Not For Sale at any Price!

Friends on the Coast (either one or the other) are always asking me, "How can you live in a small town?" Trust me, it isn't hard. Small town society and culture is definitely different from the big urban scene....different in interesting ways.

It is said that in a small town that everyone knows everyone else's business. That is probably true but just because I know your business doesn't mean I admit to knowing or that I tell it. Several years ago, when our house was destroyed by fire, local news channels were (for vicarious reasons) trying to find the family. To this end, they asked a city official who promptly put them on hold, called the place where we were staying and asked if we wanted to talk to reporter "X". When told that we didn't,the city official said okay and hung up the phone. The reporter was told that nobody seemed to know exactly where we were but if he saw us, he would deliver the message. We saw that official a week later and for some strange reason, he had "forgotten" the reporter's name and phone number.

One day, an elderly friend called to ask for a ride from her apartment to the grocery store. By the time I got to her place, storm clouds were rolling in and by the time I drove the two miles to the grocery, it was storming quite heavily. I pulled as close to the door as possible to let her out of the car with her walker. When I stopped the car, a police car pulled up behind me with lights flashing. Then the officer spotted this tiny elder with her walker climbing out of my car. Flashing lights were turned off and the car's driver suddenly had some other crime to pursue. Common sense had prevailed over the "no parking or stopping in a fire zone."

The local Coptic (Eastern Orthodox) Church has a new building to replace their smaller (and much older sanctuary). They are holding their annual Egyptian festival this weekend to celebrate. I was driving past another church a half block away and I spotted this sign "Egyptian Festival - Park Here." You know..with all the public noise about another church trying to build a community center...and being loudly condemned for the project, the very large sign at a neighboring church in my small town gave me a little more hope for the future. (By the way, our town has a community education center built by members of the same church that wanted to build a community center in that large urban area and they have had their center for quite a while. They even had an open house last year and welcomed visits by local folk!"

How can I stand living in a small town? Trust me, my small town is not perfect but I would not trade it in for a million dollars!

One Day, It Snowed in March

Sunday, March 3 ,1861, was a cold rainy day in the mountains of western Virginia. The clouds in the sky were an inky dark gray, the perfect color to signal snow as the day wound to a close and nightfall came. There was a restlessness moving through the slave quarters of the Howard plantation. The ghostly ones, the all but invisible house slaves, had slipped out to bring troubling news to their counterparts in the shacks that served as shelter. The Old Man was drinking heavily and swearing almost continuously. Tomorrow Abraham Lincoln would be inaugurated President of the United States. Change was no longer just a whisper in the breeze…..the Old Man felt that it was a roaring shout that would result in huge changes to his Southern way of life.

As night came and the snow began to fall, the Old Man sank into a drunken stupor and finally into a drunken sleep The house slaves finished their work, then one by one slipped away to the quarters to whisper urgently with their friends and relatives. The Old Man had been muttering threats all afternoon. If that “damn Yankee” fool became President, it wouldn’t be long before those “damned abolitionists” took over and freed the slaves and if those “nigrahs” were going to be freed, he’d be damned if he’d feed and clothe any “nigrah.”

By midnight, all the black folks on the plantation had gathered to discuss the now very real possibility that they would all be kicked off the plantation. Where would they go? Who would take them in? Would they be treated as runaways? Would the Old Man sell them South away from family and all they knew? Winter was sliding away but spring had not yet come to the mountains, just look at all the snow that was piling up. How would they survive? Margaret was especially worried. She had four little ones, 7, 5, 4,3, and another one on the way. If she had to carry the three year old, baby George, Lewis and William could hold Belle’s hand . She knew exactly where she would go but it was at least 20 miles away and she did not know if the children would walk that far and stay warm. Late into the night, she gathered as much warm clothing as she could find. The other women asked her, where would she go, could her husband come and get her and the children? How far away did he live? What were they going to do?

William Henry had whispered to her in the night….his “owner” was really his father and had tried so hard to buy Margaret and the children but Old Man Howard would not deal. Then William Henry had whispered the directions to the mountain where he lived and made her memorize the directions. She knew she could find the way, she just had to find a way to keep her babies warm. She talked to one of the younger men…did he know a way to get a message to William Henry? Finally, she had a promise, her friend would slip over to the next plantation and pass the word and someone else would pass the word until it got to William Henry. He didn’t know how long it would take but he would do his best. She worked through the night…she’d walk every step of the way if she had to but she had to carry food and warm clothes….to keep her babies safe.

Slipping and sliding through the night, from farm to plantation, across the mountains and through the valleys, the message traveled more than the twenty road miles between the two Virginia mountain communities. Before daylight the next morning, William Henry left his loft bed in the main cabin of the isolated farm on top of the Little River Mountain . He dressed quickly and grabbed a warm coat. The livestock must be fed, the cows milked, and other early morning chores completed. He stomped down the narrow path to the barn. He was surprised to find the latch on the barn door open. Looking around the side of the building, he looked for tracks…saw nothing out of the ordinary and then cautiously opened the door, entered the barn and hung his kerosene lantern on the nail by the feed room. There was someone hiding in the barn, he could smell the difference in the air!

A whispered voice came from the hay loft. “William Henry? That you?” He recognized the voice as a being from a neighboring farm…from a Quaker owned farm on the other side of the mountain. It was a black man who had lived at the nearby farm for many years….who had studied beside him in the night when the Quaker lady had taught them both to read and write. “Yep, it’s me Oscar. Something wrong?”

As the other man climbed down from the loft, “Got a message for you. A fellow came last night from up the road. ” The two men looked at each other eye to eye. “Said to tell you…Old Man Hoawrd…is fixing to put your family out! He’s drunk, cussing and swarping cause Lincoln is president. The word is he’s putting all the people out…with just the clothes on their back…..no papers…nothing.”

The blue gray eyes darkened and flashed with fire. The neighbor man grabbed the bucket, “I’ll milk the cows and feed your stock fore I go back to the Meetin’ House. Haven’t heard of any slavecatchers around lately …with this snow….they’d be easy to track and once I get back over the mountain, I’m safe.”

William Henry headed back to the main cabin and went in. The older man by the fire knew something was wrong. The lighter gray eyes met the darker flashing ones…square on.”What’s going on?”

“Word’s come…..bad word…..old Howard is putting everybody off his place…says he’s not gonna feed or clothe nobody..”

The man with the light eyes slammed his tin cup on the plankboard table. His eyes flashed with anger “He wouldn’t sell her to me and he wouldn’t sell the children and now the son of a bitch is throwing them out! You get the wagon ready and go get them…don’t waste time, GO!”

William Henry set out on Webbs Mill Road headed toward Christiansburgh. That was the way be had whispered to Margaret …if she ever got free to walk on that road. He had knelt by the fireplace and taught her the letters so she would know. Thoughts raced through his mind…he had piled enough straw in the back of the wagon to keep them warm and to hide them from prying eyes. His grandmother had handed him warm blankets to put In the straw and put warm bricks in the bottom too. She was old and didn’t say much but the message was clear…go get those children and bring them home! The mules plodded along the road. The sun was trying to come up but the wind was still swirling the snow about. He had been on the road for nearly an hour and he was more then half way there when he spotted a small group of people ahead. There seemed to be a woman there who walked like Margaret..could it be her?

Margaret was cold and her youngest boy was heavy but she knew she dared not stop walking. Her younger brother held the hands of the little children and walked in his sister’s footsteps. They could not be caught on the road, they had no pass…but they had been lucky so far. There had been no other people on the road. Coming down the next hill was a wagon pulled by two mules. The man driving th wagon was black. Surely he would not harm them. Maybe he would help them but…he was headed the wrong way! They could not go back to Christiansburgh…they had to go the other way…but wait! The wagon was stopping and the man was climbing down! Would he help them? Then Margaret recognized the man driving….it couldn’t be! But it was!

“Woman, get up in this wagon. Give me the children! There are warm bricks and blankets in the middle of the hay. Boy, get up in this wagon and get warm!” William Henry grabbed his family and loaded them in the wagon, snugly hidden in the straw. “We’re going back up the mountain as soon as I turn this wagon around.”

And, they did.

My Take

Today’s whole political agenda is frightening in so many ways. One can not read the newspaper (or any other news source) without being confronted with rabid, antagonistic, and largely racist diatribes against people of color, most notably the President of these “united” states and his followers. Truly I am not stupid enough to believe that these ranters and ravers are the majority of our country’s population but their vocal din intentionally muffles the voices of reason without which we do not survive.

Lately I have noticed something of interest. All of these diatribes are not only similar but they are redundant, dialectically and structurally identical, and display a blatant exemplar of faulty or non-existent analysis. Any competent user of the English language would immediately recognize the plagiaristic qualities of cut and paste technology. Cut and paste technology permits lazy thinkers to appropriate words from sources outside their intellectual comprehension, an exercise in faulty, illogical, or nonexistent analysis. My mother’s admonition comes to mind, “It is better to keep one’s mouth shut and let the world think you are a fool than to open your mouth (without thinking) and remove all doubt!”

We as Americans need to wake up and quit squabbling among ourselves. Our survival as a people is not a simple but rather a complex system which has many components. Those components affect each and every one of us. It we allow our inherent, childish, selfish emotions to hide our better nature, we are doomed. The founding fathers spoke of government of the people, by the people, for the people, a clearly stated unity of purpose.

Our early ancestors would reach out and help one another when needs were demonstrated. A forest fire struck the pine woods, the men grabbed needed tools and went to fight the fire. Some of the women fought the fire while others provided food and water. Flood waters came and neighbors came to help families move their possessions to safety. My stepmother wandered out at night and almost fell in the creek. The neighbors snatched her to safety and called me to come home since my father was in the hospital 30 miles away. No one expected monetary payment…payment would come around when a need arose. Those were the times when people understood that we helped each other because only in that way would all of us survive…no questions asked.

A physician we know went to Haiti (through the Dominican Republic) to look for a friend. Although the friend was not found, he did find people who needed help…and he helped because that was part of his upbringing..or as we say…part of his raising. A child needed help and a physician who chose to practice in the ghetto…reached out and did what needed to be done. A hill doctor jumped in his jalopy and drove down hollows , across creeks and bounced between ruts in a dirt road to see his patients. As a child I remember folk paying their doctor bills with a bushel of potatoes, a smoked ham from the family’s smokehouse, fresh canned vegetables, whatever they had to contribute. The community survived and life went on.

The best part of people’s nature is still here but if is being hidden by those who deliberately mislead and misinform others in an effort to disrupt a sane political and governmental response to the needs of ordinary, everyday folk. Corporate America would be willing to ignore the needs of children with handicaps ( a friend who has a child with spina bifida, another friend with an epileptic child…you know those people with pre-existing conditions). It is time to remember what this country is supposed to be about and quit clouding the issues with smokescreens!

Revisiting the Generation of My Elders

The spirits of the family elders are laughing all over Heaven this morning. They have been peeping through the clouds for months now checking on the family and the political climate in this country. (Don't bother telling me what the dearly departed can't do...they did a pretty good job of keeping up with the deeds and misdeeds of my generation when they were on this side of paradise...I doubt their changing sides has stopped any of them! I'm willing to bet my brother is still telling and retelling the Obama election story and has been ever since he crossed over.)

For a generation born on the cusp of the end of slavery, my grandparents saw some remarkable changes in the country, the world and in our little corner of the universe. They went through two World Wars, the Korean Conflict, the Great Depression. That wooden boxed Crosley radio on the table by the front door brought them the news of the world until it was replaced by that small screened black and white television which brought them even more news...some of which was greeted by raised eyebrows I'm sure. The dawn of the Space Age amazed my grandfather (then in his 90's) but he watched several blastoffs! He wouldn't have missed them. He and my grandmother listened and scratched their heads in wonderment at many of the world's changes. Quietly, late at night when I was supposed to be asleep, I'd listen to their comments shared in the companionship of a 70 year marriage.

Politically, they were Republicans....members of the Party of Lincoln...a membership my grandfather maintained proudly until that party betrayed him by nominating Barry Goldwater as their candidate for President. Although deeply disappointed and angry that a man he considered a racist of the worst order would be the nominee...Grandpa made his decision. Since all of his grandchildren had been well schooled in his political views (by him), the Old One decided that it was Final Exam Day and we were all summoned home to West Virginia.

Of course, none of us would have supported Goldwater. We knew that our only viable strategy was to vote for Johnson and we would. For me...facing my first Presidential election, I knew that I would never register as a Republican so I bit the bullet and registered as an Independent (I didn't plan to take the chewing out I expected from Grandpa over my party selection). Yes, I know that there was supposed to be no way he could have found out but...I knew better. Nothing happened in our small town that the elder grapevine didn't communicate faster than a telephone call and in the 60's...most of them didn't have their own phones!

The story has been told before...each of us was questioned as to how he or she would vote. As the youngest voter...I told my grandfather that none of us would vote Republican and to my shock...he was relieved. Then I got brave and asked him what he was going to do because he had never missed a vote in his life and he NEVER crossed party lines. I wasn't prepared for his answer....he wasn't going to vote! In shock I asked him why...and he told me....He was going to die! At 96 years and some months, my grandfather did exactly that.

I changed my party registration and although I may have crossed party lines in local elections...the Republican party has held no interest for me...ever. If it had held any interest...watching them unanimously vote against the Health Care Reform Act in the House of Representatives would have been the final irrevocable nail in coffin. To me the only obvious reason for such obstructionist behavior is blatant RACISM, a refusal to work with a black President of the United States!

This morning...here comes John McCain....another Republican from Arizona...who wants to repeal the Health Care Reform Act! What is it about the Arizona air that creates people with such extremely antagonistic agendas? As a child and a participant of the Civil Rights Age, I don't need an interpreter to recognize the behaviors of extreme and selfish prejudicial behavior. Goldwater, McCain, Klan, Teabaggers, whatever agenda is presented...it may not be identical but, its all the same. This morning, I blocked a former childhood friend on my Facebook page because of the same issue. I have seen rat holes in apartments rented to poor people in Washington, D.C.; a grub worm burrowing into an open sore in a toddler's leg (in that same neighborhood...where I personally paid a doctor friend to ILLEGALLY excise the grub from the child's leg); watched a friend die of a treatable cancer (because she had no health insurance and couldn't pay for a doctor)....and I could go on and maybe on another day I will.

The elders would say that the chickens are finally coming home to roost. They may be right...we'll see.