One by one the progressive mayors and college presidents across the south have been chipping away at not only our heritage, but the honor of fallen heroes, many of who died in the great 'War for Southern Independence'. Actually those who would tear down these Confederate Monuments could care less about the statues themselves. It's not about these pieces of stone and bronze stained by the years. It's a power struggle between progressives and conservatives. I thought this was settled, a least for a short while with the election of Donald Trump. I was wrong, and now I fear we are on the losing side once again. Some of us are fighting back. The purpose of this blog is to inform you there is hope. We are attempting to raise funds to erect plaques honoring our fallen Confederate boys in gray. Plaques that will grace the town squares of small towns in the South where they will be welcome. Towns where the voters still have some common sense, unlike those idiots in the large cities and those poor lost young people in our universities. All denotations will be appreciated with the lion's share going to preserve the memory of those who fought and died in that great conflict.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Old, Old Stories

My early years on the farm

While trying to sleep last night I began to recall memories from my early teen years at my grandfather and grandmother's farm where I spent many a happy day in my youth. Of course I heard them tell numerous stories, but only a few have stayed with me over the years. I have often heard that so long as a person is remembered they are not truly dead. I know when I pass on these old stories will pass with me so thought I would share a few. I've condensed them so they are very short:

The Ball of Fire
In the early 1950's when there began to be a lot of talk about UFO's I remember asking my grandmother had she ever seen one and to my surprise, she stated she had and went on to explain that as a young girl she and some friends saw something on night while returning from a dance. You must keep in mind this would have had to been around 1915. Anyway on the return home a distance of about 5 miles (nothing by today's standards), but a trip of several hours by horse and buggy then, the young couples were followed by what she described as a ball of fire. She said every time they stopped to look at the low hanging flaming object in the sky it would stop and when they continued it would move after them. This lasted until they reached home and then the object vanished. I would add, that I never, never knew my grandparents to lie. Seems like old folks just didn't lie like people these day do.
The Old Faithful Dog
While sitting on the front porch late one afternoon, I know it was late because that's the only time we set on the porch, my grandmother told be a very sad tale about a family she knew in her youth. Seems all the family would go to the fields to work from the early spring until the fall of the year. On this particular day they left the small baby on the back porch with the old faithful and trusted family dog(some type of bulldog) while they all went to the fields to work. After several hours the dog unexpectedly came running to the field with blood all over his mouth and other parts of this body. The family immediately thinking the dog had killed the baby---shot the poor animal and ran back to the house finding the small child safe in its crib and lying along side the crib a large dead and badly mangled rattlesnake. I think I saw a tear in the old lady's eye as she finished the story.
The Sea Monster
I don't remember how the subject of sea monsters came up, but grandfather related the story of the sea monster he once saw. As a young adult he lived near the town of McComb, MS. McComb was a small town located on the route of the Illinois Central Railroad that ran from Chicago in the north to New Orleans in the south. He said one day while in town he noticed a large crowd gathered at the train station and went over to see what all the fuss was about. And there he saw it, a great sea monster. The creature was so large that it took two flat cars to hold it. Well he said, the flat cars contained only a part of the great creature, he never knew where the rest was. I said, granddaddy, what part of the monster was on the flat cars--it's head, the old man smiled as he puffed his pipe and said, it's dick. He always referred to that part of a males anatomy as "Dick".
The Skinning
Another afternoon while grandfather and I sat alone on the old front porch he related a story which was unexpected and out of character. I don't recall how the subject came up, I must have been about 14 or so at the time. Anyway, he said as a young teenager his father rode up to the house one night and told him to get on the horse behind him (keep in mind this would have been around 1910-1915. They then rode to a secluded wooded area where a crowd of men had gathered with their torches to light the night. And there in the dim light he could see a black man tied to a tree. What he said next shocked me. He said, the men began to skin the black man alive. I recall asking, grandfather what did that man do? He reply was short and to the point, "he raped and killed a white woman and her child". Nothing else was said and I knew not to ask any more questions. I never knew if great grandfather was a part of that mob, or just a spectator, but I have learned over the years not to judge past events using today's standards---only fools do that. Grandfather was a good and honest man, but in many ways a very practical man. I'll always cherish the memories of him with that old pipe and sitting in his lap as a very young boy on Saturday night listening to the Grand Ole Opry on that big old battery powered radio, before we had electricity at the old farm.

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