That was the first question Daddy asked every person who entered his house, should they be a friend, relative, or Kirby Vacuum Cleaner Salesman who happened to be hopelessly lost on the back roads of rural Bossier Parish. Raised during The Great Depression, always hungry, he frequently did a day’s work for no more than food. He swore if he ever got grown, no one would ever leave his house hungry. “Are you hungry? Kathleen will fix you something to eat!” The burden of his good intentions Continue reading
memoir
Turned Out In The Cold
Uncle Joe sent word he needed the boys to cut firewood one November day in 1934. He’d be ready about ten the next morning. They walked barefoot three miles through the woods, kicking at the fallen leaves, since it was a still a warm day as November often is in Nortwest Louisiana. Shoes had to be saved for school, but the opportunity to get a day’s work took precedence over school. They needed whatever Uncle Joe paid, whether it be a little money or food. Maybe they’d get a meal or some cast off clothes, too. Continue reading
Things Cat Crap Taught Me
Makiing your bed is important, even if you’ve been a slob and left it till midnight. A deranged cat may have left a nice gooey kitty surprise in the warm spot you abandoned this morning. You won’t like the way it feels as you slide your leg along it under the rumpled covers, I’m pretty sure.
People Ought Not to Have to Live That Way
After his father died , Daddy told of his family moving in a battered old shack sitting in a open field occupied by a bull and herd of cows. It was really not much better than a barn, just unpainted planks with unfinished walls inside, tin roof visible above the open rafters. The cows offered little threat, but the Jersey bull raged when the cows were in heat. Mettie and the kids had to always had to keep a look out for him when they stepped outdoors to do laundry or fetch water from the well. Mettie kept the little girls close by in case they had to make a run for the house. She and the older boys made sure he was nowhere around before starting across the open field to the road. Continue reading
My Dad’s Early History
Back row Unknown 2nd Geneva,Edward, 1st Bill, Bessie Swain.
Bill Swain, my dad was born in 1924, fourth of seven children born to Eddie and Mettie Swain. Eddie’s father, Thomas Swain owned a blacksmith and farm and was fairly prosperous. His business was lost during the depression. As he lay on his deathbed, in his delirium, he kept telling his family he had hidden money under his bed. None was ever found. Poverty-stricken like so many others, Eddie made his way as a sharecropper, moving farm to farm, hoping for greater opportunity.
Sadly for the family, Eddie died after four years of suffering with a brain tumor, leaving Mettie with five children under sixteen. Much of the last couple of years, Eddie was either hospitalized at the Confederate Memorial Hospital in Shreveport, Louisiana, or in his mother’s care at her home. His mother was willing to care for Eddie when he needed her, but did nothing for Mettie or the children. The only help Mettie could count on was from her brother. Brother Albert provided her a house and garden place on his farm when she wanted it. Mettie was restless, sometimes moving away. Bill was thirteen when his father died, Edward, sixteen. Both boys had already taken to working away from home, more for something to eat than money. They knew they needed to “get their feet out from under Mama’s table.” If they didn’t havea place to live and work, they’d take a day’s work at a time, for what they were fed the day, or if they were lucky, a bag of meal, a half-bushel of beans, or some corn to bring home. Bill lived most of the time with his Uncle Albert, taking work on other farms as well when he could get it.
Bill snagged his first paying job at fifteen as night-watchman on a drilling rig. He was big for his age, able to pass for eighteen. The site wasn’t too far from home. He get hungry and slip home nights for something to eat. From there, he went on to construction and operating heavy equipment, which he did till he went in the Navy during World War II. He enlisted in the Navy, because he never wanted to be hungry again.
to be continued
I Want It! I Want It!
I was an acute hemodialysis nurse for thirty years, caring for thousands of patients over that time. The most important thing I learned was listen to your patient. I’d cared for Miss Ann for many years, through numerous hospitalizations, surgeries, and procedures. Prior to this admission, she’d told her husband, “I don’t ever want any more surgery.”
Unfortunately, this time she was in ICU on a ventilator and couldn’t speak for herself. She appeared to be unaware of what the doctor was explaining to her, so he asked her husband for surgical consent. Sadly, her husband refused, citing Miss Ann’s intention not to have surgery again. Meanwhile, behind the two of them, Miss Ann was frantically waving her arms trying to get their attention. She wanted surgery.
Miss Ann got her surgery, recovered, and did well for quite a while after that.
Long Lost Treasures
I’ve recently been writing about my paternal grandmother, Mettie Knight Swain, whose life I didn’t know nearly so much about as my mother’s family. I reached out to my cousins who were kind enough to send me pictures. I am grateful to receive these. Pictures can tell you so much more about a person than you’d expect. The man in the hat is my grandfather, Eddie Swain, Mettie’s husband. He died of a brain tumor at the age of forty-two. The family picture is one of the earliest I’ve found with Eddie and Mettie Swain and their three children, Geneva, standing left, Parnell, and Edward in Mettie’s lap. They had four more, Bill, Bessie, Esther, and Ola Bea. This photo would have probably been made about 1922. Continue reading
Too Good To Be True!
Mother and I ran by the garden center while we were running errands today, as any right-thinking person would. As I was strolling about, measuring the beauty of the flowers against the high cost of divorce, should I purchase any more this month, a miracle occurred. One of the vendors walked up to me and asked if I liked flowers. She cut me off before I really got started. She lived at ——Jones Street. She’d collected so many flowers she couldn’t take care of them. They were all in her yard and on her porch. Go by and get all I wanted.
“Is this a joke? What if your neighbors see me loading flowers and call the police”
“Oh, that’s no problem. Just take a picture of me and show it to them if they say anything, or tell them to call me. It will be fine.” That sounded reasonable. I snapped her picture making the peace sign and sped to _______Jones Street. The neighbors were on their doorstep watching us, probably wondering why they hadn’t been offered anything. I showed them the lady’s picture, telling them she said we could have her plants. They looked suspicious, but didn’t yell at us. The plants were gorgeous. She’d even started a couple of nice pineapples. I was thrilled to get them when I noticed we were on ______Patterson Street. We put all the plants back, explained to the neighbors, and took off.
We never did find ________Jones Street, but at least we haven’t been arrested, yet. I’ll bet that woman in the garden center is still laughing.
Jolly Funeral Policy
Agents selling funeral policies were a fixture in the rural South. Our budget was too tight for such luxuries, so Mother tried hard to keep us alive. Myrtle Harper sold policies for Jolly Funeral Home and Watkins products. She was a nosy do-gooder who carried sunshine from house to house, dispensing information about people’s financial situations Continue reading
Nutsrok 