CONFESSIONS OF A TEENAGE SON

My mother’s been gone for twenty-five years,  and I’m now eighty-one… a great-grandfather almost a dozen times over.  So… let me get this off my chest.  I once sorta-kinda, lied to my dear mother.  OK, it was a genuine lie.

I was in the seventh grade at the time, Enochs Junior High.  That’s the time when boys really begin to think of girls as both exciting and desirable.  But there are two types of girls: first the ones who are ‘just friends,’ usually the ones you’ve know for many tears… and then there are fresh acquaintances who turn your head for the first time.  The girl of this story was a neighborhood girl, one who’d been a school mate for years… Winnie Holston.  Winnie lived one street over, on Silas Brown.  And Winnie was really gorgeous, which I somehow failed to notice at the time! 

We were about to have a sock-hop at Enochs.  It was to be my first school dance.  But I didn’t know how to dance!  I mentioned this to Winnie, and she suggested that I come over to her house after school, and she’s teach me a few dance moves.  Great!  Problem solved!

Now this was 1953, back during ‘old fashioned’ times.  And yet, even ‘back then,’ I considered my mother as ‘old fashioned.’  She had a belief young men didn’t visit young women ALONE in the house… and Winnie was alone in her home after school!  So… I didn’t tell my mother of my plans to learn how to dance.

My childhood pal Buddy Gorday lived at the end of our street.  To get to Winnie’s, Buddy’s was along the way.  So I told mother that I was going to Buddy’s.  But instead I made two additional rights and went to Winnie’s and learned to dance! (Would you say that in this case, two rights made a wrong?)  

Winnie and I played no other parts than that of dance instructor and student.  I may not have become a Patrick Swayze, but at least I didn’t embarrass myself and my dance partners on the gym floor!  Looking back, I’ve often wondered why!  Like I said, she was a real beauty.  I suppose that being friends, I was simply too close to the forest to see the beautiful tree in front of me. 

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Just Lights In The Sky

Moon copy

The Moon and Me In 1950  ©2017 Bill Murphy

I feel a special attachment to the moon, one that goes way back into childhood, and continues to this day.

Although my parents kept my sister and I well supplied with age-appropriate reading materials – I was especially excited by the discovery of the Viola E. Lake Memorial Library in George Elementary School. At first I struggled in learning to read, because all those ‘th’ words looked alike to me. By 3rd grade, I’d mastered that wonderful ability, and reading became the doorway leading me to places far from Evergreen Street in south Jackson.

I was especially drawn to books on astronomy and space travel. In 1950, Pluto was still a planet, and Mars was firmly believed to be laced by canals, just a Percival Lowell had drawn them in 1906. In the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico, the US military was firing off Werner von Braun’s V-2 rockets right, left, and ever higher, reaching up toward space. And Chesley Bonestall, that great painter of all things space, was in his prime, churning out vividly colorful images of men working on the moon, space ships on their way to Mars and beyond, and gigantic wheel-like space stations circling the earth. It was a most exciting time for youngsters like myself.

I’ve written much about my dear maternal grandmother who lived next door, but I need now to reveal a sad fact about her life. She was raised in a ‘dirt-poor’ family with few opportunities. She never learned to read. Therefore, her ‘world view’ was limited to not much farther than her arms could reach. But – what filled her heart more than made up for what was between her ears.

I can remember that pivotal night as if it were only yesterday.

This was the days before TV. Instead of sitting inside before an electronic device, we were outside, the adults sitting on the porch, the kids playing in the yard. I remember standing there in Mamaw’s front yard, gazing up at the moon overhead, and wishing and hoping that I would live long enough to see mankind even make an attempt to go there.

I can’t remember the exact words I spoke in relaying that deep and longing desire to my family that night, there in Mamaw’s front yard, but Mamaw quickly respond with,

“Child, there’s nothing up there to go to! The stars and – the moon up there – are just lights in the sky!”

To Mamaw, the sky overhead was just a gigantic domed roof overhead, and the moon and stars only ‘lights in the ceiling.’ Mamaw didn’t live long enough to learn otherwise.

But I did live long enough to see men not only try – but go to the moon – and walk on its dusty surface. And that’s another reason the moon is special to me. It was the very day that Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon that I first learned of Carol Ringer, now my dear wife. I wrote about that in January of this year, “The Year That Changed It All.”

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Death At An Early Age

Grim Reaper 2

©2017 Bill Murphy

Death presented itself early in my life.

The first death of which I was aware effected me in a profound way. It was the sudden and unexpected death of my uncle in Bogalusa, LA, on October 1, 1946. I was 5 at the time.

Uncle Fred was the husband of my mother’s older sister, Lily Padget. To family and friends, she was known simply as ‘Sister.’ After Uncle Fred’s death Sister moved to Jackson (MS) to live with her parents (my grandparents), who lived next door to my family on Evergreen. Sister was always dear to me, but living next door, she became someone very dear to my heart. Sister and I were always close – even more so after Uncle Fred’s death. I treasure my many years with Sister.

The second death came 2 years later, March 4, 1948. I was in the first grade.

It was the death of my beloved grandfather, Patrick Henry Fairchild, Mom’s father. I was old enough by this time to realize what had happened, and experienced the heavy loss his death dealt to me. He had been my ‘best buddy‘ for 7 years.

My parents were very ‘protective’ of my sister and me. We were kept away from the funeral home and grave service. But I keenly remember the day he died. He’d been taken downtown to Jackson Infirmary, located on the corner of North President and Amite. My sister and I were required to sit outside in the car as the adults went inside. In that era, hospitals didn’t allow small children as visitors. An older cousin sat with us. We sensed that something ominous was happening. The profound grief expressed my my mother told it all.

My next experience with death came only a few years later. I can’t recall the exact year. I was in the 4th or 5th grade. What’s ‘amazing’ about this is that I know I was YOUNG – 9 or 10 at most.

A younger lad from our church was tragically killed in an auto accident – and 5 other boys of around my age were enlisted as pallbearers. (We had adult men at the head and foot as assistance.) I supposed by this time Mom and Dad had lifted some of their protective blanket.

Most folks have never heard of children serving as pallbearers for other children. That experience is etched in my mind. I recall those halting steps to the grave side as if it were only yesterday. Perhaps the reason why memory remains so vivid is because of my fear of tripping that day, and not of death.

I had an unusual friend in the 6th grade, Eldridge Hawkins. He and I were polar opposites.

I came from a solidly stable, loving family. From what I heard from him, his family was a bit different from ours. He was older than the other kids, maybe having failed a few years. He was quite rough around the edges, and due to his age, larger than most of us. But I became good friends with this boy from what some called ‘across the tracks’. My mother didn’t approve. We never hung out together away from school, but were usually together on the playground.

Again, I’m not sure of the date. I have the newspaper clipping which Mom pasted into my grade school photo album. She didn’t included the dateline.

But Eldridge and a boy who live down the street from us on Evergreen – hung a long rope off a railroad trestle spanning a large creek and were swinging from it. Eldridge slipped and fell into the creek – and drowned.

Earlier in the school year, for show and tell I had taken to class an 8 x 10 photo of my Grandfather Fairchild standing in front of the locomotive he engineered. When passed by Eldridge, he signed his name on the back! That photo now has two tangible remembrances attached to it – that of my beloved grandfather, and of my friend, Eldridge Hawkins.

Many of my classmates at George Elementary School followed me to Enochs Junior High, and on to Central High. Death came back to visit us with a vengeance at Central. Over the course of those 3 years, death claimed 7 of our classmates, the last one on graduation night.

At least one died of cancer. Several had sudden, fatal heart attacks. One of those deaths came to a classmate in ROTC. He was buried in his Army ROTC uniform. His was a military-style funeral. Although I enjoyed every minute – well, to be honest, most minutes of ROTC, I didn’t want to ‘spend eternity’ in uniform! I made my parents promise that if something should happen to me – I wanted CIVILIAN clothing – or else I’d come back to haunt them!

No doubt, we’ve all come close to death in our lifetimes and never known it. But once I was told just how close I’d actually come.

I’d had a persistent cough for several weeks, treating it myself with off the shelf remedies. But finally, very late one afternoon, my cough morphed into fever and pain. I could not stand erect. I should have gone straight to the emergency room, but didn’t. The next morning it was worse – so we went straight to my doctor’s office – only blocks from Baptist Hospital. After examining me, he FOLLOWED us to the hospital, where he orchestrated my immediate admission. Within minutes, he inserted a long metal rod into my side, between my ribs, and into my lung – all without sedation! Afterwards, he explained to my wife (Carol) that he’d never removed that much fluid from a person who survived! He said that should I have delayed treatment longer, within hours I would have been gone. What a sobering thought. And – oh what a fool I’d been for my delay in seeking treatment.

I wrote this essay on death neither because I’m fascinated with the subject, nor that I fear it. Truthfully, death is simply a part of life. It may be the end of mortal life as we experience it in the here and now – but it’s far from the end of life as we know it to be. I’ve been blessed to walk in many amazing, historic, astounding and truly breathtaking places. I’ve walked where kings and queens have walked – where presidents, dignitaries and famous military, science, entertainment and sports celebrities trod.

But I’ve never walked on gold.

It’s funny how we mortals view golden streets as the very pinnacle of paving materials – after all, we pave streets with common materials, asphalt, concrete, sea shells, rocks and stones. But then, God does this also! In heaven, gold is an everyday, common commodity – only fit to walk on!

I hope to see you there!


Illustration from clipartfest at https://clipartfest.com