Chapter 10

HE IS OF AGE

(From the beginning of June 1964 thru Christmas 1964 and thru New Year’s holidays 1965. Daddy unceremoniously totally releases me from his strict dominion over me, his son. I gain employment and start earning wages for college expenses.)

“Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself, O God of Israel, the Saviour.” (Isaiah 45:15) “And I will wait upon the Lord, that hideth his face from the house of Ja’cob, and I will look for him.” (Isaiah 8:17)

One important characteristic of our Creator God is that He is a God that hideth Himself. Therefore at times, often times, we must look, diligently search, for Him. I think of this important characteristic of God when I consider my Dad’s ways. He interacted with me and spoke to me so very seldom. But at crucial times, he immediately stepped out of his hiding and came thru for me with the help I direly needed. Thank Thee, Lord, for this Christian Daddy of mine, steadfast as a rock.

In the last chapter, I told you that I applied for a job at Sanford Company mainly because there was a good chance they were hiring, and because the 2 miles was walking distance for me from Dad’s house, and because I knew of no other place available to apply for a summer job. I heard nothing from Sanford regarding my job application. During my senior year, as typical of him, Daddy gave me no counseling or hints on job hunting. Likely he knew I applied at Sanford and that Sanford was silent regarding that.

So on his own, Daddy came out of hiding (just a few days before I graduated, I think). He reminded me that a government office in the Vernon courthouse annex hired a few men each spring to measure cotton and peanut crop acreage because the U.S. government regulated the amount of these 2 crops that each farmer was allowed to produce. One day Daddy took me with him to that office and asked his good friend who worked there, Mr. Howard Rowland, about the possibility of hiring me. Howard gave my young self a somewhat leery look while replying that some young guys had done a good job and some hadn’t. That day he was plenty uncommitted to hiring me.

Lamar County was divided into about 5 districts for this annual crop measuring and 1 man was hired in each district to do the measuring. And by God’s grace, Mr. Howard did hire me to measure the acreage in the district my family lived. I am much indebted to Dad for that job. Without Daddy’s good influence, likely I would not have gotten that job. Job training started just a very few days after my Graduation Day from high school (about 3 days later). That 1^st training day, I walked the 3 and half miles from Dad’s house to that office in Vernon and also walked back home after the training session.

I well remember the 1^st day as we 5 or so trainees sat around a table with the large aerial photo maps spread on the table and Mr. Howard and Mr. Matthews explaining how to recognize ditches, fields, a tree, electric power lines, forests and all such things on the earth that showed up in the photos. We were each given the few small instruments we would use, like the “ruler” about 8 inches long graduated to the scale of the aerial photomap. We practiced drawing and measuring on the map and such.

That 1^st day, we were in that room about 4 hours. I left with a splitting headache and feeling terrible, mainly because the room was filled with cigarette smoke all the time. No longer was I on Dad’s slave labor farm breathing God-created clean air (except for the times our tractor’s broken muffler was blowing exhaust smoke in my face). I had now entered the devil’s evil world system of labouring for a human boss in exchange for mammon. And from this day in early June 1964 until 12 February 1975 when I got discharged from the Marine Corps, I would breathe in much second hand cigarette, cigar, and pipe smoke on the job as I worked various jobs out in the devil’s world.

I was greatly relieved to finish that 1^st day of training and then walk the 3 and half miles home in God’s clean air, getting away from that smoke-filled room and recovering somewhat from the much poison I had breathed.

Arriving at the house, I quickly change into my farm work clothes and walk down to the field where Daddy is plowing on the tractor. Daddy strictly controlled us boys making us work most of the time. Each day we returned home from school, if we were to work apart from Dad, then previously at the breakfast table that morn he would have clearly assigned us our after-school tasks. Or we clearly knew to come straight to the field where he was, to work there with him. Strict! No deviation allowed! After graduating, I labored for Daddy all day every day during the very few days until I started this job training today. On this day, I didn’t know anything had changed. I thought I would have to keep working in his field when I was at home.

Thus I walked right down to the edge of the field where Dad was headed on the tractor as he plowed or cultivated in that field. When he arrived where I stood, he killed the tractor engine. Likely I told him I had finished my day at that office. He spoke briefly, asking me a question or 2 about how it went. I stood waiting for him to assign me work to do, as a few hours of daylight remained. But he started up the tractor engine and plowed away from me. It took several seconds for my slow (and surprised) brain to grasp the profound event and major change that had just instantly occurred in my life.

With absolutely no ceremony, speech or grandeur, my earthly father had totally released me from his strict dominion that he had keenly exercised over me since my birth. It was evident that I was welcome any time and all times to freely abide under his roof and eat from his meal table. But he no longer required me to labor for him. Also, from then on, he had practically no verbal input into my life (advise or such).

1a. Daddy releases me from his strict dominion in early June 1964.

Heavenly Father, I heartily praise Thee for creating me at the exact time Thou didst create me, for giving me Godly Christian parents, and for locating me on an old fashion farm under the strict dominion of an earthly father who severely punished me and worked me hard. All that gave me a most firm foundation for a blessed life and prevented much disaster in my future years.

From the time I was able to learn about my Dad when I was a 2 or 3-year-old boy, all way till Dad’s death when he was close to 86 years old, he was most silent to me, just as he was to most people. I perceive that left a void in my heart, preventing me from feeling close to him or having strong emotional ties to him. So be it. I have no grounds to judge him one whit regarding that. But Almighty God is right now clearly commanding me to tell you parents to keenly listen to what His Holy Spirit is speaking to you regarding this in relation to you and your children, no matter what age your children are at the time you read this.

In Genesis chapters 2 and 3, The Lord God ordained that His created human race nourish itself by tilling the ground from which we were taken, in thus manner growing the food necessary to sustain our physical lives. I thank God that I was born into a family that practiced that God-ordained occupation (in its old-fashioned manner at the start of my life) and thus I experienced farm life the first 18 years I was on earth. Since this day when Daddy released me from his strict dominion, I have seldom tilled the ground. I have grown very little of the food I have eaten since then. I am thankful for the farmers who till the ground to produce the much food that has kept me alive since about June 3, 1964. I am deeply indebted to them all.

Dad releasing me from his strict dominion was a major change in my life. There have been many such changes down thru the years, but I will limit the ones I name and outline in this book to 5 or so (the most major ones), each of them composed of several stages that I will list separately. I welcomed most all these changes as improvements and betterments in life for which I heartily thank God.

My younger brother, Joe, also started his own life soon after this. So I want to insert a note of thanksgiving at this point. Basically, God protected us 4 children from major sicknesses as we grew up. Also, He protected us from major, severe injuries in our work, school, play, and few travels. God similarly protected our parents from major injuries. My poor family had no health care insurance, no money to spare for hospital or doctor, and we needed all hands always available to slave away at all times on the farm (not to be laid up for months recovering from a major injury). Thus at this point in my life’s story, I humbly thank Thee, Most Gracious and Merciful Lord, for keeping Thy Loving Protecting Hand constantly upon our family.

I was blessed with a most stable upbringing in that Daddy owned the farm we lived on from the time I was about 9 months old. Thru out my boyhood, my family made no periodical moves to other locations. My parents lived and worked at home (mostly). Thus they were at home each day we children returned home from school to work with them on our home farm and live most all our hours together at home. All such things greatly stabilized my developing years, and (along with being made to labor hard and regularly from a very early age) put my life on a most solid and stable foundation, thank God!

1b. I enter employment and start working for wages.

(The above sentence is the 2^nd stage of this first major change in my life. Now, back to my job training.) We may have spent only that first day in the office breathing deadly tobacco smoke. Possibly it was as early as the 2^nd day that Mr. Matthews began to take us to farms (2 or 3 trainees at a time). He measured the 1^st farm, sketched the map, and filled out the form as we watched and listened to him explain. Then he would have one of us measure the next one, listening to us telling him what we were thinking and doing. He would correct us when needed (which was often).

About the 4^th day, he gave me my 1^st set of photo maps, the long measuring tape on a hand reel, and each acreage info sheet for several farms and turned me loose on my own. In a few days, after I finished all farms on one photo map and turned it in to his office (along with my written work), he would go to 1 or 2 of those farms to spot check my work. For some reason, once I had to briefly go back to a farm I had previously measured. While there, the farmer told me that Mr. Matthews had come there after me to spot-check my work. “He said you were doing a good job.” Thank Thee, Lord.

Mr. Matthews started me measuring fields right at home, first doing Dad’s farm and immediately surrounding farms. Thus far, I had walked to town and then rode with him in his truck to on-the-job training at a few farms. He soon asked me how I would travel. I was embarrassed. ‘First, I will walk to the nearest farms and then borrow Daddy’s car or Sidney’s car when I can. Then when I get a pay check, I hope to buy my own car.’ He sort of chuckled. Thank Thee, Lord, that he didn’t fire me for being so immobile. Likely, down thru the years, no other man had ever walked from farm to farm to work this job.

“You were special, weren’t you, boy?”

‘In more poor ways than I care to think back on.’

Daddy had much knowledge in this matter and watched me carefully and gave me pointers as he and I measured his cotton fields together. (It was the custom for each farmer to accompany me to answer my questions, hold the end of the long measuring tape as I unreeled it, and such. I next walked to Mr. Tennel’s farm located on a back road behind Daddy’s farm. Many Septembers, I had picked cotton for Mr. Tennel for pay before Dad’s cotton was ready to pick. He was sort amused that I was now doing the measuring job (an adult man’s job). Likely he ribbed me a little. He might have asked me if I planned to walk to all the farms, hand carrying that large board with the photos spread on it and the other necessary equipment. My cramped style provided amusement amidst his hard farm labor.

After walking to all the nearby farms, I began to borrow Daddy’s car or Sidney’s car, ever which car was most available. My pay was all “piece work” pay. I received a certain amount of pay for each acre I measured. As best I recall, I got no pay for those 3 days or so of training.

My paycheck came from the U.S. government. Uncle Sam issued paychecks twice a month, mid-month and at month’s end. I begin to look around for a cheap used car to buy. Sidney told me that Lowell (his co-worker with whom Sid rode to work) had an old 1952 Studebaker for sale for $75. I preferred a better car. Likely my 1^st paycheck came in mid-June and covered just a week or more of work. I think it was just over $100. I cashed that check. After my workday, I walked the mile and half or so to Lowell’s house with my cash in my pocket. He was home from work. I looked the car over (a jalopy plenty dilapidated and rusty); test drove it with Lowell, paid him $75 cash for it and drove it home. I’m now a car owner and start going to each farm in style, chugging along in my own old rust bucket of a Studebaker.

1c. I get my drivers’ license in May and soon buy my 1st motor vehicle in June 1964 with most of my first paycheck.

I greatly liked the nature of this work. I liked its location(s), on farms out in God’s lovely nature. I found the job interesting. I had to go to each farm in my designated area that had been granted an allotment of cotton acreage. Tho I had lived in that area since I was 9 months old, I now follow some narrow dirt farm roads into isolated areas to which I had never been. It was interesting to explore new territory, meet new people and hear what some of them had to say.

I went to elderly Mr. McGee’s farm that had McGee’s Lake where people came and fished for a fee.

“So you’re Pascal’s boy? You’re named after your great granddad, Uncle Dick Yerby. Did you know him?”

‘No, Sir. He died before I was born.’

“A very upright and Godly man he was. One summer when Martin Lawrence was a teenager, he plowed for Uncle Dick for hire. You know Martin?”

‘Yes, Sir. He’s one of the school bus drivers now.’ (Martin was now elderly.)

“Let me tell you a good one. One time when Martin was plowing for Uncle Dick (my great granddad), Uncle Dick walked to the field with a jar of water to give Martin a fresh drink. Martin didn’t see him standing at the end of the row and just at that time, Martin cursed the mule he was plowing. Then he looked up and saw Uncle Dick. Uncle Dick kindly gave him the fresh water to drink and then gently said. ‘Martin, I heard you curse the mule. I’m going to pray for you now that you will stop the habit of cursing.’ A subdued young Martin (and the mule) quietly listened as Uncle Dick interceded to God for the lad’s spiritual well being. Then Uncle Dick said most seriously, ‘And I hope I never hear you curse again.’ And Martin told me (Mr. McGee), ‘He never did hear me curse again’.” (That doesn’t mean that Martin never cursed again. But he made sure that he never cursed again within Uncle Dick Yerby’s hearing.)

Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for giving me such a Godly heritage with such Godly ancestors.

Mr. Howard issued me one lead pen and 2 pencils with which to write while on the job. I clipped the lead pen in my shirt pocket. One day while measuring, I jumped a narrow ditch and likely the lead pen was ejected from my shirt pocket when I landed because when I soon felt for it to use it, it was missing. So I used a pencil for writing. The next time I went to the office, I related that incident to Mr. Howard and told him I needed to pay him for the lead pen I lost. He smiled at my simplicity, quickly issued me another lead pen and said I didn’t have to pay for the one I lost.

During my upbringing in poverty, our family members mainly used only the few things we owned (as opposed to using other peoples’ belongings). Our poverty inbred into us the instinct to take the best care of our scare belongings, which including doing one’s best to make sure we never lost anything. Thus, when I was entrusted with anything that belonged to another person, I felt a strong duty to take care of and protect it. I now saw that the world’s system often did not exercise as much responsibility regarding loss and waste.

For brevity’s sake I will limit my stories about this crop acreage-measuring job to these 2 about Uncle Dick Yerby and the lead pen. I worked 6 days a week (long hours) taking off Sundays. The pay was per acre I reported measured. I wanted much pay, so I worked long hours. Also, the office wanted it all finished promptly. Any time it rained, I had to cease work while it rained, no matter how short or long. It would ruin those photomaps to get them wet.

That job of measuring cotton and peanut fields lasted about 5 weeks, till mid-July or so. When it ended, I had a little money now but no further job prospects. Being a farm boy, I was too shy to go search out every carpenter, construction boss, etc. in the area to ask them for short time work. I felt that would be like begging. So I did nothing (or practically nothing) regarding looking for another job, knowing nothing more to do.

Tho the time clock of my young life was steadily ticking away when I needed to be daily earning more money for college, I am amazed now in my old age that I didn’t worry much about that matter then and didn’t strain my brain trying to devise ways to find a paying job. You who have lived long on this earth know how worries and fears increasingly creep upon us as we age. (Ecclesiastes Chapter 12)

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.”

Again, I stand humbly amazed at how God miraculously and promptly provided my next job thru Dad. On top of that, in a sense Daddy actually did nothing to obtain the job for me. Look at that Scripture above from Psalms 37:23. I confess I have nothing good in my SELF. But God has imputed abundant goodness unto me. I praise Him for that and for ordering my steps. My Godly ancestors were a direct source of much of that goodness.

“Also, young Richard, the Almighty takes great pity on the helpless and feebleminded, doesn’t He?”

‘Of a certainty, He does! Praise His Name for doing so!’

Lord Jesus, I praise Thy Great Name for setting my life on a straight, unwavering path upon Daddy releasing me from his dominion over me upon rearing me to adulthood.

Quite early on a morning only 2 or 3 days after finishing the crop measuring job, I was sitting (idle) in our (3 boys) bedroom reading, when Daddy came briskly there from his busy work out front where he was preparing the tractor equipment for his work that day. Reaching my door, he slapped it with the back of his large hand from the hall side of the door and called out hurriedly. “Hey Ric, you want a job?”

I had heard a car stop just 3 minutes or so before. I didn’t bother going to see who came. After the newcomer talked to Dad just a minute, Dad came back here to me. County Superintendent of Education (Garvis Moore) had come to ask Dad if he wanted a short time job doing roofing. Mr. Moore knew Dad was a hard worker and also usually hard up for money. But Dad said he was too busy with farm work now in the summer. “However, my boy, Richard, might be interested in the job.” Similar to Mr. Howard being leery of me for his job, so was Mr. Moore leery of a young’un.

“But it’s hard work and awfully hot on that roof. Do you think he can take that?”

“If anybody can take it, he can,” my dear Dad said of me. Dad never told me directly that he paid me such a compliment me (ever being careful not to spoil me). But a few weeks later, he told that in my presence to my new roofing boss, Mr. Mars.

(Back to Daddy’s knock on my door), I was too surprised to be shocked, I reckon. ‘YES!’ I instantly replied and went out front to Mr. Moore. He told me to go to the garment plant in Vernon where a crew was roofing it. Inside what we all called the “garment plant”, workers sat at sewing machines making men’s trousers where all our family had so hoped Mother would gain employment shortly before her death. I put on work clothes, drove my Studebaker there and told the boss (Mr. Mars) that Mr. Moore had sent me there to work. Mr. Mars immediately put me to work.

Mr. Mars was from the largest Alabama city of Birmingham about 110 miles east of Vernon. His roofing crew here at work was from Graysville (just this side of Birmingham) about 90 miles away. Ed was the straw boss. His very short brother-in-law (nicknamed Shorty) was one of the crew. There were about three other young men (about 20 years old) on the crew. One or 2 of them were Ed’s sons. All those young boys were lazy punks. Also their foul speech readily revealed their most sinful hearts.

It was a large, flat, “industrial” roof. They were laying a new layer of roofing paper on the entire roof, sticking it to the old paper and sealing the seams with black gum coating from 55-gallon drum cans on the ground next to one wall of the plant. They had turned 1 drum can on its side on a makeshift platform and it had a large spicket (faucet) screwed into the larger hole in its top.

“When one of the (4 or so) 5 gallon buckets from which they are mopping the black gum coating onto the roof becomes empty, I want you to fill the bucket at the drum can on the ground. Keep us supplied with the sticky black sealant.” Thus Mr. Mars assigned me my job.

‘Yes, Sir!’

I starting filling the empty buckets and immediately saw that I would be idle a good deal of the time doing that only. Thus I concluded Mr. Mars wanted me to always be “mopping” the black sealant with one of the brush “mops”. And each time a bucked was emptied, I was to let it down with the hook on the long rope, go down the ladder, fill the bucket, climb back up the ladder, pull the full bucket back up with the rope and quickly get back to work mopping. (Ed and Shorty were rolling out the heavy roofing paper, cutting it into sections and laying one section after another in place. The young lazy guys were mostly mopping the black gum. Much mopping was necessary.)

Daddy reared me to work hard on the farm for no pay, which instilled in me my grave duty to work as hard as possible for anyone who paid me to work. When I got the crop-measuring job, I did it diligently in order to do it correctly, but I worked as fast as possible to earn the most pay possible doing “piece work”.

This day on a new job paying by the hour, in order to give Mr. Mars his money’s worth, I now vigorously mop while keeping an eye on all the buckets from which the crew are mopping. When a bucket became empty, I took it to the ladder, let it down on the rope hook, shimmied down the ladder, filled the bucket at the drum can, hooked the hook into its handle, and ascended the ladder while sliding one hand up the rope to keep it taut to prevent the hook from slipping from the bucket’s handle, pulled the rope hand over hand to get the heavy bucket up onto the roof, and went right back to furiously mopping. (That was a long sentence.) Aggressive, I was!

Thank Thee, Lord, for ordaining me to be reared on a slave labor farm by a hard working Christian father. Such rearing has stood me in good stead all my days.

Mr. Mars keenly watched us all as he supervised us and also did some of the work himself. Sometimes, he was on the ground instead of on the roof. One time when I was busily “mopping away” and the boss was on the ground out of sight, one of those lazy punks said to me, “You don’t have to work so hard when he isn’t watching.” I didn’t slack my pace one bit. In just a day or two, Mr. Mars told Ed the straw boss: “Next time you come back here to the job from Graysville (where they lived), leave 2 of those boys behind.” (Mr. Mars fired 2 of them.)

I was doing more work than 2 of them were doing. That crew wasn’t happy with that at all, but the lazy bums had to accept it. They ought to work hard, if they don’t want to get fired. I think it was the first time Mr. Mars came to my house (2 weeks or so later) and met Daddy that he told Daddy of laying off 2 of Ed’s crew upon seeing me work hard. I was unaware of that until he told Daddy. That’s when Daddy told Mr. Mars what he had said to Mr. Moore (about me being able to endure the heat and toil) the day Mr. Moore came and offered the job to Daddy.

(Mr. Mars stayed in the motel at Vernon during the week and drove home for the weekend. Ed and his whole crew commuted daily from Graysville in a large old station wagon to save paying for motel rooms. It made for a long day for them.)

County Superintendent of Education Garvis Moore had given Mr. Mars several roofing jobs on the county school buildings. Thus Mr. Moore was out looking for workers for Mr. Mars. After we finished the garment plant, I worked on roofs at schools in Vernon, Sulligent, and Kennedy. We also worked on the Vernon courthouse roof. Also, Mr. Moore hired us to mop the black coating onto the aging shingle roof of his own house.

(Let’s take a break from work for some exciting adventure.) Late on a summer afternoon, 2 neighborhood guys I grew up with rode with me in my Studebaker down to Mr. Lloyd’s cabin at the edge of a large swampy area just across the state line in Mississippi. Mr. Lloyd gave us permission to use his cabin. We spend this night there, fishing part of the night. I had worked most of that day and it was after dark when we arrived at the cabin, put our few things inside, geared up for night fishing, and walked out to the small wooden rowboat we planned to use.

Lighting our way with 2 flashlights, we three waded into knee-deep water out to where the boat was tied to a tree in the edge of the swamp. Shining the lights into the boat revealed that it was about half full of rainwater. ‘Let’s all three get on one side of the boat and try to lift that side up vertical to dump out most of the water.’ I centered myself in line with the other two guys each on my left and right. I planned to do the greatest load of lifting while each of them held a light in one hand. The boat was heavy with much water.

‘Heave!’ And as we strained much to start lifting up the near side of the boat, I instantly voiced the frantic thought that flashed into my mind. ‘There’s a good chance there’s a water moccasin under the boat!’ The timing of my speech was perfect. With us now holding the side of the boat up at about a 50 degree angle, both guys point their lights at the water’s surface close in front of us where the boat had been resting until now.

“Snake!” Ultra high “soprano” voices sing out loud and clear in synchronized fright, serenading the host of slimy creatures in the dark dismal swamp as we behold the big ugly poisonous viper zigzagging randomly, surprised by our sudden intrusion and confused as to where he should go. It was just an unfortunate meeting for all four of us, especially for the snake because it soon ended his temporal existence!

Boys, this ain’t no time to strike up choir practice!!

“And they all forsook him and fled.”

In sheer panic, my two faithful companions instantly release their hold on the boat (thus doubling the weight I am struggling under) and turn in the opposite direction to flee away posthaste. Their courageous self-survival act leaves me in pitch black darkness struggling to hold up that heavy weight with my left hand and arm only, while unsnapping the holster strap and drawing out my pistol with my right hand.

‘Get back here! Put your lights on him so we can see where he is!’ I was so hoping that serpent had the exact amount of courage as my brave companions and thus was fleeing away from me instead of heading underwater toward my legs to sink his naughty fangs into one of them. I was flipping off the pistol’s safety and getting ready to give all ten of the .22 caliber long rifle hollow point bullets to “Snaky” free of charge. Thankfully my fellow soldiers repented of their cowardice and turned back to me. Search lighting, they fixed their beams on cowardly “Snaky” fleeing away (in front of the inclined heavy boat I was still straining to hold up).

‘Thank you, Snaky, for not attacking me! I’m going to return the favor by ending your frightening existence!’ My pistol was a semi-automatic with a 10 round clip in its “grip” that I was carefully gripping, totally void of desire to drop my firearm into the dark knee-deep swamp water. It is difficult in the dark to see the 2 sights on the pistol barrel to line them up and then fix them on Snaky. But Snaky’s water habitat made such precise sight alignment unnecessary. With my right arm thrust straight out, I just pointed the pistol at Snaky in the lights’ beams and squeezed the trigger. “Bam!”

Seeing that bullet kick up water just to the right of Snaky, I turned the barrel slightly left and fired again. It is easy to adjust one’s aim watching where bullets hit in water. My 2^nd or 3^rd shot was on target, tearing out a hunk of Snaky flesh as the hollow point bullet tore apart upon introducing itself to Snaky. (Hollow points are designed to do thus. Thus I delight to present them to serpents.)

Upon a bullet first tearing into Snaky, he began writhing into somewhat of a coil, thus making himself a more compact and easy target, for which Snake Terminator Boy was much obliged! That aided the next 5 or so shots I fired rapidly to each hit on target and rip out hunks of snake meat. Bam-bam! Bam-bam-bam! Flaying Snaky meat in the dark dismal swamp!

Shaky Snaky gradually ceased moving.

Shaky Choirboys quickly found that soothing.

Snaky Blown-Apart found closure.

Whereupon, Choirboys regained welcomed composure.

Choir voices settled back down into their normal alto ranges as we voiced strongly emotional eulogies to Snaky regarding the profound effect he had on each of our lives (supercharging our nervous systems in the unique way serpents are endowed by their Creator to do) during the brief 22 and half seconds we had known Snaky before he abruptly erupted to the snazzy rat-a-tat-tat beat of my trusty Snake Charmer, and found peaceful closure to his dull temporal life in the dismal swamp.

“Snake Charmer Boy, you have just about completely traumatized us with these horror stories about snakes!”

‘You’ll get over it. I only have one or two snake stories remaining and they are years in the future. So take a break from that horror and relax as I move on to a new subject.’

When September arrived, I didn’t really have enough money to start the fall quarter at Auburn (that began about September 21^st). I felt lonely and shut out as I observed the local schools starting again in early September when summer vacation ended. Plus all my classmates who chose college were now heading to the college of their choice. But I was still doing dirty roofing work. I longed to be a university student, to be back in a school atmosphere. I had my doubts if I would ever be able to enroll in a university. That thought hurt much.

I drove that old Studebaker to Auburn in early September (likely around September 7) before university classes started in the fall quarter. I wanted to see if I could find work in the Auburn area. I wanted work more pleasant than roofing. Plus, if I worked in the Auburn area, I felt that would better my chance of starting the winter quarter there in early January. I told Mr. Mars I was going. He bade me farewell, assuming I would enroll and start college now. I told Daddy I was going to Auburn and wasn’t sure when I would come back. ‘I’ll write.’ I packed a few clothes in a cardboard box and left in that old Studebaker. This poor boy had no suitcase (or travel bag of any kind actually).

That old car had a straight shift transmission with 3 forward gears. But as the engine wound up in the last (3^rd) gear, it automatically shifted into overdrive. Until now, I had only driven that old jalopy locally in Lamar County. I wondered if it would make the 225-mile trip (one way) to Auburn and back. I was counting on the “overdrive” helping, as the engine turned at a lower RPM in overdrive. But just a day or 2 before I planned to leave, it ceased to shift on into overdrive. I deeply regretted to see that. I decided to go on as planned. But I stopped in Kennedy at Worth Hidgon’s vehicle repair shop and asked him to look at it. He quickly spotted the problem. “The electric fuse for the overdrive “kick in” is burnt out. So it won’t “kick in”.

I was so relieved to hear that, thinking that simply replacing the fuse would be a quick, cheap fix. Mr. Hidgon replaced the fuse and I got into the passenger seat as he drove it. When overdrive again failed to kick in, he said: “It shot that fuse too. That means the overdrive switch has worn out. You could probably find one at a junkyard if you searched junkyards for one, and I could install it for you.” But I was packed and ready to go. So I drove on toward Auburn, now somewhat concerned about my crippled old car.

I arrived in Auburn late that afternoon, parked in First Baptist Church’s parking lot and spent the night there, sleeping in my jalopy. A motel room was a luxury I could not afford. The next day I walk much on the deserted, quiet campus (between school terms) and recall my joyful stay here 4 summers ago during the 4-H state convention. I think I slept 3 nights in the car in that parking lot, eating just a little each day to conserve money. I made feeble attempts at looking for work but found none. Then in the early afternoon, I said: ‘Enough! I’m going home!’

The 225 miles would take about 5 hours to Vernon in that old car. But I was in too big of a hurry, drove too fast and overheated the engine. It would have been wise to slow down. I wasn’t wise. A faint knocking started in the engine and got louder. As I neared Gordo, I pulled over onto the shoulder and stopped. I had burnt out the inserts in one of the pistons of the engine. If I kept driving, it would probably sling that piston rod thru the engine wall. I drove slowly on to a store with a pay phone and called my brother, Sidney. He came in his car with a strong rope and pulled my car by rope the 38 miles or more to Daddy’s house. I sat in the driver’s seat of my “dead jalopy” ever so alert to be ready to step on the brakes (no power brakes then) when Sidney braked as he pulled me. Otherwise, my car would ram into the back of his car when he stopped. I arrived back at Daddy’s being towed by my brother. Such was the end of the longest trip I had thus far made alone.

Someone told me that Bobby M. had a 1955 Bel Air Chevy for sale for $300. I got up with Bobby and he priced it to me at $325 after showing it to me (trying to get a little more for it). We settled on a price of $315 and I wrote him a check for that amount. That purchase just about completely depleted my money. Looking back now, it is good that I didn’t drive that unsafe Studebaker any longer. It had “play” in the steering system and other defects that made it most dangerous to drive on public roads. The 1955 Chevy Bel Air was a popular car. Mine was a quite attractive 2 tone, green below with white top. It was good to graduate to this better car from that unsafe rust bucket.

I immediately sought out where Mr. Mars was presently roofing. “So you’re going to put off university till January?”

‘Yes, Sir.’ And I asked him to let me work.

He was so good to take me right back into the work, tho I had more or less told him I wouldn’t be working for him anymore this year. I was most thankful for his kindness!

Listen to me, young man and young lady! You be a diligent, honest, hard-working laborer, and you will have a tremendous great advantage in the job market. Just listen up to the much talk you presently hear about employers being unable to find dependable workers who will do a good job of even the simplest tasks.

Mr. Mars was presently working on the roof of Kennedy school. He had ceased hiring Ed and his crew from Graysville and now instead hired local men here in Lamar County. The closer his workers lived, the more convenient. Also, tho Ed and Shorty worked hard and well, the young punks with Ed did not.

Two elderly school bus drivers are now working for Mr. Mars 5 hours or so a day between the morning and afternoon school bus runs. They were Mr. Grady Butler and Mr. Martin Lawrence. I debated telling Martin about Mr. McGee telling me about my great grandpa praying for young Martin decades ago when young Martin cursed the mule. But I didn’t mention it.

Local schools are in session now in mid-September. From atop the Kennedy school roof, I would see several of my 1^st cousins and a few friends who were students here, as they went in and out of the building. (We would greet each other.) I continued to have that hollow feeling in my heart because I wasn’t in college. All my other classmates who chose college were now in college studying hard. Would I ever actually attain to that? In doubt, I feared I never would, and that I would still be mopping black gunk onto roofs over 50 years later as I now write this in 2016. (Sure would make for dull reading for you.)

This was the first of 3 major delays Almighty God put into me attending a university and graduating from it. In hindsight, I now believe that in Great Loving Care for me, God delayed my completion of university studies more than 1 year to keep me out of the awful mess that deadly nightmare of a war in Viet Nam.

Sweet Precious Lord Jesus, I am most thankful to Thee for doing that. Truly, Thy Way is Perfect.

One day (likely in late September) when I met up with a neighbor in public, he remarked in passing, “I saw Pascal driving a cotton picker.”

Tho I was living in Daddy’s house, this was the first news I heard of Daddy’s plans to buy a mechanical cotton picker. He rarely discussed any of his plans with his children. I was mildly surprised at the news. I lightly remarked something like: ‘I thought the only cotton pickers Daddy would ever drive were his boys.’ But on finishing high school, each of us boys ceased our cotton picking. Thus Daddy had to come up with an alternative.

This year (1964) was a pivotal time of change in which most family small cotton farms thru out the southeastern U.S. went out of existence. Thru out such rural areas, farm boys and girls my age (like my siblings and me) daily walked to their cotton fields early many summer mornings (usually barefoot), one carrying a jug of water and the others carrying hoes on one shoulder. We spent many long, hot summer days hoeing and chopping cotton, cutting out the weeds and grass. Come autumn, typically we daily came home from school to pick cotton till dusk and we picked cotton all day on Saturdays. We grew and harvested a large variety of fruits and veggies for us to eat (along with hay and corn for the farm animals to eat). We daily fed farm animals, milked cows, gathered eggs and such. We shoveled manure from the barn, cut firewood and did numerous other farm chores. We kids helped our parents butcher hogs and calves out back of the house and put away the meat for the family to eat.

But most farm families around us ceased doing many of those things right about 1964. The few who continued to grow cotton sprayed poison to kill the grass and weeds and hired a farmer who had a mechanical cotton picker (like Daddy) to pick their cotton. Steadily they ceased keeping farm animals and grew fewer fruits and veggies for the family to eat. At this time in my area, a rural family’s small farm life of the whole family working together on the farm practically became extinct.

Lord Jesus, I praise Thee for creating me at the exact time Thou didst create me, to experience old fashion farming using animal power (horses) the first 12 years of my childhood life. I am most thankful that the family farms in our area lasted until I left this farming community after the end of 1964 and that I slaved away at hard manual farm labor until I was 18 years old, till Daddy released me from his dominion at that time. I believe it was the most valuable boyhood experience possible. Thank Thee, Lord, for ordaining it for me.

Likely it was in early October when I left Daddy’s house early one weekday morning and drove that 55 Chevy to Auburn and went to the Navy ROTC Department on campus to inquire about getting into Navy ROTC.

I drive down U.S. Hwy. 82 East, and turn east on Alabama Hwy. 14 that goes to Auburn. On Ala.14, when I come to the intersection of U.S Hwy. 31, it’s a divided 4 lane. A stop sign faces me. So I stop and look left at the 2 lanes coming south from Birmingham. No traffic. I cross those 2 southbound lanes, stop on the medium and look to my right at the 2 northbound lanes. A car is approaching me in the near lane of 31 northbound. Tho it has no stop sign, that car stops. An elderly couple is in it. Likely he thought he would do me a favor and let me cross. Being a new and young driver, my only thought is to quickly get on out of their way. So slowly heading across in front of their stopped car, I totally fail to consider that 2^nd lane of traffic adjacent to them.

“Hold it, Richard boy! Let me guess! You crossed right in front of that heavy 1959 Ford speeding by in that adjacent lane at 80 miles an hour. It hit your car mid-broadside, and instantly killed both you and that speeding driver! Did I guess right!?”

‘You were ever so close. Much too close for comfort. You only mis-guessed the timing by a mere 1 and half to 2 seconds. Had I been that much earlier (or had that speeding driver been that much later), your guess would have been the story of his and my short lives. There were no seat belts or air bags in those days. I don’t see any way either he or I would have survived him broad siding me dead center (T-bone) at that high speed.’

“Had that happened, Brother Richard, we wouldn’t be reading your autobiography now. Instead some sad soul would have written a biography of your short 18 years and that tragic end. But you have to admit that powerfully explosive collision and the gory details that followed would have made a most exciting end to the short biography of your life!”

‘HUSH!’

My car was slowly moving across in front of the elderly couple’s stopped car when I saw a quick flash go by right in front of my nose. He was flying! The left edge of his rear bumper must have been a mere few inches from my front bumper as his car finished passing in front of mine. I immediately stopped. ‘Opps! Forgot to check the 2^nd lane for traffic.’ I now look in amazement at that speeding bullet shrinking away toward Birmingham. Then I look at the direction he came from, saw that 2^nd lane was clear, crossed it and went on my way. It took a few seconds for it to sink into my mind just how extremely close I came to getting killed in a most violent and gory fashion. It unnerved me much, to put it simply. Likely also for that elderly couple sitting there, that near accident was a surprising sight to behold.

Lord Jesus, I thank Thee for the many times Thou hast kept me safe during a very close brush with death.”

Thank God I made it safely on to Auburn, found the Navy ROTC office, and told the secretary and receptionist, Mrs. Davis, that I desired to join. She told me to go into the freshman instructor’s office right across the hallway in that office area and talk to him, Navy Lieutenant Morgan France. This redneck farm boy was so naïve. I knew not, that application had to be made well in advance, in order to attempt to get into Navy ROTC.

At that time, all able-bodied male students at Auburn were required to take the first 2 years of military ROTC (reserve officers’ training corps). Then the small percentage of them who desired to become military officers stayed in ROTC for 4 years. All males who took the required 2 years only, chose either Army or Air Force ROTC. Most chose Air Force because it was easier.

The Navy specialized, and accepted only the students who had firmly decided to become a Navy or Marine officer. Each year, the Navy set a quota for the freshmen class of midshipmen. At Auburn, about 8 times that number of young guys applied to enter Navy ROTC. Only 1 out of 8 or so got accepted. My high school classmate at Vernon, Jimmy, entered Auburn this September. Back in the summer, he applied for Navy and was rejected. Later, next January when I start school here, Jimmy relates this ratio (1 out of 8) news to me (who am presently ignorant of such, and of most other things except farming).

Only one university in each state had a Navy ROTC unit. Most (or all) had Army and Air Force ROTC at that time.

Also, freshmen entering Auburn in September (who desired Navy) applied for Navy ROTC well in advance back in the spring, the earlier the better. After 7 out of 8 applicants had gotten turned down and the fall term was well under way, this know-nothing farm boy just walks unannounced into Navy Lieutenant France’s office in October telling him, ‘I want to join Navy ROTC’.

“Richard boy, what we are about to hear will convince anyone that Almighty God showed exceedingly abundantly mercy upon ignorant you to work miracles for you to put you into Navy ROTC at Auburn.”

‘Amen! It should even convince an infidel!’

Each year, the Navy chose the best prospects from the many applicants. Many of the 12% of the applicants that got chosen this year profoundly proved themselves to be “sailor-like” by the way they drank and partied as soon as they started their 1^st year at Auburn (and thus not applying themselves to their studies enough). When I came to his office, Lt. France was observing several of his 1^st year midshipmen in the process of flunking out of school. Several would not be allowed to study the following term, winter quarter. (He didn’t mention that to me. I will hear it next January from fellow midshipmen in my class.) Thus Lt. France told me I could take a test for applicants scheduled in just a few weeks. I rejoiced to hear that. Thank Thee. My Lord!

I drove back to Vernon that very day. It made for a long day.

I continued mopping black sealant onto roofs for Mr. Mars. A few weeks later, I got up about 3 AM on the morning of the test, drove the 5 hours to Auburn and took the test. It was unthinkable for poor me to pay for a motel room in Auburn (the night before) to get up about 7 AM refreshed, to take the test. Thank God I did well on the test. The Navy accepted me, allowing me to start one quarter (term) late. That rarely or never took place. I thank God that this farm boy was accepted into Navy ROTC at Auburn. Had I applied at the normal time (last spring), and entered Auburn University this September 1964, no doubt the Navy ROTC would have rejected this farm boy among the (8 times too many) applicants.

As the weather turned cold in late October, that black gum coating we mopped onto the roofs got cold and thick, making it slow to pour from the drum can and difficult to mop onto the roof. Mr. Mars would build a fire next to the barrel and heat it to thin out the coating. Also at that time, his jobs got scarcer in the Vernon area. Also the cold air on a rooftop was miserable, just as the summer heat had been miserable.

Again Daddy “came out of hiding” and mentioned to me that this was the year the U.S. government was taking a nationwide agricultural census they took every 10 years, and that at the Vernon courthouse annex they would be hiring a few census takers to do Lamar County. (The regular national census was taken in years that end in zero. This agricultural census was taken in years that end in 4, I reckon. Upon hearing about the job, I was most desirous to gain it.

I told Mr. Mars about it and that I wanted to apply. He was most encouraging. He said he would be glad to give me a good reference if needed and would do anything he could to help me. I think he wanted to shut down his roofing work during the winter and was thus relieved that he would not have to try to provide work for me any longer and be out in that cold himself.

Likely it was around Thanksgiving in November when I took the test with other job applicants, in the courthouse annex. The questions dealt mainly with numbers (some were “math” and some were the arranging of numbers) as the census-taking job entailed. Thank God, the test was simple for me, the math award-winning graduate right out of my high school math studies, and with a sharp, young brain. Thank Thee, Lord.

I breezed thru the test quickly (well before the time limit was up), checked my work again, and still was first to turn in my test long before any other applicant (most of them being older men, some farmers). The young lady from Fayette who administered it, smiled at me as she said “Quick”. I could sense she was thinking I likely missed a lot of answers in my speed. She quickly graded my paper. I had only one wrong answer. I knew how to arrive at the right answer for it, but had been careless and got it wrong.

She was impressed with my high score. “You definitely qualify,” she said more than once. I was hired to do the section of Lamar County in which I lived.

I greatly enjoyed doing that job, somewhat similar to (but simpler than) measuring crop acreage that I did back in June. The area of the county assigned to me contained part of the area where I had measured cotton and some adjacent area where I hadn’t measured cotton. There was a short training session for us 5 or so chosen for the job. They gave me a map of my assigned area that supposedly had each residence in the area drawn onto the map, a little square for each residential building.

Throughout my assigned area, I was to drive every highway, road, and lane that was accessible to motor vehicles. I was to look for any new thoroughfares (roads) and any residences not drawn on the map. I was to note any such additions. I was to visit each residence. If that household did absolutely no farming activities, then I only had a few designated questions for them. If the household had any farm animals (chickens, a pig, calf, horse, etc.) or if they just worked a small vegetable garden, hayfield or cultivated any land; that qualified them as farmers regarding this census, and many more questions had to be answered. I was issued a briefcase containing my map, questionnaires, etc. This was a “clean” job (as opposed to measuring fields and roofing), and it was an indoor job. I just sat in people’s houses and asked questions. So I wore clean and neat casual attire and penned my “census takers’ badge” onto the breast of my jacket to make me look as official as a green 18 year-old boy could look. ‘I’ve became a young executive!’

As with the crop-measuring job, I traveled some country trails not many miles from Daddy’s house that I had never traveled in my short life. It was a thrilling adventure! I met a variety of interesting people! I liked meeting them! The pay was “piece work” pay, so much per residence (similar to the “piece work” pay for measuring cotton fields). When it rained, I had to take off from measuring fields and from roofing, getting no pay while I waited for the rain to stop. But weather didn’t hinder this young executive census taker. I certainly liked that tremendous advantage. I started this indoor job (inside my ’55 Chevy and inside people’s houses) in the cool crisp fall days of late November. All aspects of the work were so nice. It was my first indoor paying job.

Thank Thee, dear Lord Jesus, for providing this comfortable job.

Many folks worked away from their residences during the day. Thus we were allowed to knock on doors till 8 PM or so to catch them at home. Typically I would return to Dad’s house close to 9 PM and eat the supper they had left for me on the table and in the oven.

One day, I knocked on Malcolm M.’s door. I had never before met him. Back then, when a visitor came to a farmhouse, typically the visitor was immediately invited inside without having to first state the purpose of coming there. Times sure have changed!

Malcolm (about 60 years-old) came to the door; I gave him a friendly greeting and came in as he invited me to do. This was the first time for us 2 to meet each other. I knew nothing of him till now. I sat down. He and I chatted briefly, friendly rural style. I soon told Malcolm my reason for being there as I pulled a blank questionnaire out of my briefcase preparing to start asking him questions. Malcolm stood up from his chair, walked the few steps to my chair, angrily jerked the questionnaire from my hands and threw it onto the floor.

“Well, we can just forget about that!” It was a plenty mean voice.

I don’t think Malcolm had ever killed a man. But I also think that he would not hesitate to do so. He had physically fought many men, sometimes fiercely. I think he always won each fight. No one ever got the best of him. And likely he would have killed any man if he “had to”. I didn’t know those things about him yet. But I sensed I had better not confront this man at all. So I made no move toward the questionnaire on the floor.

I just continued talking to Malcolm in a most meek and friendly guest-like manner, being as how I was his guest. He was elderly and somewhat lonely (though living together with his wife and 2 grown old-maid farmhand daughters who worked like men on the farm). So he loved to talk. We hadn’t talked long before he mentioned something about his farm or farming and said. “You can put that on the paper.” So I meekly picked up the paper, entered that info, meekly asked him all necessary questions and Malcolm answered them all. My visit with Malcolm was such a joy that 10 days or so later when I was again in that area, I stopped at his house just to visit. He was happy to see me. I learned many interesting things.

Soon after Daddy married, Dad and Mother moved onto a farm near Malcolm where they interacted with his family in farm work. At Dad’s supper table after my first visit with Malcolm, I told Dad I had met him. Dad silently smiled, knowing it would have been an interesting encounter.

Now, Malcolm tells me an interesting story of my Dad’s history. “One time Pascal and I threshed dry peas together (using a mechanical pea thresher). I saw sparks flying inside the thresher from the blades hitting small pebbles that had been raked up with the peas. (The thresher separated the peas from the hulls and they used the dry hulls also, for cow feed.) I warned Pascal that he’d better not put those “sparked” dry hulls into his barn that night, because they might be smoldering in places and flame up later. I poured my hulls out in my barnyard for that night and they flared up and burnt up. Pascal put his hulls in his barn loft and burnt down his barn that night.”

Daddy told us children ever so little about his life on earth before God created us. I had never heard this “exciting” story before. That night at Daddy’s supper table: ‘I dropped in on Malcolm today and he told me about you burning your barn down!’ Silent Dad smiled and nodded his head. No doubt my family’s heritage would be much richer to me, had Daddy only related more of it to me. Parents, think on such. (Mother died when I was 8, before she had much time to tell me of my parents’ histories.)

It took just over 3 weeks for me to complete my assigned area and finish this census-taking job. It was a simple job and a great joy to do. I learned much about my home county (Lamar County) and its people. I’m most thankful I was there to take that “once in a 10 year period” job, instead of having entered Auburn U. “on time” in the fall quarter. Thank Thee, Lord Jesus, for that rich once-in-a-lifetime experience.

During this autumn of 1964, I applied to Auburn University for the Winter Quarter that started the 1^st week of January 1965. My test grades to date were good enough. So Auburn accepted me and I prepared appropriately. (Little to do in that regard.) Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays were plenty enjoyable at Daddy’s house. Our Yerby Christmas gathering at Papa and Mama Yerby’s (Daddy’s parents) house near Belk was most enjoyable.

Since early June when my earthly father released me from his strict dominion over me, I have continued to lodge in his house and eat at his table for “free” (as I have done all my life) (but now often eating lunch elsewhere) as I have worked 3 different jobs consecutively for wages. All thru the New Years holiday period, I savor to the fullest these winter holidays at home, knowing that I now plan to move out of Daddy’s house. I will fortunately have many future opportunities to visit here and lodge with him in my boyhood home. Still, this upcoming move to a university campus marks a major change in “family life” for me.

Abba Father in Heaven, I heartily thank Thee for the boyhood Thou didst ordain for me, and most of all for saving my eternal soul during that boyhood.

On to Chapter 11

Back to Table of Contents

Home