Page 23 - A Soldiers Exposition

My uncle (father’s brother) was a rather unique person. He too had served in the Army and gone to
Japan after the bombings. He returned as he had departed. He was unchanged by the experiences. He
worked in the local shoe factory, had a family and did not seem to have any negative issues relating to his
time in the Army. I recall that he had the only television in our little town and that on Saturday afternoons
several of the local men would drop by to watch the boxing match on the black and white TV.

I remember the front porch swing and my aunt bringing lemonade and bologna and cheese sandwiches
for all the children. If I was to describe “normal” during these times in my life, I would say time spent at
my aunt and uncle’s house.

My cousins were crazy kids. They were full of energy all the time. They were loved and they knew it.
But, we (my mother, sister, brother, and I) were not really wanted. By that I mean we were always treated
nice and welcomed in their house, but we could tell that they really wished we would not come around too
much. In short, they wanted nothing to do with my father and by extension us. It was a sad situation that
weighed heavy on me as a small child.

Billy Joe (BJ) (not his real name) is the only early childhood friend I can recall. He was also from a very
poor family. His father was strict but did not drink. BJ was “a little strange”, he was mentally retarded. In
those days it was not unacceptable to call him a “retard.” I knew in my heart that it was not nice and
never called him a retard. I accepted him as he was, and he accepted me as I was. We were very good
friends. BJ loved to play cowboys and Indians. He had his six-shooter pistol and wore his sheriff’s badge
with pride. It was his job and mission to protect the town’s children.

There was a group of boys that would play together. I never heard any of the boys refer to or call BJ a
retard. They treated BJ as an equal – strange but equal. We all liked to go to the local cotton gin and
corn processing plant. We would climb the corn cob piles playing king of the mountain. We were
unaware and therefore unafraid of the dangers. The cobs would shift, and we would be knocked down
and covered with the corn cobs. We continued to play until one day we were over-enthusiastic in our
attempts to get to the top and declare “I am the king.”

No one became King of the Hill that day. We lost BJ. He fell and was covered in cobs. In our desire to
get to the top no one noticed BJ was missing. BJ suffocated and died. I was just a little boy, but I knew
something bad had taken place. I was a little boy playing with his friends as usual. BJ died a happy kid
playing with his buddies.

God must have needed a kid’s sheriff more than our poor little town.

Life continued as “expected” until finally my mother had enough and found the courage to pack up and
leave. My sister and her new husband came to get us. I was almost nine, but I understood that our life
was changing for the better and that no matter what was ahead of us it had to be better than what we
were enduring.

My brother moved into a little rental house with mom and me. It was directly across the street from my
sister. We felt safe. My sister’s husband was a big man and a former soldier. He promised me that my
father would never physically hurt me or my mother again. He kept that promise and several times stood
between my father and me to stop his hateful intent.

My father would come to my school, lie to the teachers, and take me away. He would tell me I was a bad
boy and that it was all my fault mom left him.

My brother and my sister’s husband would find us and get me away from him. There were times when
my brother would hide me in the attic of the grocery store where he and mom worked. My father would
come to the store looking for me and threaten to take me home with him.