Daddy, Part I

Joseph Anderson Crenshaw 1933-75

      Joseph Anderson Crenshaw--my daddy.  Daddy could be fun. I loved going to the beach with him because he would get out and swim and bob the waves with us. He'd also throw us out into deeper water, which was thrilling. One summer, he got some wood and made us a little cart, stilts, and a see-saw. He also was one of the first on our street to take apart skates and put the wheels on a board--viola'--skateboard! Billy and I had the dog pull us on the skateboard, rather than riding it the correct way. Daddy loved hosting watermelon parties for the street during the summer. He get several melons, put them in metal washtubs with ice for a few hours, and then we all feasted on the coldest, sweetest watermelon! Someone told me that if you ate the white part of the rind, you'd be poisoned, so I always left plenty of pink, but Daddy would eat it all and spit out the seeds. He also taught us that people in the know always put a little salt on their melon. It was also a great treat for us when Daddy made home-made ice cream in an old hand-cranked freezer. We'd crank it, at first, but it would get too hard, then Daddy would take over. I loved tasting the cold salty water that would dribble down the side of the freezer. Daddy could make anything, and he made a grill from a giant metal drum. He seemed to love applying the lighter fluid with a very heavy hand because everything had the faint taste of petroleum.

The watermelon and I

     People would always tell me how funny Daddy was. Really, I didn't get it. I still don't think of him as being funny. I do remember, though, when the guys from the neighborhood would sit around on the front porch, and they'd all be laughing at whatever Daddy was saying. He'd pull pranks on them, especially Mr. O'Chipa who was a wee bit gullible, but well-loved by Daddy.  I remember one of his pranks. We spent Easter afternoon with our friends the Hulseys. Of course, we had an Easter Egg Hunt. Back then, before everyone was concerned about salmonella, the adults would hide real boiled eggs. Well, we kids found all the eggs except one. Mrs. Hulsey and Mommy were worried about that egg going rotten in the Miami sun. So, we searched and searched for at least an hour.Finally, Daddy and Mr. Hulsey, smiling like possums, admitted that Daddy had eaten the egg. At least they found that trick hilarious! I don't think the moms did.
    After Mommy died, Daddy changed, and he became a harder man. I didn't understand then, but I understand now. A widower with three children--my sister only two years old. He had to shoulder more responsibility, and he had to deal with a teenage daughter. Daddy was an only child, so he had no clue about raising girls. Especially a hyper-emotional teen. But, he did his best. And I learned some very valuable skills from him.
    Daddy was a perfectionist. I, by nature, am not. But, he taught me that when you have a job to do, then you do it right. When you're working, do more than what is asked of you. When I got my first job as a popcorn girl at a local movie theater, he told me to work hard, and, if I ran out of things to do, to always ask the manager for more work. I've followed that philosophy all of my working life. And I have reaped the rewards of Daddy's work philosophy. He also reaped the rewards of his philosophy. He was a diesel mechanic and worked on all kinds of engines. He also worked on people's cars and yachts. The rich people who lived down on Star Island passed his name around as a man who was an excellent, honest, and hard-working mechanic. Daddy's reward? He worked for the president of FPL. He was so impressed with Daddy's skill and work ethic, that he hired him as part of the management team. Here he was, a man with a high school diploma from a vocational school, part of FPL's management team. I saw that hard work and giving extra would pay off and was, really, just the right thing to do. I also learned by watching him always to be myself. As he advanced in management, he was just Joe. I remember a picture he had of the management team of FPL. Everyone was in a suit and tie; there was Daddy in a short-sleeve shirt, no tie. He even had an old fashioned fish fry to which he invited the management team. We still lived in working class Ives Estates, but Daddy didn't care. He cleaned out the carport, cut a metal barrel in half to use as the fryer, set out paper plates, cheap wine, and plenty of folding chairs. He was just being who he was and they loved it. I, a little surly at having to attend, ended up playing duets at the piano with one of the vice presidents.Thanks, Daddy, for teaching me to be genuine!
    
    

Grandmother Part I

     It's interesting how different my two grandmothers were. Granny was soft and fluffy. She would hug us and get some sugar. She was a talker--certainly a Jones family trait--and she always moved quickly. When Granny cooked or cleaned, she did it quickly. I remember how fast she could cook breakfast, dinner, and supper. And how quickly she cleaned up afterward. (Or how quickly she asked Granddaddy to help her clean up!) Granny was a washer-woman at the dairy, and she would fly through her job.
     On the other hand, Grandmother was slim. She was taciturn, and it was rare for her to control the conversation. Fast? The word did not exist in her vocabulary. Grandmother did everything very deliberately  and precisely. She started supper right after cooking breakfast. She was so slow at everything, that Uncle Son used to tell her that she'd be late to her own funeral.  Grandmother worked as an upholsterer, a profession that required preciseness. While Granny had five children, Grandmother had only my daddy and us. We saw Granny in the summer and a few times a year when she came to visit us; however, we visited Grandmother every Sunday afternoon and almost every holiday. Grandmother wasn't a hugger, nor did she tell us that she loved us, but she sure showed her love.
     My brother and I looked forward to visiting Grandmother on Sundays. After church, we'd change into play clothes, and drive down to Little River. When we got there, Sunday dinner was on the table.  Grandmother would always make fried chicken, cornbread, and, the only vegetable I remember, LeSueur's Baby English peas. She would make those just for me. Both my brother and I wanted to eat from the special dish that had been Daddy's when he was a child; Mommy made us take turns.  After dinner, the adults would go and talk, and Billy and I would play.

Daddy's Plate--fried chicken where the clown is, peas on the left, cornbread on the right

     I always took the time to read the funnies from the Miami Herald and the Miami News. Then the adventures would begin. Grandmother had a large yard, plenty of room to play. Most of the time, we would go out and play under her Royal Poinciana tree. I called it the "pickle tree" because the leaves reminded me of a big pickle cut in half. When it was in bloom, we'd pull on the branches and make it rain flowers. When the seed pods had formed, we'd use them as swords and play pirate. One of our favorite things was to take her metal lawn chairs, lay them down so the back became the seat, and pretend we were on air boats. Uncle Son had a plant nursery in the next lot, and we'd play out there.

Royal Poinciana with flowers and seed pods

     When we were tired, we'd go in and get our Sunday treats. Grandmother always had boxes of Cracker Jack for us and Pee Wees, small bottles of fruit-flavored drink, unique to South Florida.  We were always excited to see what prize we had in our Cracker Jack. The best prize was the magnifying glass--which we would promptly use to try to start a fire. Never happened. The worst prizes were the little plastic toys. Billy and I would trade prizes, at times, but that never seemed to come out fairly. Just in case that wasn't enough of a snack, often Grandmother would have Ritz cream pie, just for a little dessert. Sometimes, Uncle Son would give us a dime and walk us to the corner store to buy more candy.
     Once the adults had talked enough, we'd get back in the car and drive a few blocks to spend some time with my Grandma Crenshaw, Daddy's grandma. More treats and then the drive home. Tired, happy, full, and loved.

Aunt Reba--my personal Scarlett O'Hara

“I’m saying this is the South. And we’re proud of our crazy people.

We don’t hide them up in the attic.We bring ’em right down to the living room and show ’em off...

 no one in the South ever asks if you have crazy people in your family.

They just ask what side they’re on.” — Julia Sugarbaker, “Designing Women”

Aunt Reba and Uncle Frank, c. 1930

     I think that Julia Sugarbaker's remark about Southerners and their "crazy" people is funny and so accurate! Crazy isn't truly mentally ill; crazy really means eccentric. And no one need ask me what side of the family my crazy people are on--it's an easy answer, BOTH SIDES! My favorite crazy relative was my Aunt Reba,  my Grandmother Crenshaw's only sister and her complete opposite.  My grandmother was a rather taciturn person; her motto was "Pass and re-pass." Aunt Reba was loud, bossy, and very out-going. Her motto was "Any attention is good attention." Please understand; Aunt Reba would not be at all offended at my telling her tales. She would absolutely be reveling in the attention. 

    The James family was a typical farming family in rural Georgia. They lived in Perkins, no longer in existence. Perkins was near Milledgeville, where the Georgia State Institution for the Insane was located. Ironic, in my opinion. They were sharecroppers, and all the kids had to work in the fields, especially when it was time to chop cotton. All of them except Aunt Reba. Apparently, Reba was the favorite daughter, as she told me many times, and she did housework and, as Grandmother would say, she laid up while the others worked hard. Aunt Reba said she didn't have to work in the fields because she was Scarlett O'Hara, and Scarlett didn't get her hands dirty when someone else could. 

     Grandmother and Aunt Reba would argue, until they both passed, about things from their childhoods and early adulthood. Apparently, Reba was quite the flirt; Grandmother, not so much. One of the earliest stories I remember their arguing about was Aunt Reba's first marriage.  She went out on a date with her beau, and they were late returning home. So, she did what any nice Southern girl would do in that situation. She eloped. She figured her daddy wouldn't be as upset when she got home from the date married, instead of just being late. Grandmother's opinion of this story was that Reba shouldn't have been going out with boys in the first place. And this was a cautionary tale for me--don't miss curfew, or you might have to marry that boy. In fact, maybe it's just better if you don't start dating  at all. 

     Sometime in the late 1920's or early 1930's, most of the James family moved to Miami.Aunt Reba took Grandmother under her wing and introduced her to Miami's nightlife. As Aunt Reba told one story, they all went out to a speakeasy in Miami. Sometime during the night, they needed to use the ladies' room. Inside was a statue of a nearly nude man, who had a fig leaf over his unmentionables. There was a sign that said, "Don't lift the leaf." Aunt Reba swears that Grandmother lifted the leaf for a little peek, and when she did so, it set off an alarm. Everyone was looking when they made a hasty retreat back out into the speakeasy. Grandmother always maintained that Aunt Reba lifted the leaf because she would never do such a thing. It's a mystery as to who lifted the leaf, but I always wished I could have seen the two of them scurrying out of that restroom--especially my quiet Grandmother.
     Aunt Reba did divorce her late-curfew husband, and I never knew him. But I knew her second husband, my Uncle Frank, very well. He was such a nice, gentle man, except when it came to Aunt Reba. Theirs was a relationship that thrived on conflict I don't think there was one thing that they held the same opinion about. I remember their bickering a lot about the amount of shoes Aunt Reba owned. I thought Uncle Frank was exaggerating until I spent the night at their house. You literally could not get to her bed because the floor was covered in shoes. The closet was full of shoes. Uncle Frank had his own bedroom, and I think some of her shoes sneaked in there too. The other major source of conflict was Dolly, Uncle Frank's pekinese. That dog lived to be over 25 years old, and that only because Uncle Frank took her everywhere (except church). He carried her all the time, and she always sat on his lap or right next to him, bumping Aunt Reba out of her place.  He carried a little china dish so Dolly never missed a meal. When Dolly needed to go out, he carried her and just put her down to take care of business. Dolly was too precious to even walk by herself.  When Dolly passed, Uncle Frank had her buried in the pet cemetery in Miami. He told all of us that when he passed into glory, he wanted to be buried next to Dolly because he'd get no peace in the hereafter if he was buried near Aunt Reba. He said she'd be complaining, even when she was in Heaven. Uncle Frank did pass first, but the pet cemetery wasn't zoned for people. I know my long-suffering Uncle Frank just sighed and then enjoyed Heaven. And hoped it would be a long time before Aunt Reba joined him there.