Setting Up Housekeeping

Here is another installment of Mama's memoirs, "In her own words..."

After spending two weeks with Uncle Valson and his family, Austin and I stayed with his mother and his brother James for a while. Then we moved into one of the Van Eden houses.

In order for us to set up house-keeping, Austin went to Z. J. Carter's furniture store in Wallace and bought a small iron cook stove, several wooden chairs, and a low oak dresser, which we gave to Richard many years later. He also bought a mattress to put on the old-fashioned wooden bedstead that Maggie gave us. (I remember it had the folding bedsprings that most people used at that time.)

Austin had to buy on credit, and I believe it involved a note being drawn up between him and the store.

Our living room was furnished with a set of wicker furniture that I had bought before we were married, with money I had made picking strawberries and doing other field work. It was used in the living room at home until I got married and needed it. I had also made and quilted two quilts before I was married. They lasted many years.

We lived in the Van Eden house for only a few weeks, but it was there that Austin learned to pick a guitar. I had learned to pick chords well enough to sing along, and I believe I still had a cheap guitar. Austin took it and sat in the kitchen while I cooked or washed dishes and I would sing for him and tell him how to change from one chord to another. It wasn't long before he could pick a guitar much better than I ever could.

When he began to preach revivals, he would use the guitar to accompany himself in solos and the two of us in duets. People just couldn't seem to get enough of the guitar playing and singing. They kept Austin so busy in the openings of revival services that he was so physically exhausted he hardly felt like preaching, as the evangelist.

I wish he had never given up picking the guitar. But, since I played the piano, we began using that and leaving the guitar at home. Singing with Austin has always been a joy to me, and others seemed to enjoy it, too. Having children who were - and still are - so musically talented added so much joy to our life.

Austin and I were given the first bridal shower that I can remember in Watha. One of the families gave it in their home, and many of the Watha citizens attended. We were so delighted with the gifts we received; like many others, we had little money with which to buy the things we needed. There were gifts for the living room, bedroom, kitchen, etc. - nothing really expensive but all given lovingly.

There were no toasters, irons, nor any other electric appliances. At that time very few people had electricity. Some of the Watha folks were beginning to have electricity installed in their homes; but our lives, Austin's and mine, were not affected because we lived in the country. We used kerosene lamps, wood stoves, and a battery-powered radio, when we got able to purchase one.

To iron our clothes, we used irons that were heated on the stove or in the fireplace. Unless we were lucky enough to own an iron that could be heated by burning cobs. This heat lasted much longer. We had such an iron at one time.

In the fall of 1930, Miss Maggie Brown's brother, Angus – or Pat Brown as he was usually called – died suddenly, and she was left alone. She and her brother were the only children their parents had, and neither of them had ever married. The closest relatives that they knew about and had any contact with were cousins.

Years before, when Austin was growing up in what was known as the "Rooks field,” he had spent many nights with Miss Maggie when her brother – who worked as a blacksmith on construction crews – was away from home. So when Miss Maggie was left all alone, she thought of Austin and wanted us to move into the house with her. (By that time, we had left Van Eden and were staying with Austin's mother and brother anyway, but our furniture was still in the house in Van Eden.) So, in February, 1931, we moved into Miss Maggie's house, "on the hill". It was built like the Van Eden houses, with only 3 rooms, unfinished on the inside and never painted on the outside. This house was our home until it burned a few days before Christmas in 1935.

Miss Maggie had chickens, hogs, and a cow, so we always had something to eat, even during the depression years. But we often had to boil the eggs because we didn't have the grease or oil to fry them in. And, sometimes we had to grease the griddle by rubbing a meat skin on it, so that our corn bread wouldn't stick so hard and fast to the pan.

Look UP When You're DOWN!

At a meeting I recently attended, one of the participants observed, “We do it backwards. We gaze at our problems and glance at Jesus. We should just glance at our problems, then gaze at Jesus for the solution!”

His point: to “glance” is to just give a quick look; to “gaze” is to peer intently, to totally focus upon something. And he was right; many of our problems are intensified because we think about them all the time.

David might have had this idea in mind when he wrote Psalm 42:5: “Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance.” He was having a conversation with himself about his problems.

(Do you ever talk to yourself? One fellow said he talked to himself for two reasons: (1) He wanted to talk to an intelligent man, and (2) He wanted to hear what an intelligent man had to say! Anyhow…)

Just as it is with us today, David’s natural tendency was to “gaze” at his troubles and just “glance” at the Father for the solutions. Instead, he had learned to keep his focus on God, not on his problems. If he had focused only on the giant, he would never have slain Goliath!

By the same token, if we keep our focus on the Lord and not on our difficulties, we will find that we have victory over them far more often. Yes, we have problems, yes, we have difficulties, but Jesus has already triumphed over them all. He said, “In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world!” (John 16:33)

Someone once told me, “David, if you expended as much effort on work as you do trying to get out of doing work, you’d get a lot more done!” They were right…

If we expended as much effort on drawing closer to the Father as we do worrying and fretting about our problems, we would have far fewer problems. Someone said, “Ninety percent of the things we worry about don’t happen, and ninety percent of those that do happen aren’t nearly as bad as we expected them to be.” I have found that to be true.

I have also found that, where that remaining one percent is concerned, that God already has those things under control.

God always has a plan, although sometimes He takes His time telling us what it is. Just because I don’t know what God is going to do in any given situation doesn’t mean God isn’t on top of it.

When you are down, look up! Be of good cheer! He has already overcome the world! Keep your intent gaze on the Master, and only give your problems a passing glance.

The Elopement - Aftermath

Mama's story - in her own words.

Austin borrowed $15 to pay the expenses of our elopement. That $15 paid all the expenses of the trip to Conway and back, including breakfast in a restaurant in Whiteville - for Austin and Cedrice, that is. I was too shy and inexperienced to go into a restaurant and eat. (I don't think I had ever been in one at that time.)

Expenditures included payment for the marriage license and the Judge's charge for performing the ceremony. Then coming back home we stopped in Wilmington and Austin bought me a pair of shoes. (I believe they cost $3.00) My old shoes were so worn out, the bottoms of my feet were on the ground. My wedding dress was my graduation dress, originally white, but I had tried to dye it and it came out a dull, dusty blue.

Austin's suit belonged to him and his brother James together. (He said that whichever one could put it on first wore it.) It was originally gray, I believe, and it had also been dyed a sort of dull blue color. But our clothes weren't really so important to us that day.

We arrived back in Watha around the middle of the afternoon, and went directly to Uncle Valson's (my father’s brother) house in Van Eden – an even smaller community a few miles from Watha. We spent our "honeymoon" there, staying with them for 2 weeks.

They lived in one of the square-shaped “Van Eden houses,” with the usual 3 rooms and two small porches – one of which had been closed in to make a storage room. My cousins Elvin and Herbert were very young then, practically babies. The house was a little crowded, but they made us feel welcome, and we always felt grateful to them.

Late that first afternoon, after we got to Uncle Valson's house, a group of the Watha young people came to greet us. They brought rice to throw on us, but we persuaded them to let us keep most of the rice to cook for breakfast the next morning.

As I remember it, after paying all the expenses of the elopement and buying my shoes, Austin had about 3 dollars left of the $15 he borrowed from Bill Pate, and used it to help buy groceries for us and Uncle Valson's family. $15 went a long way in those days.

Better even than the rice and good wishes that the young people brought to us was a message from Papa. He said: "Tell them they are married now, and let's make the best of it. They can come back home any time they want to."

So, in spite of my parents' objection to my marrying Austin, they accepted him into the family and grew to love and respect him. I believe Papa learned to love him like a son. He called on him for favors, or to do small jobs for him, just as he did with any one of my six brothers.

I never found out how Mama felt about Austin and me going together. I don't know whether she really objected to the idea, or whether she simply felt that she had to go along with Papa. I feel that in her heart she really sympathized with us. She saw to it that I had a new nightgown, purchased not long before my elopement. (It was a cotton flannel gown - nothing like a bride's trousseau gown today; but it was so much better than the old worn-out one I was using at the time.) I have wondered many times if Mama somehow suspected that I was planning to get married. She was always so un-selfish and generous.

At the time that we got married, Austin was working as a section hand on the railroad. He was making $9.60 a week - $1.60 a day (16 cents per hour, ten hours a day), 6 days a week. It was hard work, replacing cross-ties, driving spikes, etc., but he was young and strong and could take it. He had been doing “a man’s work” ever since he was 12 years old.

We had very little money to spend for anything. Our first Christmas together (1930) found us unable to buy gifts for each other - or for anyone else. (The Christmas before we were married, Austin gave me a nice box of candy and a pretty little clock, which I still have, though it doesn't work anymore. I believe that, although I had no income, I gave him a nice box of stationery that Christmas (1929).

Just before Christmas of 1930, Mama, knowing how much I wanted a gift for Austin, gave me a man's pocket-handkerchief to give him. I believe it cost five cents. This was an act of loving kindness that I have always remembered, a memory I have always treasured, even though today it seems such a small thing.

Papa was a rural mail carrier, so he was paid regularly, even during the worst of the depression years. But there were nine children in the family – eight after I got married – and times were difficult for them, also. But, somehow, Mama managed to share with us whenever she could.

During the depression years, Austin and I had to live – for the most part – on what could be produced at home. We were hardly ever able to buy rice or flour. Sometimes when I was leaving my parents' house, Mama would slip a little paper bag into my hand. It might contain a cup of rice, or maybe 2 cups of flour and a small "lump" of hard, store-bought lard, so that we could have biscuits once in a while. 

Times were hard, but somehow we managed to fill the house with love.

Oklahoma, 2013

When there is a disaster like this – especially one involving children – people say, “Why, God?”

When I was a pastor, I got that a lot. I wish I had then, or had now, an answer. That is one question I have never been able to resolve – even in my own mind. Why children suffer through no fault of their own.

One thing I do know is that out of these horrific times come beautiful stories of people rising above themselves to help others. I call them “high water marks of the human spirit.”

That term (for me) goes back to the 1999 flooding in Duplin County. My sister, Louise, and her husband were living outside Wallace, NC, and lost their home to the flood. There was an out-building that survived, and the high water mark was visible on the side – about six feet above the ground – until the day they sold the place.

But other, more significant high water marks also remain in my memory. There was a squad of young marines who drove around looking for people trying to salvage what they could from destroyed homes. I’ll never forget them jumping out of the car, rolling up their sleeves and pitching in, then saying, “God bless you folks” and driving off without waiting to be thanked. I’ll always remember the merchant who, out of his own pocket, doubled the FEMA furniture replacement allowance for things bought from him. I remember a middle-aged couple who got out of their car, put on plastic gloves, and helped remove rotten food from a freezer. There were hundreds, thousands, of other such stories.

There are stories of “high water marks” coming out of Oklahoma this morning. I heard an interview with a teenage boy who, hearing of the destruction of the elementary school, immediately ran there and started helping dig through the rubble. A few minutes before, he was probably thinking about girls, cars, and how unfair his parents were, but now his every thought is on the needs of others. There was the story of the teacher who was buried in the rubble. She was seriously injured, but shielded under her body they found three children with only minor injuries.

In addition to the stories of terror, destruction, and loss, we will continue to hear of high water marks in human behavior.

One final thought. The newspaper photographer whose phone call to his editor sparked the headline “Worse Than May 3” (referring to the devastating tornado that tore through the same area 14 years ago on that date) told of a little boy who came up to him and said, “Mister, I can’t find my mommy. Will you help me?” The photographer calmed him, then took him by the hand and led him to a school official who found his mother.

There will always be tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, and the like, but there will also continue to be people who rise above themselves when the chips are down. These high water marks of the human spirit will continue to inspire us and help ease the pain caused by disaster and loss.

I pray that we will become a society in which any child who is in trouble can walk up to any adult and say, “Will you help me?” and know they will be safe.

That is the world I want my grandson to grow up in.

Creature Praise – A Memory of My Brother, Norman

I have said that there are certain milestones one passes when growing older. As a pastor I participated in many funerals in the course of serving a number of churches, but I remember well when I buried my father, then my mother. Burying your parents is one milestone.

Another milestone was when I buried someone who was not only a church member, but also a close friend.

Then came what has been, thus far, the hardest: burying my siblings. Once there were eight of us (Daddy, Mama, five brothers, and one sister.) Now we are four, since the death of both parents, the sister, and now one brother.

I’ll write about the death of my sister, the first to go, at a later time. Today I want to share a memory of Norman’s funeral.

To get my take on grief at the death of a Christian, see my earlier post on the subject.

We Wheelers have always loved to laugh – often at inappropriate times. More than once we – or our spouses or children – have gotten tickled (actually, become borderline hysterical) during the quiet of a church service.

I had already had a “moment” during the funeral at the church, Potts Memorial Presbyterian in Penderlea. Before the service started I had silenced my cell phone (duh) but it had vibrated three times during the songs and remarks by the first speaker. So, as the “main” speaker began his eulogy I decided to turn it off – the vibrations were becoming annoying and distracting.

What I forgot was that, when turned off, my phone plays a little tune. So, during the quiet between a song and the speaker, while he was opening his Bible and organizing his thoughts, came “Ding-ding-dinga-ding-ding, Ding-ding-dinga-ding-ding” (you get the idea.) With a red face, I tried to silence it with no success. As everyone looked at me and laughed, glared, or whatever was their predilection, it finished playing its little tune, and the service went forward.

Finally we all headed for the gravesite, about 100 yards or so from the church building. With many elderly family members present, it took the better part of 15 minutes to get settled under the tent.

We sat there, some sniffling, others crying openly. (Aside: the grave side part of a funeral is especially hard for me, for some reason. It has a sense of finality that is absent elsewhere. Again, see my post on grief.) We were all dealing with our grief in our own way as one of Norman’s best friends read scripture and performed the committal.

Then it was time for military honors and the presentation of the flag. The detail of sharply-dressed, smartly-moving young airmen (Norman was in the Air Force during the Korean conflict) surrounded the casket, folded and presented the flag, then stepped out.

In the distance, came the rifle salute, followed by a bugler playing “Taps.” As the last plaintive note echoed among the buildings and trees, we were wiping our eyes. Then: “Hee-yaw! Hee-yaw! Hee-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw!” sounded from a pasture across the road.

And – predictably (see earlier paragraph about our tendency to laugh) the entire family burst into uncontrollable laughter.

As we (again) wiped our eyes, this time from mirth, I thought about how singularly appropriate was that jack-donkey’s benediction. Norman had always had an off-beat sense of humor, finding laughter in the oddest places. As we stood around the casket of our mother, during family visitation in the funeral home, I was quietly shedding a tear or two when he came up behind me and bumped me, knocking me off-balance. We both laughed and hugged. He would always find a way to lighten the mood.

In my mind’s eye, (if such a thing were possible) I could see his incorporeal form standing in that field, behind that donkey, just waiting for the time to be right: then, at the last minute, taking hold of that poor, unsuspecting animal’s tail and giving it a good twist.

Many years ago there was a children’s song titled, “Creature Praise,” that said “Let all creatures praise the Lord!” It would have been just like Norman to incite that donkey to “raise its voice in praise” at just the right moment, and to give his funeral a benediction we will never forget!

The donkey put a unique spin on the last church service of his life, even as Norman himself made a unique impression on all who knew him. In many ways, he was my role model in ministry, and I still miss him – especially when I hear a donkey’s bray...

Pet peeve # 611: Dogs

I just don’t get it about people and dogs.

I suppose this is another “mean” post. Well… not so much mean as adrenaline-fueled. I don't want to offend anybody, but may I just get something off my chest?

I have said for years that I don’t have anything against dogs, but dog owners give me the fits. It is like people lose all common sense where animals are concerned. 

A woman who asked the church I pastored a number of years ago for help with food, saying she was on a very tight income. We considered helping her, and as we always did, checked into her situation. We discovered that she had over 15 dogs in a tiny apartment, all "rescues." Her grown son had moved out because he couldn't stand the smell and the mess, so she needed help with food. When asked about it, she replied, "Oh, I'll do without myself to take care of my pups."

What brought all this on is that a little while ago I pulled up to the side of the convenience store and parked behind a little red car. Its windows were darkened, so I couldn’t see inside. The driver’s door window was down.

With my mind a thousand miles away, I walked past the car (a foot or so away) toward the door of the store. As I drew abreast of the open window – not looking toward it, but looking off into the distance – I heard a loud “Woof!” I jumped and turned to see a pair of blue eyes in a furry face just above the bared fangs of a large dog. I know it was probably just a common pooch, but he looked like he weighed 200 pounds, and he was not happy.

I exclaimed, “Good Lord!” and staggered back from the car, heart pounding. As I stumbled away, the dog followed me with a glare, fangs still bared, growling softly in his throat.

I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if he had jumped out the window and pursued me. That’s what his attitude said he wanted to do.

Don’t start. I know: “He was just defending his territory…” “You shouldn’t have got so close…” “He was just doing what dogs do…” Or my personal favorite, “He wouldn’t have hurt you, he’s just a big puppy and wanted to play…”

Phooey.

My question is, why was he in the car in the first place? While his owner – sorry, his “companion” – was in the store getting her donut or her coffee or her cigs or whatever, she left her dog in the car with the window down.

Now, I’m glad she left the window down. If she had left him shut up in the car (although it wasn’t hot) I would probably have mouthed about that, too.

But why didn’t she leave him home? Why do people feel like they have to take their dogs everywhere with them? One of my (many) visions of hell is driving down the highway with a dog’s stinky, hot breath in my ear and his shed hair on my upholstery. Or worse yet, like some I have seen, with the dog in the driver's lap, hanging out the driver’s window, its behind in his/her face, tail slapping the side of his/her head while he/she tries to drive. 

Don’t put me down as an animal hater. I was raised around dogs – yard dogs. Dogs were “outdoor people,” and if they got into the house they were shooed out with a broom. They were pets that worked for their keep and knew their place. I respect dogs, but I don't treat them like people.

Now, peoples’ pets share their homes, usually their beds and their dinner plates. “They’re part of the family, just like the kids are,” people often say. Aaauggghhh. They’re animals, for crying out loud. They’re not people.

Sorry. My heart is still pounding, my adrenaline is still pumping. My dad used to say about non-poisonous snakes, when somebody would say, “He won’t hurt you,” “No, but he’ll make me hurt myself!”

That beast might not have hurt me, but if there had been a car coming – or if I had lost my footing and fallen down on the pavement – he might have made me hurt myself.

I remember years ago, right after Daddy died (in 1982) Mama and I were cleaning out an old storage building behind her house. She was holding the light (there was no power in there) and I was dragging things out the door for closer examination.

I uncovered a rat’s nest under some old junk in the far corner. I said, “Mama, just hang that light on a rafter and wait outside.” She said, “It’s okay; I’m not scared of rats.”

I said, “You’re missing the point. If a rat starts toward me, I don’t want you between me and the door! I don’t want to run over you.” She laughed, hung up the light, and waited outside.

Okay. I’m all right now. My breathing has slowed, my heartbeat is back to normal. I’ll get back on track with my next post.

But I still don’t get it about people and dogs.

The Elopement

As promised... Their elopement, in her own words.
We first planned to elope in January of 1930, but the death of Austin's invalid father in January made it necessary that we postpone our elopement. So new plans were that we would go to Conway, SC, on the first Sunday in February.

Austin had driven Mr. Wiggins (the railroad section foreman for whom Austin was working when we got married) to Goldsboro that weekend, but he came back to Watha on Sunday afternoon.

We planned to leave soon after midnight that Sunday night. For some time I had been telling my younger brothers and sisters an original continued story, one chapter each night. I was careful to bring the story to a satisfactory conclusion before we went to bed that night, for I knew I would not be there to continue it the next night.

My sister Tiny and I slept together in the "room on the porch," as it was known. After everyone had gone to bed and I was sure that Tiny was asleep, I got out of bed and dressed. Then I raised the window as quietly as I could so that I could climb out without making a lot of noise. Since there had been a lot of snow and the weather was very cold - and we had no heat in the bedroom - I got back into bed with my coat on, pulled the bed covers up around my waist, and leaned back against the headboard of the iron bed and promptly went to sleep.

Austin came to my window at the scheduled time, and very softly called my name. When I didn't answer, he called again, a little louder. When I still failed to answer, he put his hand through the open window, feeling around to make sure nothing was in the way. He planned to climb inside and find me.

But the movement of his hand woke me and I grabbed his hand. He says I almost scared him out of his wits. He helped me through the window and we got away from the house without disturbing my family. But we left the window wide open and I left a note for my parents.

Austin had stationed George Huggins (a distant cousin of his) as lookout around the railroad depot just in case someone should be watching us and report our escape to Papa. I don't know just what George would have done if he had seen anyone stirring about. I remember one of the three of us stepping on a piece of tin that was lying on the dirt street. The noise sounded awfully loud to us, but nobody seemed to notice and we walked quickly and quietly to Austin's sister, Maggie's, house.

A friend, Cedrice White, was waiting there for us with his Model T car, probably a 1924 model. It was a "touring" car, supposed to have side curtains, but it didn't have them. This resulted in a cold ride on February 3. There was still snow on the sides of the road.

Before Austin had wakened me and helped me out the window, he had helped change the tires on Cedrice's car for those on his brother-in-law Will Rooks' car. All was in readiness when we arrived. Maggie loaned me her winter coat, made of some sort of black fur. We all three rode in the front seat; seated between Cedrice and Austin, I was "as warm as toast."

We made the trip to Conway, SC, without any trouble. We got Judge Vaught out of his warm bed, and he performed our wedding ceremony about 7:30 on that Monday morning. (Note: Although Daddy was 18 and Mama 17, they gave their ages as 22 and 21. Tommy and I have wondered if they were legally married!)

Austin later told of how he felt when we left the Judge's home that morning. He says he told himself, proudly, "I've got me a wife!" But he said that thought was followed immediately by another: "She's got herself a husband!" He realized that not only had I made a commitment to him, but he had made the same commitment to me. He sometimes used this as an illustration of the inter-commitment between God and Christians.

Sometimes Austin embarrassed me by referring to our elopement. Illustrating the danger of Christians being spiritually asleep when God wanted to use them or bless them, he told of going to my bedroom window and calling me, on the night of our elopement. One time he said (in the pulpit) "and Sleeping Beauty was lying up in the bed, fast asleep."

After the crash of the stock market in the fall of 1929, the depression set in, and by our wedding date in February, 1930, it had really taken hold. The expression "getting married on a shoe string" didn't really apply to our marriage: we didn't even have the shoe string!

Next time: The Aftermath