I started my project, at sixty five. Actually, all of my dad and mom's generation. I never met any of my grandparents. After all my research on my grandparents, I felt like, for the first time, that I actually knew them. I cried.

     So, if I could do it, you can too. But start early. When the old folks die, their stories often die with them. I also told all I could remember about my generation, and my children and grandchildren love it.

My first book was titled “THE GILLUM'S WERE NOT LIKE OTHER PEOPLE.” (All right, I've just got to take out right here and explain to you that title. My brother Harold worried about that title a lot. Thought I was saying, “The Gillum's are better than other people.” When someone asked him about that, he often said, “If you would just read the book, you would see that's not always the case!”  Actually, I was talking with JR Turner, a Wing icon who was around one hundred years old, and, since he knew all the Gillum's, I asked, “What did you think of the old Gillums?” Well, I knew that was a hard question for JR, since most of the old Gillums were pretty stern men, who seldom smiled. JR thought for a long time. He obviously didn't want to hurt my feelings. Finally, he just said, “Well, the Gillum's were not like other people.” then added, as an apologetic afterthought, “They were very solid.” which was true. Solid like a rock. I knew right off, JR had just named my book.) Anyway, getting back to my story. My son Corey had several hard copies of my book printed, gave them to me. He called that volume one. He also established the “sixty year promise.” He vowed to write volume two, starting on birthday sixty. His oldest child, Caylie, an old soul at fourteen, vowed to write volume three starting on birthday sixty. Thus publishing an ever increasing volume of past writings. So that, as Corey stated, “Many generations from now, when all of us have left this earth, I hope a young Gillum will read these first hand accounts of who we were, and how we lived. Through this, maybe he or she will truly know those who went before them, and learn something about themselves, as I have from Dad's book.”

     So, anyone can be a writer. In today's world, anyone can publish a book. I challenge you to start writing volume one of your family's “SIXTY YEAR PROMISE.” There is no better way to honor the old people in your family that to record their stories, before they are lost forever. We are all going to die, but who we were and what we did can live on and on, if you just take the time, and love them enough, to write down their stories and preserve them. Your offspring will be so happy you did.

     So, you're going to do it? Good. Now let's get down to the nuts and bolts. Who wants to read and preserve a boring book? Not much anybody, that's who. Your stories have to be INTERESTING, and

when appropriate, HUMOROUS. I try my best to keep those two thoughts at the forefront of all my writings. Sometimes, to do that, I have to ruffle a feather or two. But if you stay HUMBLE, and make fun of yourself more than you do anyone else, most people will accept that. If people of your generation don't like to read it, later generations will just throw it away. Nobody likes to read one's writings if the writer brags on one's self too much. SELF DEPRECIATION is a wonderful tool. Now at this point, I have to tell you, I'm not a trained writer. I'm not trying to set myself up as a writing expert here. I'm only telling you what seems to work for me. You have to write using your own thoughts. With all this in mind, I am announcing -

Forever a Hillbilly's First Annual – MY FAMILY STORY CONTEST

RULES -

1.   Write your best true family story in English. Up to 1400 words. If possible, typed, single spaced. Send it to me, copied and pasted onto the body of your e-mail. (No attachments, please. I can't always open those.) E-mail to barbandpat66@suddenlink.net

2.   If number one is not possible for any reason, I don't like to exclude people. Print it clearly and mail it to me at 1030 Evergreen, Arkadelphia, Ar. USA 71923.

3.   Please include a short bio about yourself, up to forty words.

4.   Contest ends September 1, 2018. All those judged “Totally wonderful” by our official judging panel, Barbara and I, will be posted on foreverahillbilly.blogspot.com, along with your credit and bio.

            Forever a Hillbilly is currently read by readers in eighty plus countries.

5.   The overall winner, as judged by the same distinguished panel of two judges, will be awarded the grand prize, which is: A. If you live in the USA, a signed and personalized edition of SPREADING WING.

6.   B. If you live outside the USA, I will send you an amount equal to the current price of SPREADING WING on amazon.com or Amazon Europe, along with a letter from Barbara and I bragging about what a good writer you are and stuff like that. I'm very interested in hearing from my foreign writers. I'm sure reading and comparing your life stories to mine would be very interesting.

7.   Now, I have to confess. I ran this contest once before, and nary a soul responded. But now, I’m reaching about 10 times as many people, so I’m more optimistic.

 So, get to work, and send your best family story to me! Kay and Linda, who lead my faithful pack of local readers, Please set the pace! Thanks for your time, and your attention.  

Forever A Hillbilly: The Thing about the River - Part 2

Forever A Hillbilly: The Thing about the River - Part 2:     THE THING ABOUT THE RIVER IS, it has held a lifelong fascination for me, whether it be fishing, frog hunting, or just floating along...