MEET EMMIT AND MARTHA POE

There were many people involved in the formation of my early life that made me who I am today. I’ll introduce them to you in the order of importance that I feel they were to me. Past time holds constant; therefore, we can look at it in the context that I think best tells the story. I don’t want to restrict myself to an unfolding schedule, but rather tell you the events as I remember them. That’s the great advantage the past has over the future, therefore, we can dispense with the sequential order.

Emmit and Martha were the parents of the General, and my grandparents. My Granddaddy Poe was an one-legged man and had been sent to school to become a schoolteacher. His folks didn’t think he could make it as a regular farmer, so at great sacrifice, they sent him to the eighth grade. The thing I remember most about my Granddaddy is that he was a very profane man. I served in the military as a career, and I never heard anyone who could out do him. I think what fascinated me most was that it was quite all right for him to talk that way. My grandmother and the General never batted an eye at his stream of profanity. However, any word more profane than “heck” coming out of my mouth was met with a great deal of shock, and some extreme measures would be taken to see that it didn’t happen again.

I remember a large amount of activity relating to my Granddaddy. He seemed to be pretty much the man of the hour around there and was treated with a great deal of respect. My memories of him, directly, are somewhat limited. I remember that during the big war, he was very much interested in the news. I was four years old when it started, so I took it all in stride. It was a great delight to me, when he was listening to the radio, to go outside and shake the ground wire. This caused so much static he was unable to hear. He’d come roaring out of the house like a madman. I’d then run for dear life. Now, the General would be hot on my tail and would always beat the living daylights out of me. I don’t know to this day why, at that age, I’d dare challenge the dominant authority figure. I’m very sorry to have to report to you that it was not a habit I overcame with ease.

One interesting thing about my Granddaddy was he could sit very close to heating stove with a roaring hot fire. He’d put his wooden leg on the stove, place his other leg on top of it, and face his buttocks toward the stove. I thought that was a grand trick, but for the life of me couldn’t figure out how he kept from getting blisters on his backside. The wood stoves of those times put out a fierce heat.

Granddaddy was the only one who got the store bought white bread for breakfast. The rest of us got homemade biscuits. Now, he’d never eat the crust. He’d pull it off, then eat the soft white part. My grandmother would boil him eggs. He’d cut them in half with a quick motion and take out the yolk. He apparently didn’t like the whites. I tried to hang around the table after he left when we were visiting, which was often, so I could eat his leftovers. I thought it must be far better than what I was getting, him being such an important man and all.

My Granddaddy being of higher learning became somewhat of a wealthy man and operated large farms. Being unable to walk behind a mule he took in several of the less fortunate people in the community. They were usually young men who didn’t require a large salary. They’d work for food, shelter and a few dollars. My Daddy became one of them, and that’s how he met the General.

Now, there being young men working with large farm animals and putting in long hours, it was quite a lively place with a multitude of personalities both of men and animals. I think it was the happiest days of My Daddy’s life. He laughed and told me many tales of those days. It was during the time of the depression just before the Second World War. There were no tractors or any machinery more complicated than a hoe or an ax. The work was long and tiring. From all accounts, my Granddaddy was a hard driving taskmaster. It seems he always wanted that extra half-hour. Some of the older men, who remember those days, have told me that when it was time to quit he’d say, “ Give me one more round honey.”

One of my favorite stories was about Uncle Bob. I still don’t know why we called him uncle, but everyone did, and My Daddy loved him. They said he’d been married and had thirteen children somewhere. No one knows what really happened but, it seems, one day he’d had enough. He just up and left them and came to work for my Granddaddy. Uncle Bob was older than the others by some fifteen years and was the butt of a lot of jokes. Anything that involved him was a lot funnier than it would have been had it happened to someone else.

MY Daddy said that in those days you caught your team of horses up in the morning and the general agreement was that they were yours for the day. A great deal of hustle and bustle was put into getting out early and not getting stuck with some ill-tempered old feller that was going to make your life a living hell all day long.

Now, it seems there was this very mean-spirited ol’ horse about five years old. He had eyes that rolled back, and you could see the whites of his eyes as he was always trying to look around to see who, or what, he could kick. They called him Ol’ Ball. It was a daily run not to get stuck with this ol’ boy. Well, as it worked, out one day my Uncle Bob did just that. At noon, when it was time to feed and have lunch, my Uncle Bob left a halter on Ol’ Ball, so as to help with catching him again at work time. When lunch and the noon rest was over, my uncle went to the lot, and noticed Ol’ Ball was still eating. He decided to try and catch him in the stall. He went up on his blind side and crawled down to where he was. Now, since Ol’ Ball always looked back and was not expecting a head on assault, my Uncle Bob managed to grab the halter. Feeling very secure that all would be well, he loudly proclaimed, “It’s you and me Ball.” The great contest of wills was on. Ol’ Ball lifted his head, and flung my Uncle Bob, weighing in at 140, about six feet into the air. Now, he was bound and determined to hang on. At the same time he hit the ground, Ol’ Ball went out the door. Uncle Bob bounced about five feet into the air, went sideways and hit the wall. The battle was over and Ol’ Ball had won the day. My uncle had the wind knocked out of him for several minutes, much to the delight of My Daddy and the rest of the crew.

Down through the years, as I grew older, and we faced difficult situations, either My Daddy, or the General, would smile, give a big laugh, and say, “It is just you and me Ball.” That told the whole story, and until this day the Messers use that phrase amongst themselves.

Later on in life to many people’s dismay, including his wife Martha, my Granddaddy got the idea that tractors were a passing fad. The war had ended, and tractors were being sold right and left. That put pressure on the price of horses, and my Granddaddy was able to pick them up at a fair price of around a hundred dollars. Well, people without so much vision started helping him find these bargains. They started hauling them in from all over Arkansas and parts of Texas.

Then some very strange things happened. First, the horses got cheaper and cheaper. Second, with so many horses from all over, distemper broke out and the horses started dying off. I remember walking with my Granddaddy, and him coming up on these dead creatures. He would kick them with his wooden leg and cry. I had no idea it had to do with his financial loss and thought him quite attached to the poor beasts. Shortly, thereafter, he lost his farm and all he possessed to the bankers. He died a penniless man, leaving behind several thousand dollars of debt for his heirs to pay.

He left two great legacies to the family. One, a handicapped man can rise to great heights, and rule over land, animals and men. Second, not being able to admit it when you’re wrong, and following it until you are broke, is pure folly. That little bit of information has served me very well, once I got the hang of it. But I’ve to admit, it had to be pointed out to me a few times.

I’ve delayed writing about Martha for the same reason one needs to fast before communion. We’re about to approach a very holy person and should come here reverently.

I was fortunate to know my Granny Poe better than I did my other grandparents. She lived until I was thirty-three years old. She had a sore on her right lower leg between the knee and ankle that would never heal. Down through the years she treated it with all kinds of oils, salves, herbs, and ointments, but nothing seemed to help. Dressing it every day was a ritual. As a boy, I’d sit and watch her change the bandage. Afterwards, she’d put on a heavy sock and be ready to do her hair. She always wore long multi-colored print dresses down to her ankles, and was a lady of great beauty and dignity.

Her hair was long and white and hung down below her waist. Each morning, she’d take it down from the bun that was so neatly rolled in the back and give it one hundred brush strokes “A woman’s hair is her glory,” she’d say. I still, to this day, find a woman with long hair almost irresistible. All the years I knew her she always looked the same. Everyone else changed but not Granny Poe. The thing that comes to my mind is a gentle countenance. I never saw her angry, nor did I ever hear her speak ill of a single soul. This is a common cliché when people die, but in this case, it was the simple truth.

At the General’s funeral, the presiding pastor who loved my grandmother said, “Martha was the person I went to visit not to uplift spiritually, but to be spiritually uplifted.” A gentle manner, loving smiles and an unconditional love for all described my Grandmother. She had a gentle, loving laugh that she gave her loved ones that had been separated from her for a while. That happy sound poured liquid love on my soul, and warmed me way down deep where I lived.

She lived in an old trailer in the General’s yard the last eleven years of her life. She had become wheelchair bound. She’d come and lean out the door to see her flowers and watch the birds when the General would be working in her yard and vegetable garden. Granny Poe’s eyes would follow her as she moved about. When the General looked toward her, she’d give a sweet, reassuring smile straight from heaven. She loved flowers and tended a small plot in front of her trailer from her wheelchair. Nothing else seemed to want to grow there, but Granny Poe could coax out the most beautiful of flowers from that hard soil.

The Navy sent me to the far ends of the Earth as I served out my military career. Those times, when I could get home, Granny Poe was one of the first people I wanted to see. I asked her for all manners of prayers. I never doubted they’d be answered. They always were, but not always to my liking. I was often in many questionable situations, and the General sometimes felt it necessary to discipline me. My Granny felt all people on earth were good, but the devil walked about causing us to do all sorts of evil. She'd cluck her tongue and declare against this great evil.

Granny, for some reason unknown to me, never attended church. She said she was a Methodist and had a membership somewhere. I don’t remember that being a problem for anyone. Everyone I knew thought of her as a living saint.

My Daddy loved Granny Poe as much as the rest of us. As it turned out, she died the day before he did. Although he was only fifty-four, the cancer ate away his life’s force. He was so sick, and in such pain, he couldn’t go on. He knew Granny Poe had died the day before. As I sat at his side comforting him, he turned to me and said, “Dick, I want to go to heaven and be with Granny.” Although it hurt me to hear the words, I understood. I stayed with him that night. As I was leaving the next morning he called me back to his bed. “Lean over here and let me kiss you for being such a good son,” he said. That was to be the last words I ever heard him speak.

My Daddy went to see his mommy and my dear Granny Poe that same morning around 10:30. After forty-six years had passed from the time of walking with my Aunt Ruby, hoping nothing would happen to their mommy, he joined her. And so it was, the General lost her dear mommy and her orphan boy she so loved, all in twenty-four hours. She was on her way to the rank of General being tested in the field of the Army of the Lord.