Memories are fleeting as the clock clicks with constancy and purpose. Mechanical clocks are all we had in the mid-50's. They can be wound forward propelling us all to a future time, but on their own those same clocks could never tick backwards! Those instances in time are frozen there and our memories are frozen with them.
If you remember that day when we each did something stupid? It's still there and recorded in the annals of time. Often I think of the old fashioned 8 mm film movies where time could be reversed and things moved backwards. The apples we stole were replaced exactly where they had been before they had been touched. I remember when with an Amo girl, the stupid things which were done. My friend and his Shadow walked the tracks to Amo throwing ball bearings which had before been shot from the moving wheels of the thousands of train cars. It was a short walk compared to the north and south roads to the town of love, where it was that where we hoped love would be!
After the distance was defeated my friend and his Shadow found the fare girl and sought to be her paramour. Each my friend and his Shadow did a Cupid-like contest to win her heart. My friend did his thing, which had seemed to delight this young girl, but it was his Shadow who did what could not be wound back before the stupidity had been done. This Shadow who was me, holding my breath, which I supposed would be quite impressive to a junior high school girl to woo her to me, but stupidity jumped from somewhere above and stole my thunder!
It was me who held his breath until this Shadow fell to the ground and my mind darkened for a spell. Rather than winning the girl's heart she joined my friend whose shadow I was, laughing at my stupidity. I was humiliated. I did it to myself! Never did this beautiful young girl ever consider me more than a dimwit I think since a dimwit thing I did. However, my friend, at this time, did not better with his sensible feat, but sowed the seed which ripened several years later. This is one girl of his which I never dated in his tracks. Alas, she later belonged to another and the loss belonged to my friend and his Shadow.
When I think of this stupidity, it's the clock I wish could be turned back, but since it must do so on it's own, it never will be. Thousands of times since, that clock which I wish would retract it's time didn't do so. As death gets nearer this clock gets more brazen. I'm sure that rather than giving me more time, it takes some away for the days are shorter and the nights more brief. My only respite from the racing clock is the time I spend in the dentist's chair. Indeed at my end when the reaper waits, may it be in the waiting room of the good Dr. Trippett who stole my molars before their time.
At my demise it is my desire that I should be of sufficient health to bear my own pall, and death so swift that I not see it coming! It would be great if the angel of death said "Surprise" and understand it only to be "Sir... A surprise!" to which I exclaim joy! Clocks announce even death with a audible click of it's ingenious mechanisms.
Clocks in the 1950's were mechanical and Big Ben clicked loudly! Time brings back memories of the Maplecroft Theater where many a backseat baby was conceived in a moment of lust. It was where time stopped for many as their heart leaped forward in their chests as mountains were climbed leading to the temple of desire.
Maplecroft was not only the home of second rate movies, but steamed windows dampened by heavy breathing. Innocence went out the window as windows fogged over. The best shows were in the back seats, but most of the 1950s teenagers stopped short of conquering Mount Venus because there were consequences. It was just easier to say and not do, than to and suffer the consequences. Maplecroft was the place where many young girls lost their innocence even when innocence remained intact. It was easier for a man to climb the mountain and fail to reach the summit than reach the top and fall down.
That seems unfair, but young boys knew the lie. Most of us told the lie. The reputation of innocent girls were soiled, but the soiling was short! The next person who believed the lie found out very quickly as second base was approached, that nothing more than first base was there. It was then understood: "He lied! He said he did, but he didn't!" That was the system except for a few, and lying was safer than doing! Many reputations were ruined because boys wanted to be known as men.
All relationships were not innocent though! There were some who consummated what they wished they hadn't. Later they found the clock clicked true time and those hands would not retract their path! The reputations of vulnerable girls were gone, Only time concealed what was. It was extremely unfair. The boy got glory for conquering the inconquerable while the girl lost their virginity along with their pride. It was different then. It was unfair, but that's how it was back then!
What did the kids of Coatesville do in the 1960's? Of course it was the mundane, at least to modern children, but to us, each day brought more excitement! Our days were topped with Maplecroft, driving around the Burger-Chef in Plainfield and maybe the Triple Decker in Greencastle. Before fast food Maplecroft was the epitome of excitement. even in the 1960's us kids from Coatesville would earn our quarters and take our dates to Maplecroft.
The cost for two movies were 25 cents. However, many still sneaked in, not because they didn't have a quarter, but because the fear of getting caught was the excitement. Little's owned the drive-in and they were superb at finding low riding cars and demanding "Let's see in your trunk." Sometimes there was one mere driver with a trunk full of those who accidentally were locked in, notwithstanding that most car trucks in those days could be opened without a key and a mere turn of the latch!
The movies then were tame. Elvis kept his pants zipped in all his glorious movies. The movies weren't rated because none of them were sleazy, but the rating system belonged on the hood ornaments of the cars. The "M" on Mercuries was not for the name of the car, but the "mature" action inside. The "C" wasn't for Chevrolet, but for "Caution". Most of those cars needed a rating system. Those were the days when many implied "Don't come a knockin' when the Studebaker is a rockin'!"
Was I innocent? That's between me and those of whom I lied! Ah, what does it matter now! I was chicken. I was one that lied and got the glory just as many others did. I'm sorry girls, but no one believed me anyway! The thought of failing what I had never been taught kept me from learning! I wish that I could say that fear won out each time, but most of us were weak before it was all over.
Maplecroft was a demonstration of my own stinginess. My teachers did well! Rather than saying to my date "Are you hungry?" I would say "You aren't hungry are you?" or at best "Do you want some popcorn?" Money came hard in the fields of Thad Bridges and I wasn't about to spend it on a girl if I didn't have to. Before, I criticized Mabel Davidson, nicely I hope and with fond memories, but here I was, as stingy as could be with my hard earned money! I still wince when my wife wastes money on a toy for a grandchild, but Coatesville did that to me!
Each of us were romantics. When we dated, they became ours! I did save my own money and bought a class ring. It was square shaped and blue in gold. The cost in 1967 was thirty-five dollars. I bought it myself, Things mean more when one works for the extras!
There is poetic justice. I spoke of stealing from a friend. Well, my class ring was stolen in 1984 by burglars who thought socialism a good thing "from one who has to another who has not" (my paraphrase of Karl Marx). The only problem is that I worked 35 hours for my ring and the thief worked for a few mere seconds in breaking down my door! Where is your class ring right now? Mine may be in hell with a thief!
During the Maplecroft age boys and girls "went steady". Now they actually "divorce" and have "ex's" even in grade school!
When people "went steady" the brave boy, usually under pressure from the girl during a "steamed window" situation, gave the girl his class ring. It became official. She is mine and I am hers!
Normally, the girl wrapped the big class ring in circles of yarn which terminated in a necklace or was attached to a chain. It was worn one day around the neck and the next day as a ring, It was as big as an amulet, and worked the same magic! It was the key to second base or with some, a home run! If the boy was a "letter man", the lucky girl became his by wearing his oversize letter man's jacket. This cape was a seal that this girl was popular. She belonged to a jock!
In those days, couples parked (in cars in solitude places). Parents would never allow a boy in the room of their respectable daughter! They were forced to park in cornfields or on lonely gravel roads. It's much like the tree in the forest "It isn't noisy unless one is there to hear it!" With parking "It wasn't disreputable unless someone saw it!" In Coatesville all the gravel roads were pettin' places. Of course I don't know this from experience, but from gas station bragging!
My own Dad said to me "Don't go out with a girl who likes to 'pet'." I responded as if that was a joke "Why then would I want to take her out?" Dad squirmed, but he understood. He then said bravely because the subject required bravery, "Sex is for marriage!" Dad said the unsaid word! I had never heard it from him before and never again! I said to Dad "And how old were you when you decided that?" My point was made. As much as I hated to think about it, Dad and I shared the same virus; one that is incurable! In fact, when my Dad was in his eighties I asked of him "Dad, when does it quit?" His short answer was "Never!"
One episode involves a certain girl. The story goes that the girl "fooled around". Well, brothers had the same desire, and it was for her. Brother "George" made the date with "Laurie". The other brother "Herman" sneaked into the trunk of the car and went to the movies concealed with the date unaware of his presence. Herman stayed quiet and remained in the trunk all night. After the movie George drove to a gravel road and spent some happy time with Laurie. After a while it was clear that George was ready to leave. "Perhaps the mountain had been climbed!" thought Herman! With that thought Herman jumped out of the trunk and said "My turn!!" with glee!
The mountain wasn't climbed by anyone that night, or so they claim, but this was the process at the time! It may have been a good prank and gave a great laugh, or it could have been serious business! That secret remains with George, Herman and Laurie whose real names are sealed in time!
Another incidence involved a girl no one would admit to wanting. One boy made a deal: all four boys would have their way with her, but he would go last. No one would say anything about it. After the three others took their turns, the fourth merely laughed hard and told everybody he could! There is no honor among thieves!
For myself, I was caught between those proverbial angels on my shoulders. The "spirit was willing, but the flesh is weak" is more than an excuse; it's a battle between the natural and the supernatural. For adults it's a challenge, but for fifteen-year old boys it's a boiling fever. At that age, then and now, girls were on the mind of boys at least 90% of the time. As I plowed the field's of the Bridges, it was my daily dream that some girl, any girl pass by and ride with me on the tractor. It never happened, but dreams are, well, dreams!
My first experience with "sex-ed" was devastating. In one home was a cornucopia of lasciviousness. At twelve I wondered into a home when the parents were working. One boy and girl were kissing passionately. In the next room was an older teen girl tied up and being tickled by her boyfriend. In the next room was a strip poker game with a naked girl who was obviously losing. In the bedroom was a neighbor girl in bed with a friend. This happened in Coatesville! I have sweetened the story to keep it half-way decent, but this twelve-year old boy learned more than bee-keeping that day! Real life impacted me and my innocence was lost! From that day on I had the disease carried by all.
How did I learn sex-education? Colby Johnson told me what adults did to make babies. I was appalled! My response was "not my parents!" I stuck to that version of the truth until others verified what Colby alleged. It was true! I am because my parents had s_xual desire. How could they do that and face me? How could they do that and face anyone?? We are no more than animals and with a few short years I joined the herd. For a time lust was a full-time job. As the clock ticks I wonder "What is all the fuss about? Dad and Mom did it so it couldn't be so wrong!"
In the defense of those who were at that unsupervised home, they were doing what unsupervised teens will eventually do! I know the story of most of them, and this one incidence does not define who they became to be. The clock stops there and what they did that day, is no different than what each of us who have our own stones to lay down. As I'm ashamed of what I did, although I never suffered the law, others must have the same grace to bury the past.
Another story is Drive-in at the junction of US-40 and Hwy 231. Once a year it showed a movie rated "M". That was for "mature audiences, but attracted the immature! I remember Jayne Mansfield's movie "Promises. Promises." I believe it was the first mainstream movie which showed the entire breast; what we thought was all the good stuff!" Many of us young boys longed for that time so we could see the forbidden fruits hidden from us in real life. There was excitement in the air because it was something special!
We dreamed of knees! Can you believe that? Cleavage was always covered except for the most brave and certainly not in school or church! Now you know where we are. Things have changed as the clock ticks.
In the 1950s and early '60s. The styles were modest. Women concealed their attributes with baggy sweaters, granny dresses and one-piece swim suits. Many people still went swimming in private and not in mixed company. That created a situation! Men dreamt at what they didn't get to see and never became acclimated to too much exposure.
I had a secret plan. They may have forgotten, but I didn't. My best friends: Billie Jamison, Phil Wingler and Colby Johnson, and that varied from time to time, were told of my plan. They, as did I, waited with anticipation for what I ordered. I should have known better because it was an advertisement in a comic book. I ordered a pair of glasses guaranteed to allow the wearer to see through women's clothes! I paid my 25 cents and waited anxiously for about a month for those special glasses to arrive!
I picked out those girls who would be the first to view. Of course Vicki West was a prime candidate if this younger boy could get that close! My own heart beat with excitement at all I was to see! Life would never be the same!
Then the day arrived. I went to the Post Office to get the mail. In those days those who lived in the city limits all had postal boxes. We all had to go downtown, or is that uptown, to get our mail. That's why we all were so familiar with Mark Hadley and Irvin "Dan" Bennett!
We had a combination lock on our box as did everyone. Turn right one turn, left three, back two; or is it left, right, left. Oh, how excited and shaky as that lock was tried again and again! I could see the package through the window. It was small and thin. How could glasses be in that thin package? I was soon to find out!
Finally, the door sprung open and I grabbed the only piece of mail in there. It was addressed to me! My own mail!
I sneaked aside so Mark couldn't see these special glasses. How embarrassing that would be! As I hurriedly tore the package open, how embarrassed I became! Could Mark see me? I was about to cry. I was twelve and twelve year-old boys can't cry!
What was within was pasteboard "glasses" with lenses of brightly colored paper. There was a design on the front just like in the photo. It was a brightly colored pinwheel, but it wasn't ecstasy which caused the glasses to dazzle. It was a mere printed design. I put them on. I couldn't see through heavy paper, but discovered a pin-hole at the center of each lens. The directions said to peer through the pinhole and the girl would appear to be completely naked!
What a disappointment! What I saw as I peered was just a fuzzy image. Not only could I not see through clothing, but I couldn't see anything! I had been scammed as had been thousands of other young boys before me. Phil, Billie and Colby knew that I had been duped when I showed them those silly silly glasses.
Yes, kids do stupid things. The girls now grown know our secret. Pubescent minds are controlled by a inbred drive and the rest of our lives, that knowledge tamed even the most brute of men! And the drive of desire always ticks on.
The Drive-in episode was four years later. I had a 1949 Dark Green Dodge. I bought it for $65.00. Because I broke a head bolt off in the block and couldn't get it out, I corked it up with a wooden dowel beat down hard. When the car engine got really hot, the pressure would eject this cork and steam would shoot from the engine with a pillar of hot water. The old green Dodge looked more like a steaming dragon. Girls were not impressed as it blew even on dates.
Because of the challenge I decided to let Jackie Witt drove my car and I would hide in the trunk as I sneaked into the drive-in. (We failed to think of this as any more than a game). Jackie, always ready to joke, drive into the drive-in and parked right in front of the projection booth. He did it on purpose. I could hear them laughing! I was stuck in the trunk and they described Jane Mansfield free of her bikini top, a new innovation at this time, and I was totally in the dark! They were seeing what was killing me to see!
I took a chance. Trunk lids at that time didn't lock unless a key was used. I'm not that stupid! It wasn't locked. I lifted it slowly, checked it out, and hurriedly escaped from my dungeon. I ran around to the driver's door and told Jackie to get out. He was older so he only laughed at his own joke. He scooted over, which you could do in those days (which was very handy on dates) and we all watched the "mature" movie. I'm sure that the other two were Colby and Paul Johnson, but can't remember for certain.
I got to see Jane Mansfield; and without a top wearing only something less than underwear. It was so exotic then, but is everyday now; even commercials which show near that much. I've learned throughout maturity that "what you see" isn't nearly as exciting as "what you don't see"! Indeed many of us boys became excited even with the exposure of the knees of our classmates (girls of course, because anything more was taboo in those days).
Coatesville is the same as all "villes". They all have their stories and Coatesville is no different. In this town with more churches than bars (none), the flesh was still there. It's there everywhere and Coatesville was no different, That's life at it was. That's the underside of a respectable town.
I'm not proud to tell the tales of unnamed folks in Coatesville, but there are many more to come. We're all mere human and the titillation of what's forbidden has always been the fruit to crave. I'm no different and others aren't either. I wish I could rewind stupidity and lasciviousness, but they are indelibly inked on life's irreversible film. When I stand before the throne in shame at what my Creator knows about me, my only reason will be "I'm only human". One sentence is only necessary because ten thousand excuses fail to equal one good reason.
More frivolous things will come later, but for the moment let me talk of my favorite topic: "me", or in this case "us". I recently began to read a great book. I stopped for a moment because it could be about "us" except for the northern twang. I'm referring to the book
Little Brown Bird by Annie Johnson. She was my neighbor, but being young, I knew so little of her. The Davidson's were prosperous and educated. Little did I know that "Lois Ann" was from a family a facsimile of my own!
One of my favorite quotes, by me of course, is that "Poverty is great training for success." When hunger tries to subdue us, prosperity intercedes if we listen to our bellies." What I mean by is that Annie is successful, but long before that poverty molded her. She shared with me that her beginnings were common and her book verified her simplicity. Only those who know the simple life and it's lack of luxury can write on it so forcefully. Annie reveals her heritage with every word she writes!
Now for "us". As Suzanne Edmundson said "I felt sorry for you because you were so poor!" I was astounded. I knew that we had less than many, but "poor" had not been our excuse. I knew that we were by Yankee standards "hillbillies", but from where we came it was fairly normal except for some!
I spoke at our 40-year class reunion (Class of 1967). It was there that I answered each who knew how poor we were. I said "I didn't know we were poor. I just thought Mom and Dad just loved collard greens and fat back!" When one hasn't anything they don't know what things they are missing.
I do remember stories of my own young parents. Farmers in Kentucky gave Dad their scrap meat from butchering. Yes, I've eaten pig ears, pig tails, snouts, fat back, tongue, heart and liver from pigs, and gizzards from chickens. I've eaten squirrel, wild rabbit and maybe worse. If I was hungry enough it was the "don't ask, don't tell" policy to which I still adhere! I still eat many things; just don't tell me what's in it!
Well, with the scrap meat gone, Dad sent my oldest brother Richmond to the neighbors for more. His instructions were "Tell'em if they don't have anymore scrap meat, the good stuff is okay!" That was a mere dream for even the scrap meat was gone.
My brothers experienced poverty that even I did not. At Christmastime Rich and Joe sat on the porch overlooking the hills waiting on Santa Claus to come. He never did. Dad never even had the change for a token gift. Rich and Joe cried that night, but denial is an experience which leads to success. Both Rich and Joe became professionals. Rich was in charge of an Air Force Hospital and Joe was General Supervisor at Link-Belt. Neither had to use their backs to earn a living. Each learned that it's easier to let the brain do the work.
Rich was one of the most intelligent men I ever knew. Joe was the most practical and had ingenuity.
When I. E. Lewis was principal at Cascade he said this to Mrs. Edmundson in my presence, "I know all seven of the Herrin children and they all can achieve whatever they want to achieve." I was too young to know the impact of that, but God did bless us all. By Kentucky standards we all are rich, not so much in money, but in blessings. I like to think it's genetic, but we had an intelligent Dad who taught us much and a practical mother who did much with little! Only now do I appreciate that a hill-talkin' mother and a factory workin' father was what I needed and God gave them to me. I wish I had learned this better when they were here so that I could brag on them face to face!
Dad graduated from the eleventh grade. I believe he lived with his older sister who funded him since high school in Kentucky was a luxury in those days. Viola died young. Dad lost his favorite sibling. He was pretty much all alone. However, he did work hard and went one year to college at Eastern Kentucky University taking animal husbandry. He then went to Rogers Business College in Somerset.
Dad wrote the "Tobacco News" for awhile for the
Louisville Courier Journal and when my brothers were young, moved to Washington, D.C. and worked there in the War Manpower Commission. (And you thought Dad was a hillbilly!).
I was always embarrassed that Dad's name was "Elston". Nobody had that name. It sounded so, well, Kentuckian! When Dad was near eighty the 1910 Census came out. His name was listed as "Ellestone". When I asked him about it, he replied "That was my name. In fact it was 'Yellowstone' before that." My shame was for nought. He had a noble name! He was born next to Yellowstone Park in Belgrade, Montana. He not only was not a hillbilly, living there on the plains, but he wasn't even a real Kentuckian! Grandpa and Grandma moved to Montana when it first became a state and homesteaded there. Grandpa was from Pulaski County, Kentucky and Grandma from Bell County.
More on Dad later, but he could write shorthand and speak Latin even in his later years. He had a forty-some volume set of the history of the nations and read them all, some as many as four times. Dad was an avid historian and genealogist, interests which I got from him.
In the early 1950s times were really bad in Kentucky. The Great Depression was fairly well defeated in industrial cities, but Kentucky, as did all Appalachia, lingered on in poverty. Dad worked for as little as $1.00 per day hoeing corn. When he had his third heart surgery in his later years I asked of him, "Dad, how many rows of corn would you have to hoe to pay for all these surgeries?" He just laughed. Americans are blessed, but it's often taken for granted.
We moved to Hazelwood, Indiana and went to the Christian Church there and the old church which used to be on Jacktown Road; Maple Grove Christian Church. I remember sleeping under the pew coming out to get a little of the "wine" which I was too young to partake. I didn't understand why they got the good drink and I didn't!
Jacktown Road was what lies south of US-40 south of present day Cascade Road. Dad walked from the home to Hwy-40 to meet his ride to Allison each day. It was three miles each way and Dad walked it without ever calling in sick or otherwise. Sometimes there was a foot of snow, but Dad still walked it, and without boots nor proper apparel. He sacrificed for us so much that I want to cry even now! He was dedicated and self-sufficient.
I remember our "furniture" there in Hazelwood. Loyd Carlton, my uncle, moved it on his coal truck. We had a hand pump in the kitchen and a larger version outdoors. We had an old iron wood stove with four irons which heated upon it. Mom ironed with those, relaying as they cooled, one to another. We had a real icebox of wood. Dad used to go to the ice house once a week in Bridgeport to get a block of ice.
Our kitchen table was much like a picnic bench only primitive in style. It seated only seven or so, and Dale and I had to stand up to eat. I was always skinny. I probably burned off my calories as I ate them and ate fast, as I still do, for two reasons: so that I could sit down and so that I got my share from the trough!
Mom had an old iron treadle sewing machine. She wasn't good on it so she stitched mostly by hand. I remember that she made a pair of corduroy pants for me in the first grade. By recess all the stitching had came out. The rest of the day, I had to hold the crotch because younger Herrins didn't have underwear. (More on my lack of underwear shortly).
When I lived in Utica, Michigan between 1979-1984 we went several times to the Ford Museum. I remembered our furniture and found each piece like them at the Museum. Our furniture in 1953 Hazelwood, Indiana ranged in period from 1865 to the 1890s. We did have a television for one year in 1953 before it burned out. That was the era when oven poor people got T.V.
And for my lack of underwear! Those hand-sewn pants came unstitched. I had no underwear! In a family of that size only mature boys needed protection. I wasn't underwear-worthy yet! Two years went by and I got my first full-fledged real underwear. Billie Jamison, always one size larger in size (hopefully not all places), gave me his used underwear. I remember wearing them the first day of school. I was so proud that I tucked my shirt into my new used underwear so that everybody could see them. I was so proud! Bill and I grew at the same rate and thanks to that god-given difference, I always had some nice clothes. I still think of them with gratitude!
Sometimes Billie hadn't any extra clothes to give. I wore any of the hand-me-downs which I could get. One time it handed down from Rich, the oldest, to me. I wore his bluejeans in junior high with six inch cuffs and the front lapped over. I used baling twine for a belt! No one laughed at me. I only learned later that many felt sorry for me, but it was of little significance at that time. "Caring" about one's dress is of little significance when the stomach is growling!
We always had things to eat. Much of my hunger was self induced. Mom made big breakfasts, but I wouldn't drink "cow's milk" as I called whole fresh milk. I would drink "store bought" milk and eat "light bread" although we had thick corn bread which I didn't like. I didn't eat eggs because they came from chickens and still won't. It's strange; I ate tongue and heart, but not eggs! My legacy from those days is that I eat few foods whose recipes are inventive and the sight of blood in rare meet makes me gag.
My real starvation came in college. Dad sent me off to college in Michigan with nothing more than a overcoat. He warned me "You'll need and overcoat up there. It gets really cold!" I was so proud of that gift. It was the first clothes (other than socks or briefs) which Dad had bought me in awhile and at twenty-dollars, it was expensive. I never borrowed any money from anyone for college. I worked my way through. I graduated with zero debt! It wasn't easy.
I sometimes watch
Naked and Afraid, not for titillation, but because it's so primitive (and blurred out). After two or three days they become dysfunctional without food. Well, one week my paycheck failed to come. I was too proud to borrow. I actually went eight full days without any food at all, not even a slice of bread nor any milk at all. I was fully functional and made straight A's on all my tests during that time. (I weighed 140 and was 6'1" at graduation). Again I say "Poverty breeds success" and maybe Mabel taught me that frugality is to succeed.
Mom had an eighth-grade education. In rural Kentucky that was the norm, However, Mom learned how to stretch those few pennies and always get the bills paid. College kids today could learn much from her. Mom's name was Lela Agnes Van Hook. We always called our grandparents Gramma and Grampa Hook. Nobody had a name like that, and I was sort of embarrassed. In later years I learned that they were Dutch and the family name years ago was "van Hoeksiel" a location in Belgium. I have a map which shows R. Rapt Arent Isasckse van Hoeck who lived on Broad St. in 1640s Manhattan, New Amsterdam. He was a burgher. Mom wasn't a hillbilly after all. She only learned it!
From Hazelwood, we moved to Cartersburg for one year before Coatsville received their own version of "The Beverly Hillbillies". Of course I'm exaggerating, but some Yankees thought that of us! Mom lived in Indiana 45 years and never lost her "hill talk".
Appalachian people have a brogue. I always assumed it was from a lack of education. Of course some of it is, but much if it is a remnant of the dense Scotch-Irish settlement in those hills. With isolation from migrants of other places, "hill-billies" kept their heritage. Many blacks learned their speech from their Scotch-Irish neighbors. Appalachia had few slaves ever because poor people don't need slaves. They are their own! The speech of which I had been shamed was the language of sturdy pioneers. It's amazing how many hill families of the south came from nobility elsewhere. It turned out that I may have been Baron Herrin without ever knowing it!
There are so many memories of Coatesville. Of course most of them are mine! Each of you have your own and some conflict with what I remember. Some memories are buried in the dusty vaults of gray matter embedded deeply inside our cranium. As I write some of these memories resurface for me to share, some fool me as real, and others hide out in the folds of the brain. These reminisces provoke some to come out from hiding and it's good that I revisit each of you, both living and dead.
I am appalled when I learn of the early demise of my dear friends which I have neglected for nearly 50 years. Each are eternally young in my mind and it's as if a child has been stolen and taken to Providence. It's exciting to find "young" faces hidden in the toll of time as age has stolen our youth from each of us. My own has come gradually, but for others, it's sudden. Age demands respect though. We earned the gray, the wrinkles and the second chins some of us wear! I'm sure that the Larry you see is much different than the one you remember. I am different; not only in appearance, but behavior, priority and values.
I don't like to preach, but I am sorry for some of those memories of which I write. I cannot deny them because angels have carried them to the throne. However, as the flesh has been weak, my spirit is willing. Each of us have the same burdens to bear and at the end what we did back then will be furthest from our minds!
