CHAPTER I

It has always been puzzling to me that my memory does not begin until I was five years old. At least, this was the first actual recollections I have of my life’s beginning. There are many occasions that come to mind; however, I truly believe they are written on my mind’s eye because I have heard them related many times by family, neighbors and friends. You know, you hear people say, I will never forget the time you did this, or said this… Then the story is related by someone and you are clueless as to what they are saying about you, or the incident they are describing. You don’t remember it at all. I call these, memory transfers.

The very first vivid memory for me occurred in the summer of 1943 when I was five years old. It was, for me, a time of excitement because I was going to be entering the first grade in school. In the 1940’s I do not recall any of my friends who went to kindergarten. Maybe kindergarten was for the more affluent children at that time.

I had two brothers who were already in school, and I could not wait to be a part of the "big school." No more ‘play-likes’—this was going to be real school.

My days of anticipation at entering school were filled with shopping for new school clothes, shoes, coats, everything I would be needing for my new adventure. At five years old, you don’t have a concept of much that goes on with family and your life. Your needs are met by someone else—and your decisions are made for you as well. Life as I knew it was either a good or bad day. Happy or sad. Beyond that realm of thinking, it was not my responsibility. Little did I know that soon the excitement around my house would begin to turn to sadness.

Both of my parents were born in Winston—Salem, NC. When I came along my maternal and paternal grandparents were already deceased. Most of my aunts, uncles and cousins still lived in the North Carolina area. So my family, as I knew it, consisted of my Dad, Lester, my Mother Jessie, and two older brothers. Robert was 14 years old and mature far beyond his years. David was 12 years old and a real industrious boy for his age. He was always working at something to earn money. And then there was my dog Frisky, who was by no means a pedigree, but he was my best pal. We also had a cat named Kitty who was pretty much a community cat… she belonged to the last person who fed her.

Although my parents loved animals, Mom never allowed them to come inside the house. Dad had built a doghouse for Frisky beside our back screened in porch, but on stormy nights he would lay behind the shrubs outside my bedroom window and whine. I would have a hard time going to sleep just knowing Frisky was out in the storm. At the time, I thought my Mother was the most cruel person in the world. But Frisky survived. After all, David had found him abandoned in the woods. He had never had the luxury of being a house dog.

I was watching a TV program one evening where the host was asking a room full of kids to describe what their parents did for a living. Some of their answers were hilarious. And some did not have a clue what their parents did at their job. The kids were all between the ages of 4-6 years old. Somehow it made me think back to my concept of what my parents did when I was that age. Mother’s job was easy. All she did was cook, clean house, wash clothes and iron, and take care of me. I knew that my Dad worked at a shop and fixed wrecked cars. I also knew that my Dad was the best Dad in the whole wide world. My brothers were always saying that I was ‘daddy’s little girl’.

My Mother and Daddy were the kind of parents that played with their children. They took us to church, to ballgames, on bicycle rides, walks around the neighborhood, and frequent picnics and the movies. We lived in a neighborhood that had children of all ages who played together, went to school and church together, and spent every waking hour just having fun. But, I was too young to know that there was a war going on in the world… that Uncle Sam had sent my Dad a letter of Greetings to come help fight this war. Nor did I realize that this auto body shop where my Dad worked was actually his business, the one that he had invested every penny of his savings into to establish himself in this work so he could provide for his family.

Daddy was very devoted to his family, and a good provider. Mother did not work outside the home. This was something that was just a given that she was the Mother of three children and she would stay home to take care of us and my Dad. It was important to my Daddy that we were provided the necessities of life. We certainly weren’t rich, but there was enough love in our house to cover any lack of luxuries or wants we may have had. As most families in this generation, my Dad did not believe in credit. We waited until he had the money before we bought any extras such as furniture, cars, or anything other than the necessities. We always had a nice comfortable house, nice clean clothes, and sufficient food to eat. My Mom was such a thrifty person, she could take the least amount of anything and make it into the most delicious meal.

At any rate, my life at the age of five was the beginning of my life’s experiences and memories. In the summer of 1943, as we were getting me prepared for entering school, I began to see my Mom crying. She began to turn her attention even more towards my Dad and they spent a lot of time just sitting, talking. Because my Mother was always the most optimistic person I knew, always happy and busy taking care of her family, the sudden tears became something that I had never seen in her before. It also seemed that I was spending more time with my two brothers, and our next-door neighbors who had three older girls that treated me like their little sister.

Mother always wore an apron when she was in the kitchen, and that was a great deal of the time. This was before the frozen dinner meals and fast-food restaurants became popular. It seemed she was already preparing lunch as she was cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast. (No dishwasher either). And, early in the afternoon she began cooking for our supper meal. We didn’t have a large refrigerator with a freezer to keep meats in, so Mother made almost daily trips to the local grocery to buy fresh vegetables and meats for meals. I grew up thinking that everyone ate three meals a day and on the schedule of 6:30 a.m. breakfast, noon lunch and 5:30-6:00 supper in the evening. For sure, meals around the table at our house were very special family times for us, and we kids were expected to be home at these times.

In the big pocket of this apron Mom wore, she always kept a nice clean handkerchief. I would notice her using this handkerchief more often, wiping tears from her eyes. Sometime when she was in the kitchen cooking, or while she was cleaning the house, she would just stop long enough to wipe her eyes. But we never talked about it. No one was telling me what was about to take place in my life. Around the last of August, and getting close to the time I was to begin school, my Dad seemed to be very busy preparing for something special. He was talking about duties my two brothers were to be responsible for. How they were to help out around the house. I wasn’t involved with these conversations much because, as I look back now, I see that I was pretty well protected by my parents and my older brothers from the reality of what was about to take place in our family. My only concern at the time was my entry into the world of ‘big school’.

Up to this point in my life, my days were spent with my Mother. She was very active in our church and was always spending time helping out with various projects involving the church family and community. One of the sweet memories I have of a project that she always took care of each month was our visit to the Old Folks Home. In those days it was quite different from our beautiful residential care and nursing home facilities we have now. I remember this particular home was located back in the woods at the end of a long dirt road. There were little wooden unpainted cottages that today would have been considered unlivable. They had no central heat and air-conditioning. In the winter the residents would sit around a wood-burning stove located in the middle of the room, wrapped up in coats and sweaters, and small blankets to keep warm. These garments were usually provided by various church ladies circles. In the summer they would sit outside under the large oak and elm trees for shade. The men would sit in their wooden slat chairs leaning against the big tree trunks. Everyone had a local funeral home paper fan that was moving as fast as they could to keep cool.

The fun part for me was that Mother let me distribute the hymn books, although I later learned that most of the residents there could neither read nor write. Some of them would not even know they had their hymnbooks turned upside down. But they could sing every word of every hymn or gospel song we would sing. Some of them could not see because they needed glasses… some could not eat anything very hard because they did not have proper teeth. Mother, and some of her friends from church, would always take refreshments. Kool Aid and cookies were the usual refreshment in the summer time. And cookies and hot chocolate were their favorite in the winter. On some visits we took them little sandwiches which they loved.

The program consisted of visiting with each person, someone would read Scripture from the Bible and give a short devotion and then we would sing. These folks were big on Amens and Hallelujahs. They didn’t say these much in my church so this was nice. I learned that these expressions meant that they really approved of what you were saying. After the prayer time, Mother would always let me pass out the napkins, cookies and Kool Aid. I must have been in my teen years before I realized that every black lady was not named Annie! It seemed my Mother told me to call most of the ladies Miss Annie. Years later I found out that this place was actually called the Alms House. It was a facility provided by the county where they sent people who were virtually homeless and without any relatives to take care of them. They had no Medicare or Medicaid to help take care of them back then. They were truly wards of the State and County. The only thing that I recall about this event that I did not enjoy, was the fact that they always seemed to have a ‘funny odor’ about them. It was also much later when I learned that some of the cabins did not have running water.

To this day, I can actually say that this trip to the nursing home each month had a lasting affect on me, because I have always had a special place in my heart for individuals who are placed in facilities by family, or States, and are virtually forgotten as human beings. I still visit assisted living facilities, give out hymn books, lead the singing, pray and serve refreshments. It is quite different now. The places I go have central heat, air-conditioning, beautiful furnishings and decorations, fresh flowers all around and serve delicious food. I’m sure that the residents at the facilities I go to now would not be as proud of a cup of Kool Aid and a little cookie as these folks were. I thank God for the progress we’ve made in this area of caring for our elderly and physically impaired.

CHAPTER 2

We had the best neighbors next door named the Byrds. There was Uncle Roscoe, a short stocky built man with a beautiful head of curly hair. He was such a hard worker. Always had a bountiful vegetable garden each year with the best watermelons and tomatoes, which he generously shared with the neighbors. Aunt Lula Mae was a very attractive, articulate lady. She had long hair that she pulled up into a bun and always wore the prettiest house dresses. Ladies in this generation did not wear long pants, and even if they did, they would never be caught out in public with anything other than a dress or suit on. Even when Aunt Lula Mae would help Uncle Roscoe work in the garden, she would always have on a pretty dress. I called them Aunt and Uncle because my parents would not allow us to call them by their first names. As it turned out in my life, they were more my grandparents than neighbors.

There were three Byrd girls. Vera, the oldest, Doris (Tootsie), the middle girl, and Sybil the youngest. My two brothers were ages that were in between the oldest and youngest of the Byrd girls. We were not just neighbors, we were like family. We went to church together, they attended school with my brothers. I became their ‘little sister’ and was treated very special. I knew they loved me by the way they took care of me. Tootsie took me everywhere with her. We went to movies, shopping, ballgames and church. She let me dress up in her big clothes and shoes… even used makeup. She always had such pretty things. I had long hair and Tootsie always loved to brush it for me. Aunt Lula Mae made many of the clothes her girls wore. One particular coat I remember, was the coat she made for me that matched her girls’ coats. It was navy blue with a big white collar. There was no question that I felt like family when they made a picture with their pretty new coats, and I was standing in front-looking just like one of them.

One of the fondest memories I have of Aunt Lula Mae, as I was allowed to refer to her with much affection, was her beautiful yard. She had the most gorgeous flowers that were set in areas where she had swings and benches covered with roses winding around trellises. Some of the flowers created such a sweet fragrance that you thought you were in a perfume store. I would sneak across the street to be with her while she was working in her flowers. She would stop her work, fix us a snack and a drink and we would sit in the swing for long periods, just talking about her flowers, about God’s creation and how He made everything so beautiful and for a purpose.

It was on one of the days Aunt Lula Mae and I were having our little tea party and chat, when she somehow had sensed that I was saddened about my Mother’s crying. She told me what was going on in my family that was causing my Mom to be sad and cry. She opened the conversation by asking if I would like to spend several nights with her girls while my Mother went to Mississippi with my Dad. They would be leaving in a few days and would be riding on the train. Mom would be coming home, without my Dad for a while, but he was going to be okay and that I would be very proud of him for what he was going to do.

Now, this seemed to be more than I could understand at the time, because there were so many questions I asked Aunt Lula Mae. She must have told my parents they would have to try to explain. Questions like.—Why I must stay with her family? Why my Mom and Dad were leaving together and why my Mom would be coming home without Dad for a while? A child of five does not have the reasoning ability to understand the true meaning of what a war is, or why you have to be separated from your loving