314 Larkin 

Growing up in my home on my granddad's farm afforded me all the adventures I needed. Life there was, and still is, a delight. But beginning in 1957 when I was four, a new routine began. 

My Aunt Pearl arrived one Friday when I was four. She took my little suitcase and loaded me and it into her car for the trip to her house on Larkin Street in the Webb Addition. And for the next thirteen years that is where I could be found on Friday nights.

Aunt Pearl and Uncle Glenn Berry were the closest thing to my parents. They had no children of their own, but counted me as part theirs. Looking back now I marvel at their generosity. They were barely forty years old, and my visits limited their freedom, but I always felt so welcome it was obvious that they enjoyed my visits as much as I did. The front bedroom was called Marilyn's Room.

Everything seemed different at their house. They had a lovely curving flagstone walk leading to the small front porch. And a paved driveway. Their mailbox was on the wall by the front door where you could access it from the covered porch. And they also had a post office box --- No. 51. You could get your mail twice a day in that time.

And my new surroundings were magical! In the back yard was a large cinder block barbecue, a picnic table, a pear tree and a beautiful goldfish pond. Around the pond grew spearmint and peppermint. There were fish swimming around and reeds and a tall privet hedge overhanging it. I whiled away a lot of time in that yard. Separating the back yard from the side yard was a rose trellis that spanned ten feet in width and six feet in height. All around were irises, roses and camellias. The garage had back doors to access the back yard. I thought that was so neat. I clearly remember a fish fry there one Saturday night when an unexpected storm blew up, threatening the party. Uncle Glenn opened the back doors of the garage and the men picked up the food-laden table and carried it right into the garage!  Voila! Supper was saved.

Inside in the spacious living room there was a little reading nook in a corner behind a green brocade wing chair. Aunt Pearl had a bookcase filled with dust-jacketed hardback books, which delighted me, a voracious reader. (The bookcase survives in my living room today.)

It was from Aunt Pearl that I got my love for "pretty things". She had already stocked my bookshelves by sending me a book from every city she and my uncle visited when he traveled for BamaTuft. She loved New Orleans better than any place and passed that love on to me. I still have some of the "riches" she caught for me from the Mardi Gras floats. She took me to Wales Jewelry each Christmas for a ring of my choosing. She did lots of special things that I later realized she could do because she wasn't saving to send a little knot-headed girl to college! 

My aunt and uncle ate out a lot on Fridays. We usually went to Leck's at Mud Creek, operated by our Carver cousins. Sometimes we went to Freck's as my uncle was partial to their catfish. When we got back it was television in the living room. I watched the first episode of The Flintstones on their set. I remember seeing Burke's Law and  Honey West with them. We had a fine time and usually about 8:00 Uncle Glenn would go to Roger's Drive-In for ice cream cones for all of us. Sealtest ice cream!

On the Fridays we ate in, Aunt Pearl served my supper early so I could play until dark. She always cooked me pork chops, pinto beans and chocolate pie. I would be good up until the streetlights came on, ending our endless games of hide 'n' seek or freeze tag.

Aunt Pearl slept with me til I was in junior high. She scratched my back and told me wonderful stories of Jim Bowie and his knife, of Floyd Collins exploring the caves of Kentucky and the man who had hydrophobia and chained himself to a tree in anticipation of madness. We rarely heard Uncle Glenn get up, as he always did at 4:30 a.m. He went every morning almost to Hodges Drug Store, where he would drink coffee and smoke with friends R. L. and Charles til Aunt Pearl  got up.

Aunt Pearl and Uncle Glenn traded at Roy Perkins' Dixie Market just around the corner. And they had an account----all you had to say was "Charge it". I thought this was neat. The only charge account my parents had was at Word Lumber Co. And you could get to the Dixie Market by going through Aunt Pearl's back yard and then through Jay and Martha Cordell's side yard. But the BEST part was this: Mr. Perkins let me pay with coupons! Aunt Pearl took every magazine from Reader's Digest to House and Garden, so there were plenty of places to find them. I scoured those magazines and clipped those coupons and kind Mr. Perkins took them like money! Riches! He was a balding gentle giant whose business dealings reflected his Christian kindness. Always a smile. Always good to neighborhood kids. In addition to candy and treats, he had a counter with various notions, which always fascinated me. In 1959 I bought a brightly colored china turkey, which has graced Thanksgiving tables in my family for many decades. But my favorite purchase were the Santa and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers. The couple were dressed in floor-length red attire and stood about four inches high. I adored them then and for every Christmas since they have been the centerpiece on my dining table. And whenever I look at them, I see kind Roy Perkins, whose goodness and patience helped make my Fridays in Webb Addition a magical time. I wish I had thanked him for those times that I remember in such a special way.

The freedom of the small neighborhood was intoxicating. It was safe to cross or walk the streets in that time. The Craftsman cottages so charmed a young girl that one day she would build one of her own. And, unlike at home on the farm, there were neighbors with lots of children for playmates. Early on, it was the Owens boys and the Sutton kids. In 1959 the Brickley family moved in directly behind my aunt's house, and their son, Keith, became my pal as well as my first grade classmate and fellow Sunday School attendee. Later the Graden kids and occasionally Terri Thomas who spent many Friday nights with her grandparents, J. O. and Flora Chambers, who lived three doors down. In fifth grade Connie Taylor moved into the Harris Keeble house directly across the street and became my running buddy up until high school. We walked to town on Saturdays, up the sidewalks on Laurel Street. When Ann Dicus (Kennamer) moved in on Kirby Street in 1963, she joined us on our jaunts.

It's been almost fifty years since my last night was spent in that house. I continued to visit often and it remains one of the best parts of my childhood. We lost Uncle Glenn in 1978, and in 1997 Aunt Pearl was sidelined by a stroke which left her in the nursing home for seven years til her death in 2004.

When I go to town on Fridays, I visit everyone in Cedar Hill --- we are all together within a forty foot radius.

Then before I go home, I always drive down Larkin Street... just to remember.

 

                           And God Laughs

       "We make plans, and God laughs." old Yiddish proverb

Often, late at night, I reflect on all the plans that Gene and I had made for the future. The time was coming when we would no longer have either of our mothers to consider during the holidays. One of our dreams was to go to New York City for Christmas. With no family dinners to attend, that seemed like a great time to revisit the Big Apple and see the city dressed in Christmas finery.

We loved Southeastern Conference sports. We discussed attending the next Alabama bowl appearance that was within driving distance. We talked of getting tickets to the SEC basketball tournament. On autumn Saturdays we usually turned to ESPN Game Day programming by 11:00 am, and were usually still in our seats twelve hours later.

The state fair in Birmingham was another target. Neither of us had ever been. We looked forward to exhibits, animals, and fair food.

He wanted to show me Philadelphia, a city he had lived in for two and a half years, and where he was remembered as the Wednesday Night Karaoke King, The man could sing! He had perfect pitch and a range of several octaves. He got me to marry him by singing "Unforgettable", which became our song.

I, in turn, wanted to show him my New Orleans, the city I have visited more than any other. I told him about the French Quarter, Cafe Du Monde, Jackson Square, Bourbon Street and Canal Street. There was Preservation Hall, the Court of Two Sisters, Pat O'Brian's and Commander's Palace. And not to forget the top of the Trade Center, the Huey P. Long Bridge, Audubon Park and the Garden District. Raw oysters for me, fried shrimp for him. 'Twould be a grand tour.

Also on our agenda was at least one more trip to the Gulf and a weekend in the Smokies, traditional vacation spots.

Memorial Day in Decatur for the hot-air balloon races was something else I longed to see again.

Louisville, Kentucky, the first week in May. Derby Week was something I had also learned to love.

Once more seeing Savannah, one of our most beautiful southern cities.

Maybe Key West in the dead of winter.

Yes, we would have a fine time just the two of us. It was how we planned to cope with the loss of our families.

We didn't plan on a cerebral hemorrhage.

Now I am here alone, using a walker, sometimes a motorized wheelchair. I never ONCE considered that he would go before me. And I found myself in the unusual position of having no plan at all. I am reminded again of the old adage I copied above this text.

But that is what humans do....they plan. And dream. And forget that everything depends on Him.

I forgot, and now a year later still struggle to pick up the pieces. God helps me. He sends friends and good days that help me hang on. I can get through a day now without crying. I no longer dread the coming sunrise. I don't yet celebrate it, but I am at least glad to still be here, different as life has become for me. Sometimes I feel I am finding my way and sometimes I still feel lost. I wish I could talk to Mama, so I do. Knowing her, I believe she hears. And alone in this beautiful house Gene built us, I talk to him too. No one has ever lived here but the two of us.

I was raised not to quit and I haven't. I was born strong and though weakened for a while, my strength is returning, if not my joy. Everything in its season.

Still standing. I think that says it all!

A Man Among Men

My father, Homer Morris, was blessed with many gifts. His humor and good nature were his trademarks in the first of the two lives he lived in his eighty-seven years. It was my good fortune to be a special part of the first of those two lives. I am his only child and he was the center of my world. There is a reason for that; I was born on Father's Day Sunday, 1953. He always said it was the best present he ever got, and from then on Father's Day was "our holiday". Whenever my birthday fell on Father's Day Sunday, we celebrated with a joint dinner. 

 I followed him every step he took and he loved teaching me to appreciate the same things he did. I was an Alabama fan from the time Pat Trammell took the field until today; it is still my passion and something he taught me to love. Few other things in life have given me more pleasure. When I was six he gave me water skis and taught me to ski. When I was seven it was a rifle, which he taught me to shoot. Next came a basketball and hoop. This daddy's girl was a genuine tomboy. As I got older, he taught me to shoot pool. I was pretty good for a girl, I thought, until he ran the table on me three times in a row, calling every pocket! He had won the city championship in pool, as had his father before him. I guess that's why they both were such good shots with a rifle. 

The second thing he loved best was the chenille rug business. From 1940 until the day the mill was sold to J.P. Stevens Co., he learned his trade at the knees of John and Jim and Will Maples. He was good at what he did and advanced rapidly. When the Maples family sold the business, John told Daddy it would be the best thing for him. He was right; Daddy became plant superintendent, and later general manager. He had worked at every job in the mill and had a perfect understanding of it; he could quote yarn weights and pattern numbers from memory and even repaired the boiler or laundry equipment if needed. He could also run a sewing machine. He even tried his hand at designing and some of his designs were quite good. They still survive in my mother's home. In addition to his unique qualifications, he was a genius at handling people. But the people he worked with were not employees, they were his extended family. Most of the workforce had been together for decades. No one called him Mr. Morris. He was Homer to everyone. I can remember when they occasionally had to work on Saturdays. Daddy would let everyone come in at 5 a.m., so they could leave at one, salvaging part of their Saturday. On these occasions Daddy would order barbecues from Leck's and feed everyone on the job. He was a great guy to work for, one of the reasons the union never got a foot in the door, during his tenure. 

All of this is background leading to his finest hour. In 1969 J.P. Stevens decided to close the mill and move it to South Carolina, taking a skeleton crew along for the start-up. They had badly misassessed the situation. Daddy, Carl Cameron, Bill Heath, Daniel (Boone) Jarrell, and Buron Thomas had no intention of moving; this was their home. So they proceeded to shut down and paid the salaried employees to stay on a few months to supervise the packing and moving. 

Long after the mill was empty, Daddy, who was still being paid, went early and stayed late every day. Mama wondered what he could be doing there. He had plenty of job offers, because his name was known in the textile industry. Some offers more than doubled his salary. I remember a discussion on possibly moving to Elijay, Georgia. Mama said, "Homer, we can go, keep our home and come home on weekends." She would have followed him anywhere. But he replied that our families were here and he wasn't seriously entertaining any offers. I, on the other hand, was relieved. The next year was my senior year at SHS and I wanted to stay here. 

 Finally one day Daddy came home with his briefcase and announced he was flying to North Carolina the next day. Mama wanted to know who was paying for this trip and why was he going. I will never forget his answer. He said, "Sally, in this briefcase I have figures proving I can run this plant in the black the first year of operation. I've been working on this for weeks. I can do it. I'm meeting with Alden Carpet Mills and Fieldcrest Mills; I already have appointments". Mama replied there was no need to do that. He replied, "Sally, I sit there every day in the office and the workers call wanting to know when the plant will reopen. They don't have other job offers to go to, and they are my best friends in the world". 

Daddy caught the plane, with only grit and a briefcase to make his sale. We heard from him once, the next day, but his meeting with Fieldcrest was scheduled the following morning, right before he had to catch his plane home. We were watching out the west window the next afternoon, when we spotted his car with the blinker on, coming up old two-lane Highway 72. We were outside to meet him before he got the car stopped. 

He jumped out laughing, flapping his briefcase, and hugging us both tightly. "I sold the mill this morning to Fieldcrest! I already have Bill, Carl, Buron, Boone, and me on the payroll and I can hire everyone back!" 

I looked at the man in the white Buick, but what I saw was a knight on a white charger. My heart almost burst with pride. This great man was my daddy! An honest to God hero, who had just saved two hundred people's jobs. After we settled in, he started phoning co-workers, and was still on the phone when I went to bed. I think it was the greatest day in his working life. I know it was one of the greatest in mine. 

So remember him for these things...a devoted husband and father, beloved by his co-workers, a friend to all. That is his true legacy. 

Happy Father's Day, Daddy! I'll always remember.

                                                                                                        Only One Uncle: Reuben's Story

My daddy was an only child like me. My mama had a sister who remained childless, but claimed me as part hers. My mama also had a brother, seven years her junior, and he became my only uncle. Mama and my aunt called him "Bud". My Gran sometimes laughingly called him her little groundhog. I have always called him Reub. He might be my only uncle, but he is one you can carry around for a lifetime. 

Reuben's story is a remarkable one, spanning the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. He was born on Valentine's Day, 1926, the only son of a farm family. Their farm was near county park. He would live there for the first seven years of his life.

While still in infancy Reuben was stricken with polio. His left leg was permanently affected. But even as a child, Reuben began his lifelong legacy not only to endure but also to flourish.

Reuben was a happy child as well as a handsome little boy, sporting the almost black, wavy hair and deep blue eyes from the Miller side of the family, as well as an easy going demeanor and likable way which also came from his daddy's people, From his mother he inherited a strict sense of duty, honor and responsibility, as well as a love of learning. These qualities would stand him in good stead for all his life.

As he grew, the withered leg and hip failed to grow. When he was small, it made little difference. But by age five it began to catch up to him. So during first grade and for awhile after, it was his sister, Sally, who carried him. Over a mile to the bus stop on County Park Road and onto the school bus and into City School, Sally toted Reuben on her back. Kind Uncle George Phillips, the blacksmith, carefully constructed a tiny pair of crutches in his shop for his little nephew, and Sally and Reuben both were freed.  Amazingly, he was able to outrun his classmates on his crutches! He would fling them forward and swing  his body, covering the ground faster than those using only their legs. Reuben walked with his crutches, unaided, from then on, well into his ninety-second year.

After his father's untimely death when he was seven, Reuben, his mother and two sisters moved to Cedar Hill Drive to one of his grandmother Wallace's rent houses. Cousin Bub Wallace was just a few doors away. Bub and Reuben were more than cousins; they were best friends also. I have a picture of the two happy boys, with Bub riding Reuben on the handlebars of his bicycle. It is significant to note that shortly after Reuben got his own bike.

Mr. Boyd Turner, principal of City School, had his own idea about the bicycle situation. Sending Reuben on an errand, Mr. Turner announced in assembly that the combined efforts of the school were required in bringing about a surprise for Reuben. The entire student body saved the wrappers from a certain type of notebook paper, which culminated in winning a bike for him which was presented to him at an assembly one day. Reuben rode that bike well into high school until it was stolen.

His mama expected Reuben to contribute to the household, feeling his handicap should never be an excuse. She felt lessons must be learned about responsibility to prepare him for life. This was accomplished in a totally unplanned scenario.

As a boy, Reuben begged a dime to see the picture show at the old Bocanita, where he would meet yet another kind soul who affected his life positively. "Aunt Tex" Snodgrass, who owned the theater, caught up with him and returned his dime. "Honey, you don't ever have to pay to see Aunt Tex's picture show!" she proclaimed. When Reuben told his mom about it, she was pleased but also insisted he must always offer to pay. 

Mr. Petty, the projectionist, took Reuben under his wing during his teenage years. Reuben learned to operate the projector and worked part-time. A bonus was the friendship of the Pettys, who lived near his family. (Mrs. Petty got in to the show for free, and she would take sisters Sally and Pearl with her, seeing each movie twice!) He also traveled with a crew to show movies out in the county and thoroughly enjoyed the work, which fueled his life-long love affair with movies. He also worked some for Robert Word at the Ritz. Reuben was contributing!

As Reuben entered adolescence, he knew that he must have training to get a job since he didn't have two good legs. With the help of the newly opened Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, sister Sally, who was working at the Maples company, sent Reuben first to Auburn, and later to Port Arthur, Texas, where he studied radio technology and acquired the skills to snag an excellent position on the Redstone Arsenal, where he would build transistors for the Saturn rocket.

Reuben settled in Huntsville in the late 40s, working for WBHP, as an announcer, account executive, and copywriter. Music was his other love besides movies, and he enjoyed his time there. My grandmother joined him in 1949, and kept house and cared for him during his years there. The radio station eventually gave way to a position at the Redstone Arsenal. Cousin Bub, who had first told Reuben about the radiology school in Texas, worked there also.

Reuben added another passion to his life through photography. He was amazingly good, and on at least two occasions made the cover of the Nashville Tennessean's Sunday magazine. All of the family had copies of the breathtaking shot of the setting sun breaking through the thunderclouds over Whitesburg Bridge.

My entire childhood is documented through Reuben's photographs. As much as that meant then, it is even more appreciated now, with all the family, save Reuben and me, long gone.

When Reuben got an early retirement from Redstone, he and my grandmother returned to Scottsboro in 1972, where he built them a new house, just a mile from mine on Woodall Lane.  He worked some for the Daily Sentinel, and dabbled in leatherwork and locksmithing. He also began setting many of his own memories down on paper. Some of his writings were published in the local historical association's quarterly newsletters, where they were well received. In reading my own writings I find that I do write almost exactly like Reuben, which suits me fine. I think it is safe to say I inherited my writing gene from him.

But something else was in store for Reuben. While having some clothing alterations done in Huntsville, Reuben had met a lovely lady named Mary, from Fayetteville, Tennessee. Mary was a widow and Reuben began making the pilgrimage to southern Tennessee every weekend. He jokingly called her his Tennessee hillbilly.

One Saturday, as Reuben dressed to leave, my grandmother asked where he was going. Reuben replied he was off to see Mary. Then my grandmother commanded, "Bring Mary here!" And that was all Reuben needed to hear.

Reuben and Mary were married in May of 1977, and she came to live in the house on Woodall Lane. They eventually opened Mary's Alterations in the Word Arcade. They loved bluegrass festivals, shopping at Unclaimed Baggage, trips to Gatlinburg and the occasional trip to Washington D.C., where Mary's only child, Janet, lived.

They had thirty-three wonderful years. We all loved Mary for making Reuben so happy. She was an artist with needle and thread, and an outstanding cook. Her lasagna and Mexican cornbread were delights, and her pound cakes were legendary.

We lost Mary in  2010, and life is very different without her. Reuben lives alone now, as do I. We are all that's left of our family save for Cousin Larry Ward in Birmingham.

The little boy who they said wouldn't live to adulthood marked his ninety-fifth birthday this past February. We see each other whenever we can and speak on the phone. When I look at him I can see my grandmother. When he looks at me he sees his sister Sally. I love my Uncle Reuben dearly. His story from beginning to end is one of triumph. 

Tell me this isn't a story worth telling!