The Ghost and the Thunder

It was back when we lived in the little house. It was a sharecropper’s house on a large farm in the red clay area of South Carolina. A strange thing happened on that late summer afternoon. I was eleven years old and attending Bradley Elementary School.  It was the time in my life when I could have been considered the “boy scientist”. I was intrigued by the possibility of space travel, no doubt fostered by devouring issues of Collier’s Magazine and its stories of space travel as predicted by Werner von Braun. I had been trying to make black powder for a rocket that day. 

The day of the week was Thursday.  I remember it was Thursday because Daddy had been to the grocery store that day on the way home.  Thursday was also the day he got paid.  It was a warm day with a temperature in the nineties. (I had started recording daily weather conditions in my scientific journal.) The late afternoon thunder clouds were beginning to form in the previously cloudless sky. Mama, my younger sister, and me, were sitting down for supper when Daddy came into the kitchen carrying a bag, a small brown grocery bag. It did not seem to be very heavy, but then Daddy was a big strong man. At over two hundred pounds and over six feet tall he earned the nickname,” Big Jack”. He set the bag on the table and announced, “I brought a special surprise  today!”

I elbowed my way past my sister to get closer to the bag. “What could it be?” I thought.

Daddy’s big calloused hand reached into the bag and pulled out the biggest Coca-Cola I had ever seen! It was the twenty-six ounce size. 

“Put some ice in some glasses, Mama, and we’ll enjoy this surprise”, he said.

Mama went to the Frigidaire, got a tray of ice, and put some cubes in each of the four glasses. All

the glasses were different, having come from different kinds of store-bought pickles and jellies.  Daddy, of course, had the biggest glass and got the most ice. He opened up the big Coke just as we heard the first clap of thunder close by.  He gave everybody some of the soft drink and replaced the cap, leaving the bottle about one quarter full. 

That Coca-Cola sure tasted good as we stood around in that little kitchen.  I always liked the way the foam on top of the Coke tickled my nose.  Mama had been cooking supper, and It was really hot in there.  

Before we could finish our treat a bolt of lightning struck the big cottonwood tree beside the back porch, and the lights went out in the kitchen.  (We had the lights on because it had been almost dark when Daddy got home.)  Now we were in total darkness. As it often is before a deluge of rain, it was very quiet.  For some reason, in our family, you were expected to remain seated and very quiet during a thunderstorm, almost reverent.

“I hear something,”  my sister whispered to me.

“Yeah, me too.  It’s called thunder,” I responded.

“No, something else. It’s like someone whispering. Like Sh…sh…sh,” she said.

I listened intently for a few minutes. I heard it too!

But not to allow my fear to show, I said, “I think that might be the ghost!”

“A ghost?” I could hear the fear in my little sister’s voice…and I loved it!

“Yes, Grandma said that the old man that died here always spoke in a whisper. Like this:’ I see y-o-u…!’” I whispered.

From across the room I heard Mama say, “Stop scaring your sister!”

“But Mama…”

“Don’t ‘But’ me,” Mama said.  I knew that the next time she spoke to me she would use my full name and that would mean I was in real trouble. Daddy hadn’t said anything.  He was deaf in one ear and we never knew whether he didn’t hear us or just didn’t care to respond.

We continued to hear the noise as the storm raged outside. It seemed to rain forever, but it didn’t.

Then, suddenly, the lights flickered and came on.   I looked on the kitchen table at the remaining Coke.  My throat was dry.

“Mama, can we drink the rest of the coke?” I asked.

“Share it with your sister,”  she said.

 I grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the top. The mysterious noise stopped.

Proudly I announced, “I found the ghost!”, which really wasn’t a surprise since I was a budding scientist!

T

Jimbo tries out for football

This is a story about my boyhood friend Jimbo Dillashaw. 

I reckon we were about 11 or twelve years old at the time. It was in late summer. On some of those days of summer Jimbo would visit and help me pick off peanuts. Daddy had just plowed up the peanut crop and we were picking them off the vines in the front yard underneath a big chinaberry tree. We would wash the peanuts later and bag them up for sale. Daddy would sell them at the cotton mill where he worked.  On this particular day it was in the late afternoon and Daddy was home from work when a new Oldsmobile drove up in the yard. Neither me nor Jimbo recognized the car. But Daddy did. 

It was Daddy’s overseer from the mill. He had a young fellow with him. Jimbo elbowed me in the ribs and said, “You know who that is?”

“Naw, I don’t,” I said.

“That there is Bradley Thompson. He’s the quarterback of the Greenwood Emeralds. They say he’s gonna go to Clemson next year!”

“Really? He’s a lot bigger than I thought he was.”

“Oh yeah! He’s a big boy. He can throw that football a long way to.”

“I’ll bet you couldn’t catch one of his passes!

“Oh yeah, I could catch anybody’s pass. I could even catch one of Johnny Unitas’ passes!”

Jimbo’s mouth sometimes promised things he couldn't deliver. And I thought I would have a little fun at my buddy’s expense. 

“Jimbo let’s see if he will throw a pass to you,” I said.

“Right-o!” Jimbo said.

We walked over to the young man with the flat top haircut dressed in a varsity jacket with the big green “E” on the front. We talked for a few minutes about football and then I made my request. 

“Brad, my friend, Jimbo, here wants to be a wide receiver in high school, if he gets there. He says he can catch a pass from anybody. I wonder if you would throw a pass for him to catch?”

“I’d be glad to,“ the high school football star said.

Jimbo handed the old scarred up old Wilson football to Brad with a big grin on his face. We must have been quite a site. Two dirty farm boys barefooted in bib overalls  looking up at the idol of local youth. 

Brad palmed the football in his big right hand, winked at me and told Jimbo to run. 

Jimbo was thin, but wiry, while I was somewhat rotund and slower than he. His bare feet kicked up dust as he ran across the red dirt empty peanut patch. Brad cocked his big right arm and delivered a perfect spiral in Jimbo’s direction.  Jimbo was fast, you know, he had once chased down a rabbit and caught it! The ball seemed to float over Jimbo’s right shoulder as ball caught his eye. We saw him dive forward and disappear in a cloud of red dust. As the dust settled we could see Jimbo dancing around holding the football high overhead in his left hand. Brad couldn't believe his eyes and took refuge in the big Oldsmobile. By the time I got to Jimbo I found that his dancing around had nothing to do with football at all! He had dived into a fire ant mound and they were biting furiously. 

One eye was swelling shut and his right arm was twice its normal size. 

The next day at school Jimbo was showing off the new muscle in his right arm. He said he was taking the Charles Atlas bodybuilding course he had seen advertised on the back of a comic book and he was only halfway through the course.  That boy could make the best of any situation. 

Jimbo did play football for the Greenwood High Emeralds though. He was All-state wide receiver. 

note: This is a work of fiction for the most part. A story in the upcoming book:"Stories from the Red Dirt Road...and then Some.

Continuation On A Theme

This title may be a bit trite but I think it sort of fits this blog post.  In my  last post I wrote about seeing William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet at the Mesa Performing Arts Center performed by the Southwest Shakespeare Company. We enjoyed the show tremendously.

Thursday night, February 8, we saw The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged presented by the Flowertown Players in Summervile, SC.  It was a treat equal to any chocolate nut sundae.  Like the previous mentioned work of the Elizabethan playwright, we had seen this play before. But there are those things in life worth repeating. This play was presented in the theater annex, or at least I think that is what it is called.  We had forgotten about this location. So after arriving at the box office we were directed to go to the corner, around the gas station, and down the alley. After feeling our way through the dark alley we found the small theater behind the theater.  There were few people there on opening night. I'm some times leery of opening nights.  Maybe the director hasn't gotten all the bugs out of the performance. In this case there were no bugs or they weren't obvious in this fast paced show.

There were only three actors: two women and a man.  As you might imagine there were many costume changes for the many characters played.  And, of course, costumes were minimal.  You must enjoy laughter at this show singularly and corporately. There is great audience participation too. There was one intermission in the show and it takes you by surprise.  Two of the actors simply leave the stage, run out of the theater and disappear into the night while the other is left on stage to explain their actions.  

We really enjoyed this play.  If you enjoy Shakespeare and laughter be sure to see The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Abridged.   The play runs through February 17.

Blood and Tumbleweeds

We were fortunate three weeks ago to attend a performance  of William Shakespeare's  Romeo and Juliet presented by the Southwest Shakespeare Company. The Company presents its productions at the Mesa Center for the Performing Arts, Mesa, Arizona. Like many buildings in this part of the desert it is an impressive structure of stainless steel glass and stone. 

It was a matinee performance and the theater was only partially filled.  Our comfortable seats were only a few rows back and to the right of center stage. The stage itself had minimum of props. It was multilevel and had the appearance of stone. The director, Patrick Walsh, addressed the audience first with brief comments about the production, requests for monetary support for the theater and the usual prohibition of video and audio recording. And, of course, the obligatory silencing of cellphones. 

Shakespeare's words had not changed since the last time I had heard them and nor do I remember the last time I had heard them. Let me preface my following comments by stating that I am not a Shakespeare scholar and my views are not those of expert of the theater or the thespian arts. I have seen a number of performances of the Bard's works and did, nay I say, suffer through a study of several of his plays in high school.

I found several things unique in this production. Light was used very effectively in the production. Not only was the color of the light effective in contributing to the mood of various scenes but emphasized certain actors as well.  Music.  I had never seen music used in a Shakespeare play and I'm not aware of its used in the Elizabethan theater. Nevertheless, a cello off stage but in full view provided much mood inducing music for the performance. In this play the fight scenes were well choreographed and well acted. In one fight scene the the director took a cue from the cinema and had the actors perform in slow-motion!

Later as were enjoying vegan cuisine with Pat and Kim who had treated us to the performance we discussed the play. Criticisms were few. Perhaps the only criticism of merit was the age of the leading actors. Kyle Sorrell and Sasha Wilson both appeared to be in the thirties.  A bit old to be playing teenagers.  Nonetheless, it was a very enjoyable afternoon in the desert. 

FMST Graduation

The air was chilly, no, cold, as we left the motel in Jacksonville, NC for the short drive to Camp Johnson. Although we had entered the destination into the car’s navigation system we followed Mark, who was driving Jen’s Lexus. There was light traffic on the Jacksonville Parkway as we approached Camp Johnson. We parked at the Veterans Park, which is at the entrance to the military installation’s gate. Between the two cars we had only one vehicle pass, but we had a plan. Mark would drive Jennifer, James and Michael through the gate and then return to get Claudette and me.  

The uniformed guard in fatigues checked Mark’s credentials as we entered the camp.  Soon we were standing in the cold morning air with a sometimes stiff frigid eastern North Carolina breeze buffeting our faces. We were standing there  or warming the very cold seats of metal folding chairs for about one half hour before the troops arrived. It was Nathan’s graduation from Field Medical Service Technician and Marine Corps Expeditionary and Combat Skills Training. Nathan is a Hospital Corpsman in the Navy but chooses to serve with the Marine Corps.  The Navy supplies corpsmen for the Marine Corps since the Marine Corps is a part of the Department of the Navy.   Appropriately, the ceremony was being held in front of Doc Bradley Hall. The building is named for John “Doc” Bradley, Navy corpsman who helped the marines raise the flag atop Mt. Suribachi on Iwo Jima during WWII.  Corpsmen are commonly referred as “Doc”.

Soon we heard the sound of marching feet and the guidons calling cadence. The 187 corpsmen came into view with their platoon flags fluttering in the breeze. Soon the national anthem was played, and I restrained myself from physical contact with the young woman in front of me who chose not to stand during the playing of said anthem. If you enjoy the freedoms afford to you while living in the greatest nation in the world, you should honor that country’s anthem.

There were comments by the program commanding officer, followed by the keynote speech by Rear Admiral Brent W. Scott, Chaplain, USN. He was a very inspiring speaker. He told the story of a Medal of Honor winner from the Battle of Belleau Wood in 1918 who was a US Navy dentist attached to the Marine Corps. The Congressional Medal of Honor is the highest medal awarded to an American armed service member.  The admiral told the assembled that they had the skills needed to perform their assigned tasks during their training at FMST. But, one other component was needed for them to be the complete Hospital Corpsman: courage. Each man must reach inside himself to find that courage.

Awards were given. Pledges recited. Shields pinned. Songs sung.

After the ceremony we enjoyed taking photos of our favorite graduate before leaving Camp Johnson for a warmer place and later some lunch.

Tony Young, Nathan Herrington, Mark Herrington
three generations of sailors