The old school bus camper had lived a rich life before falling into our family’s lap. After spending years transporting kids safely to school, it had been relieved of most functional parts and converted into a rustic camper. Some intrepid do-it-yourselfer had gutted it till nothing but the shell remained. Two shelves graced by full size mattresses stretched across the back. Stacked army cots flanked both sides. An ancient stove was wedged near the door. A wildly patterned floral vinyl rug completed the decor. I thought it charming.

Immediately before coming to us, it sheltered a destitute family of four, on the banks of Dorcheat Creek, all that stood between them and homelessness. Unheated, except for the death-trap of a leaky stove, they had to leave the windows open should they get desperate enough to use it. They cooked outside, unless it rained too hard.

Akins, a decrepit old geezer had courted and won the heart of Mary, an pathetic child of fifteen. It’s hard to imagine the life she’d hoped to escape if she imagined that sickly, wheezing old man was the answer to a prayer. Only eighteen, she hugely pregnant and mother to two wormy-looking babies when Daddy met the family. Upon Loy’s desperate plea, He purchased their battered home for fifty dollars, allowing Loy to buy a battered station wagon. Loading his family into the ancient vehicle, he moved them into an unpainted shotgun house some charitable soul had offered up rent-free out of pity for Mary and her growing family. With all its flaws, it was a much better home for the desolate little family. Mother was furious when Daddy blew fifty bucks on a useless piece of junk when she needed groceries.

Shotgun houses are three-room dwellings peculiar to the South. Built with three or four adjacent rooms with aligned doors, in theory, one could fire a shotgun through the front door with the bullet emerge through back unscathed. I never heard why anyone would want to shoot through a house, but this was the South after all.

Mary was grateful to move her poor little family into a house with a wood stove since they’d been living without heat. Their only luxury was electricity, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling in each room. They did have cold running water, but no bathroom. The ancient toilet stood behind the house. The local church gifted them with clothes, household goods, and groceries so their lives was vastly improved. Mary was over the moon at the gift of an ancient wringer washer. It stood proudly on the droopy back porch.

Loy was unable to work, so the family scraped by on public assistance. Most of the time, Mary was able to shame him into helping her cut wood for stove when bad weather was coming. Though Mary often had to ask the church for food, both she and Loy were chain smokers.

Sometimes Loy made a bit of money by repairing bicycles or lawnmowers, picking peas, or perhaps driving someone to town. Mary was known for her beautiful ironing, a bargain at five cents a piece. Mother was also pregnant with her fifth at the time, so if she could squeeze a dollar or two out of her overstretched budget, she was glad to hire Mary to do her ironing. The industrious girl had some sewing skills and sometimes got fifty cents for hemming a skirt or a nickel apiece for hand-stitching button holes. The neighbors competed for her services. The pair made a little money this way when times were hard.

It seems remarkable to work so cheaply, but in 1960, bread was $.22 a loaf and whole milk $.49 a gallon. Mary’s hard work put something in the hungry children’s stomachs.

Mother gave birth to her youngest. The baby had milk allergies. The baby’s formula was changed several times with no let up in symptoms. Finally, the doctor had mother put warm jello in her bottle instead of formula and give her supplemental baby food with cereal several times a day. The baby thrived.

Mary gave birth to twins. She claimed they were identical except one was a boy and the other a girl. Seeing the red jello in Mother’s baby’s bottle, she inferred it was Kool aid, even though Mother had explained the situation. It was probably a bit of wishful thinking as well. Kool aid was only a nickel a pack then; milk $.33 a gallon. Mary switched her babies to Kool aid. Two or three days later, she came over pleading for canned milk. The poor babies were crying incessantly and refusing their Kool aid. Horrified, Mother explained and sent her home with canned milk. The babies straightened right up. They liked milk.

Mary was a tragedy of fertility. Perpetually pregnant, she gave birth to six children in record time. Sadly, she lost several teeth. By the time they moved away, she had aged tremendously.

The couple stopped by to visit a year or so later. Not surprisingly, Mary was hugely pregnant, smoking up a storm. By this time, the older kids seemed like ferrel children, ripping madly through the house, determined to disembowel every drawer, closet, and cabinet. They ran screaming in and out of the house, doors banging in their wake.

The exception was a two-year-old- girl, Merle. Loy spoke harshly, demanding Merle sit on the sofa, while the others ran wild. She was a precious little toddler, dressed in a pretty dress. The other kids were poorly dressed and mostly shoeless. A time or two, Merle made a move as if to get down. Loy reprimanded her sharply. When she crimped up to cry, Loy raised his hand as if to smack her leg. Mother had one of her little girls bring Merle a toy and encouraged Loy to let her get down and play but she didn’t move, clearly bullied into submission. Once Loy had demonstrated his control over the child, he spent the rest of the visit praising her behavior while the other kids tried to tear the house down. It was a miserable time.

This was in the early sixties, before the time child abuse would have been reported. After they left, I remember my parents discussing the strange situation. They felt sure the purpose of the visit was so Loy could show what a good little girl Merle was. We never saw them again.