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.