Shirley Willene "Sissy"--My Mommy

     My mommy was born on December 7, 1935 in McAlpin, Florida.  My granny and granddaddy didn't even have a name picked out for her. They had lost several babies to miscarriages and had a still-birth, so they didn't expect this baby to live. In the scramble for a name, they went with the most popular girl's name in the 1930s--Shirley, after Shirley Temple. For her middle name, and the name she went by, they took Granddaddy's name "Willie" and just converted it to a feminine name by adding the "ene"--thus, "Willene." Although my daddy and the neighbors called her "Willene," her family all called her "Sissy."
     Mommy spent her childhood between McAlpin and Hollywood. She used to tell me about how she and her sisters would play at the house up in McAlpin. After they swept the yard, they'd take sticks and draw playhouses in the dirt. Then they'd go and find dog weed and make themselves "babies" so they could play house. She attended elementary school in McAlpin during WWII. If I complained about the lunch she sent to school with me, she would tell me I was lucky. Granny would make big cats' head biscuits, poke a hole in one, fill it with bacon grease or cane syrup, and that was her lunch. I knew she was born and lived in a wooden house, but I imagined a white-washed house with a fence and a green yard. The reality was that she lived in an old cypress Cracker house with just a couple of rooms. Once, she pointed out the type of house she had grown up in, and I said, "Mommy, that's a shack!" "No, Donna Jo, that was home." She often spent summers up in McAlpin, and she told me about working for Uncle Vann in his tobacco field. He would pay her a penny for every four tobacco worms she'd pick off the leaves. She often told me that seeing those worms was one of the reasons she never used tobacco. I never thought about Mommy being a Depression baby, or the hard financial times her family had. She always spoke of her childhood as being happy.

The type of house Mommy was born in

 

Granny and the girls, a picture taken for my granddaddy during WWII

 

 

 

 

                           

     When she was a teenager, the family settled in Hollywood, Florida. Mommy was a typical teen. I was a lucky girl. Both of my parents grew up in South Florida, and they loved going to to beach! I used to look at the photo album she had when she was a teenager, and there were plenty of pictures of her posing in her swimsuit. She also liked sports and used to tell me about playing softball for the McArthur Dairy team. The girls were upset because the words "McArthur Dairy"on their uniforms went right across their bosoms.
     Mommy also told me about going to church as a child. She always liked singing hymns at our home, and she was involved in church teaching Sunday School and singing. Mommy had the gift of discernment, I believe. I know that the Spirit was working in my heart one Sunday morning, and she could see that I was struggling about the decision to accept Christ as my Savior. She took time that week and told me about when she was saved. She thought she had been saved as a little girl, and one Sunday, during the Lord's Supper, she took the cup and looked down at the grape juice. She told me that, to her, it looked just like blood. It was then that she realized that she was still lost; she wasn't covered by the Blood; and it was that day that she accepted Jesus as her Savior. I try not to live my life with regrets, but I do regret not accepting Jesus that Sunday morning because my salvation would have given her such joy.  Mommy made sure that we attended church, Sunday School, and Vacation Bible School. Her faith was real in her life, and others could see her faith in action. One of our neighbors said of her that Willene had broad shoulders that were always there for her to lean and to cry on. I saw Mommy counsel one of the young neighbors many times, and it seemed, to me, that she was ready to help anyone in need. When the whole Jones family would get together, I, being the eldest grandchild, got to sleep on the couch. I would listen the the soft, lilting voices of Mommy, Granny, and my aunts as they talked and cried together. Mommy seemed to be the voice of reason and faith.
     Mommy could be funny too. When Mountain Dew was first sold, my brother and I wanted to try it more than anything! But, Mommy wouldn't let us. Finally, the Coke gods intervened. She decided to treat us to a cold drink. She put in the dime, pushed the button for Co-Cola, and a Mountain Dew bottle popped out instead. Finally! We were getting a taste of Mountain Dew. No. Wrong. She went up to the man who worked at the gas station and pitched a true hissy fit. "Sir, I wanted a Co-Cola and this came out instead." "Ah, but....." "No. My children are not drinking Mountain Dew. I KNOW what Mountain Dew is and" "Wait, Ma'am. It's a soft drink." "No, don't tell me that. I know it is alcohol and I want my Co-Cola." By this time, Billy and I were sunk as far down in our seats as we could get. And there was no explaining to her that Mountain Dew was just Coke--not liquor. I'm so glad that I have never embarrassed my children like that.
     That wasn't the only embarrassing thing. Poor Mommy. She had problem with her fine, thin, straight hair. For Sunday church, she would roll up her hair early  on Saturday morning. Of course, one did not go out in curlers. Sometimes, she'd put a scarf on. Other times, she found, what she thought, was a better cover-up. It was a head-band with fake hair attached that she could comb over the curlers. I called it her "hair-hat." Unfortunately, the hair part looked like bozo-red Zak hair. And it never really covered all those curlers. Apparently, she was a woman of confidence, because she never seemed to notice the looks and titters. I'd just duck my head and pretend she didn't belong to me. That was hard to do because she never let us get out of her sight, or she'd yell out "DONNA JO! BILLY! Y'all get back here!"
     One of the habits that Mommy passed down to me is the love of reading. Mommy read all the time. Newspaper. Bible. Novels. Magazines. Non-fiction books. She encouraged my loved of reading from when I was a baby. She read the same books to me over and over, and, eventually, I began picking words out of the books and newspapers. And I was reading by age two or three. She knew that receiving a book for my birthday or Christmas was the gift I most wanted! She even ran interference for me with the librarian on the Book-Mobile. The librarian wouldn't let me check out anything but children's books, but Mommy went down there and talked her into letting me check out "adult" books (classics or historical novels--not trash!). She would have been so proud that I became an English teacher and also passed along her love of reading to my own children.

 Mommy, Donna Jo, Elisabeth (her granddaughter)

    

My Granddaddy

    Boy, this pictures brings back so many memories! This is my Granny and Granddaddy Jones, posing outside of their dairy line house on the MacArthur Dairy in Okeechobee. Granddaddy looks exactly as I remember him. To me, he was the most handsome granddaddy any girl could have! I've been thinking a lot about him lately and how much I miss him.
    Granddaddy, Willie Jones, was born in 1914 in Jasper, Florida. He came from a large farming family. Granddaddy farmed, but he eventually went to work for MacArthur Dairy down in Hollywood, Florida. Granddaddy and Granny moved between Hollywood and McAlpin in the early years, and they eventually moved to Okeechobee when the dairy moved there.  I always found it interesting that Granddaddy and his brother, my Uncle Van, married sisters (Reatha and Lucy Skinner, respectively), so my momma had a set of "double-cousins."  
    Granddaddy was a person who was everybody's  friend. He never met a stranger, and he didn't care what place a person had in society--he approached everyone on his or her own merits. I have never heard anyone speak ill of Willie Jones. He was a man who was universally loved and respected.

Willie and Reatha Jones and unknown dairy owner ready to take a flight  c. 1933

     Granddaddy was a great story teller. I still don't know which of his stories are true and which are not. He told me about his stint in the Army. First, he never thought he'd be drafted because he was married, a farmer, and in his 30's, but he was called and he served. He described taking the train from Scotland down to Southeast England and how beautiful it was. His dream was to make that trip again one day, but he never was able to do so. As far as the fighting, it sounded like a grand adventure! He was in reconnaissance, and he said it was just like hunting squirrels. To Granny's dismay (as the Joneses were officially teetotalers), he told the kids about hiding in the cellar of an old French house and drinking up the cognac they found there. 

        It's the little things that made time with Granddaddy so special. I loved to sit at the breakfast table with him and watch him eat his breakfast. The same thing almost every day: two over-easy eggs, grits, toast, bacon, and a cup of coffee. He'd put the eggs on the grits and pop the yolks, then use the toast to sop up every bite. He "saucered" his coffee--he'd pour a little coffee into the saucer and then sip it. Granddaddy would sit in his chair to watch game shows like "Concentration," "Truth or Consequences," and "Jeopardy." I'd sit on the floor between his knees, and we'd watch and play the game shows together. He was a teaser! He'd slip his feet out of his house shoes and pinch my legs with his toes. "Jeopardy" with Art Fleming was one of his favorite shows--he knew almost all the answers. Granddaddy wasn't an educated man; he never finished high school. But, he was an intelligent man, who loved to read. He passed that love of reading to my mom, and she passed it to me, and I to my kids. 

     He could frustrate us grandkids too. If any one of us would complain, "I'm thirsty!"; he'd answer, "I'm Bill Jones. Nice to meet you." Granddaddy had this whole rhyming sequence he'd have us repeat, and it ended like this: "Rooty Toot" "Rooty Toot" "Onion Soup" "Onion Soup" "Hit me" "Hit me" And then he'd tap us. "Why did you hit me?" "You just asked me to." I think he did that with every grandchild--starting with me. 

     There was another side of Granddaddy as well. He was a man of great faith. I remember his reading his Bible every day. Sometimes I'd see him napping on his bed, he had fallen asleep while reading his Bible and the Bible would be open on his chest. At meals, he would always say the prayer. We would all fold our hands, bow our heads, and wait. Granddaddy prayed so softly, it really was difficult to hear him. Someone would have to say a loud "AMEN" so we would know when to begin eating. One of my uncles asked him why did he have to pray so softly, and Granddaddy just replied, "I'm talking to God--not you. He hears me just fine."
     My most precious memory of Granddaddy was when I took my son, the first great-grandchild, down to Okeechobee to meet him and Granny.  Granny called out to him and he came shuffling as fast as he could down the hall to meet my son. The smile on his face and the tears of joy in his eyes are something I will never forget. My mommy and daddy never saw their grandchild, but Granddaddy's joy in him was all I needed.

     I miss my Granddaddy. He was the sunshine of our family--funny, smiling, gentle, faithful, kind, loving. A little piece of him and his values are in every child, grandchild, and great-grandchild.  He's been in heaven over thirty years now, and I know I will see him again one day, but I still miss him. I miss the teasing. I miss the pinches. I miss the smell of snuff on his breath. I miss his smile that reached all the way to his eyes.  I miss seeing him reading his Bible. And I miss those quiet mealtime prayers. I'll always love you, Granddaddy!

Descendents of Willie and Reatha Jones, Oct 2014

An Udder Cowtastrophe!

     And the summer of 1960-something continues. Being at Granny's for the whole summer gave me all kinds of opportunities to do and learn things that I could not in Miami. I had already learned lessons about gathering eggs, turning bulls into steers, riding, and frying chicken. During that long summer, I had more lessons to learn.

  

One of my favorite places to visit at the dairy was the calf barn.My brother and I would beg for a trip to see the calves! The barn manager was a friend of Granddaddy's, so he'd let us come in and walk up and down, looking over that summer's calves. So cute! And so noisy as they all cried for mama! The manager had us hold out our fingers, and, to our surprise, the calves would latch on and suck as hard as they could. This was one time that I didn't mind the slime from their mouths--the babies just seemed to miss their mamas, and I was giving them comfort. Lesson 5--Those calves missed their mamas as much as I missed mine.

     However, my encounters with animals were not limited to farm animals. One afternoon, my friend and I went "walking" up and down the dairy line. On each side of the road, there were drainage ditches. Most summers the ditches were filled with water, but that summer was dry, and so were the ditches. We were just about back to Granny's when we noticed something moving in the weeds in the ditch. There it was--an armadillo! Little grey-armored bundle of cuteness! We looked at each other, and I had the idea to run back to Granny's, get a bucket, and try to catch that armadillo. Imagine my surprise, and terror, when I reached down and scooped up that critter in the bucket. Once I had it, I didn't know what to do with it. My friend quickly abandoned me, running back to her own house. I ran, as fast as I could with my arm out straight out, as far from my body as I could get it, back to Granny's. Once that thing was in the bucket, I noticed that it had large, sharp claws, and I didn't want any part of it. Once again, Uncle Larry came to my rescue. First, he suggested that we could make armadillo roast for supper. Remembering that poor chicken, earlier in the summer, I quickly said no to that idea. I did NOT want a headless armadillo running around in Granny's yard. I ventured that I could keep it as a pet, but I knew Granny wouldn't let that thing live in her utility room. Finally, Larry just did what he was going to do all along--tip over the bucket and let him loose in the cow pasture. Lesson 6--Only adopt pets you're not frightened of.
     The grandchildren would be allowed to go with Granny to the barn to play while she worked. Uncle Larry worked at that same barn. Now, I just had on flip-flops this time because my feet were too large to wear Granny's cast-off work boots any more.  Larry waved me back to the milking parlor. The cowboys let the herd in. Those cows came running in--a stampede--and I tried to flatten myself against the wall and then run toward the door.Because of those flip-flops, I just slipped and slid in the water and cow droppings. To make it worse, I looked up to see the cowboys laughing at me. I finally got out the door and waited while each cow found her place along the feed trough. Larry called me back in and asked if I wanted to see something special--the stars on the cow's teats. I was a little skeptical because I was afraid of slipping and falling, but he held my hand and took me up to a cow with a huge udder. "Go on, Donna Jo, get down real close and you'll see the star." I squatted down by the cow, got as close to that udder as I could and....squirt. I got an eye-full of hot milk. Startled, I slipped and fell right on my behind. "LARRY!!!" I was mad. He apologized, "I didn't meant to pull so hard on the teat. Go on, this time I won't tug at all and you'll see that star." So, once again I squatted, got down really close to that udder. SQUIRT! Another eye-full of hot milk. Lesson 7--Ain't no star on the cow's teat. And that old adage is true: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me."

Summertime Lessons

    In 1960-something, I spent the whole summer with Granny and Granddaddy on the dairy line in Okeechobee. Staying at Granny's was always fun and so very different from life in Miami. And I usually learned something new each visit. However, I learned more about country living that summer than I had in the ten previous years.  This was the summer of animals.

      My Uncle Larry lived near Granny, and he kept chickens, cows, and a steer or two on his property. Now, Larry was a joker. And he liked to play jokes on me. I was invited to spend the day with him and his family. He wanted me to help with the chores. Number One Chore:  Gathering eggs from the barn. Now, I had seen TV shows, and the people would just go in, stick their hands under the chickens, and get the eggs.In fact, the chickens would stand up to make getting the eggs easy. So, I boldly went into the barn, armed with only an old egg carton, to gather eggs. I walked up to the first hen, stuck my hand underneath her, and promptly learned that she did NOT want me to take her eggs. She flapped. She squawked. She pecked, and pecked, and pecked at my hands and my arms and my face. Lesson One learned--don't trust cartoons or TV sitcoms for reliable information about egg production. And I failed to get the eggs.
    While I was in the barn, I noticed that there were leather sacks tacked up around the beams of the roof. Little pairs of light tan-colored leather sacks.Those little pairs of leather sacks really piqued my interest.Where did they come from? What were they used for? And could I get a pair? They reminded me of leather versions of Clackers, a toy that was popular that summer. I speculated that maybe they were bolas, like Argentinean gauchos used to capture cattle. Wow, Larry must have used those on his cows. I was impressed. Then I asked about them. Larry got this sly look on his face, "Donna Jo, don't you know what those are?" "No, Sir." He then explained how a bull became a steer and just exactly what those little leather sacks were. I wasn't so interested and, frankly, was a little nauseated by the end of his explanation. Lesson Two learned--don't ask Uncle Larry about anything in the barn. Save it for Granny to explain.
     Then Larry asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. Now, I had not seen a horse, but I just knew he used one, so I was excited. He made sure that I was willing to ride bare-back. Oh boy--I was up for that! Then he told he that he only had a halter with just one rope, could I handle that? Yes, of course. "Donna Jo, go wait out yonder by the pond and I'll bring Old Suzie out." Wow, I was going to get to ride some old mare around the pasture. Imagine my surprise when Larry leads out Old Suzie--an old black cow. Now, I do have some Cracker pride, so I was  bound and determined to get up on that cow and take a ride. She had been trained to allow riders, so up I went. Old Suzie and I were having a grand time, until she decided she needed some water and waded out into the middle of the pond with me on her back. Wouldn't have been a problem, except Old Suzie wouldn't go back to dry land, no matter how I tugged and begged. She wouldn't go when Larry whistled and cooed for her. She didn't go back out of the pond until she was good and ready. Lesson Three learned--don't trust Uncle Larry without getting all the details first.

     The last lesson of the day was the hardest.  I had been promised some fried chicken for supper. Larry said it was getting 'bout supper time, so it was time to prepare the chicken. Just imagine my horror when he just grabbed up one of the chickens which I had recently become acquainted with, quickly wrung her neck, and then let her run around with no head. I know I screamed and ran into the house. And when my aunt served up freshly killed and fried chicken, I let it pass by and stuck to the vegetables. Lesson Four learned--chicken doesn't come in a little tray, it is slaughtered and processed, and it's not an easy business.
     There was more I learned that summer, but that's for another day.

Tobacco Road

 One of the highlights of my childhood was getting to visit my Granny and Granddaddy for a couple of weeks each summer. I left behind my Miami suburb to go to the country--Okeechobee. Granny worked for McArthur Dairy, and they lived out on a dairy line. There were probably twenty houses, ten on each side of the road, and they were backed by cow pasture. My brother and I roamed and played and made up games, and we just had a great time.
There were so many things that were different from life back in Miami. One thing that Granny's house held, that ours did not, was tobacco. Now, Granny didn't use tobacco. But, my granddaddy did. My uncles did. Granddaddy smoked a few Winstons every day. However, of much more interest to me and my brother, was his use of snuff. Three Thistles snuff, specifically. We'd watch him fill the lid of the can, tap it into his mouth, and then spit it out all day. My uncles were more hard-core. They not only smoked, but they chewed Red Man plug tobacco. Again, it was fascinating to see them cut a plug of chaw, pop it into their mouths, and then chew and spit. To this day, I don't know why we were so fascinated, but we were.
 Now, there is a reason God gave me a younger brother. And it was for him to try the things I didn't want to try. In this case, the snuff. When we went to work with Granny and Grandaddy, sometimes we'd wait in the car. And there would be Granddaddy's snuff, sitting in the glove box, just asking to be used. I convinced my brother to take just a pinch and put it up his nose, and then I promised I'd do the same. So, Billy got himself a big pinch of snuff, put it up his nose, and didn't seem to enjoy it as Granddaddy did. He just began sneezing and crying that his nose was burning. I backed out of the deal. Funny thing, though, I pulled that trick on him at least three consecutive summers before he caught on and refused the snuff. As for his runny nose and red eyes, I just blamed it on allergies when Granny asked.

You would think that his experience with the snuff would have been enough, but it was not. One summer, we were at Granny's with our cousins. I noticed that Billy and Clint had disappeared for quite a while. I went to the back bedroom and peeked out the window. There I found them, hiding between the bushes and the house. They had gotten the Red Man tobacco. I watched as they pulled off pieces and put them into their mouths. Oh boy! Just what I had been waiting for--I couldn't go get Granny fast enough. If there was a time to carry tales, this was it. I ran and got her and dragged her to peek out of the window with me. There were the two of  them--green, gagging, and disgorging the half-chewed tobacco into the bushes. "Are you going to spank them? Are they in trouble?" Granny just looked at me, shook her head no, and said, "I think they've had punishment enough." They were kinda green for the rest of the day, and there was plenty of supper that night because there were two boys who didn't feel like eating. Maybe Granny was right, maybe they did get enough punishment.