JEANER JACKSON JOINS US

When I was born the tormentor was there, and I had no real need to love or develop a relationship with anyone that I didn’t consider an extension of myself. I perceived all things that nurtured me to be part of my own body. The way I worked the many different parts was by screaming. I had one that always gave me milk at regular intervals. And when I was wet, I knew just how to kick my feet and whimper to get dry again. I could see right away that the tormentor served no useful function whatsoever, therefore, I viewed him as a threat, or at least, a nuisance to my comfort.

At about five years old my social skills had improved and I started to see some benefits of having a brother. We commenced a long, enduring, loving relationship that was occasionally mixed with strong sibling rivalry. After accompanying him to school for a year as his guest, I had the great privilege of starting my own classes for real. I was only five, but due to my previous indoctrination, the author of the “IN” and “OUT” sign decided it would be all right.

In 1943, the big war was still going on, and My Daddy had been given a deferment for being a farmer. My Grandpa Poe was on the draft board and certainly that didn’t hurt anything. But, really, it was a simple matter of having enough farm animals to show that you were truly helping to feed and support the war effort. This made it necessary for My Daddy to go out and rent his own land and become independent. There were six log houses in the community where we lived in those days. They had been built before the turn of the century and one of them just happened to be on the farm we had moved to. My Daddy was officially renting and farming twenty acres of his very own land. We had a team of horses, braking plow, cultivator, harrow, and a wagon. I had no idea how we acquired these marvelous signs of such great wealth.

We’d settled into the log house, and my brother and I were continuing our trek to school up that ol’ dirt road, come rain or shine. Every morning we’d wait for the bus at the gravel road and greet the morning sun. The day after my sixth birthday, my Aunt Roxie Moore met us at the bus stop as we were getting off. “Your Daddy wants you to wait for him at my house,” she said. I loved that idea, as they lived in a very modern home. It even had an indoor bathroom. My cousin “Don” was there too. He was my favorite relative from the Poe side of the family. He always had comic books, and besides that, his daddy ran a grocery store. There was no end to the tasty treats and snacks at their house. He had all kinds of things he’d gotten with box tops too. He even had a Lone Ranger ring that was shaped like a bullet. There was a place to put a secret message on one end, and the other glowed in the dark. He’d even let me hold it sometimes if I did what he said.

I don’t remember feeling any anxiety about being taken off the bus that day. Later, in the afternoon around 4:30, My Daddy came walking up. I could tell, right away, he was in a really good mood. He had taken a short cut through the woods to pick up his six and eight year old sons and was in a big hurry to get us home. Seemed he had a surprise waiting on us, and he was very excited. He took us back home the same way he’d come. There were several ditches to jump and many wire fences to crawl under as we walked along. We were warned not to ever come this way alone. Today was special, and we were hell bent to get to that surprise, fast. We weren’t slowing down for anything or anyone.

Well, that surprise was one big 8-lb. 2-oz. baby girl by the name of Alma Jean. Upon entering that old log house, on the first day of November in 1943, I met whom My Daddy called The Jeaner Jackson. We all walked slowly up to the bed to take a look. There, wrapped in a pink blanket lying in the General’s arms, was the prettiest baby girl that any God, in any universe, ever did make. She had on a pretty little pink outfit and a white cap pulled down almost to her eyes. I reached out to touch her hand, and she wrapped all four fingers around mine. That’s when I knew she liked me better than she did my big brother.

I loved her instantly and couldn’t stay away from the bed. I could hardly sleep that night, and the next day I refused to go to school. My Daddy gave into my whim, but later in the day we had to go to the cotton patch to try to pick some cotton that was still remaining in the field. I remember there was ice on the ground, and I kept falling through into the mud and getting my feet wet. I asked My Daddy where they got that baby. I didn’t care what we talked about as long as it was about that precious, pink skinned, beautiful sister, I now had. He told me a stork had come straight down from heaven carrying her in his beak and landed right on our doorstep. Her name was right there on the blanket saying she belonged to us. I supposed that must have been one big, strong, whatever you called it, bird. I also wondered why she didn’t freeze to death coming so far from heaven in that cold weather. He assured me she had been wrapped up very carefully, and them storks were made just for that purpose. What a wonderful, magical world I lived in. Full of love, family, and I even had an older brother to protect me. We soon stopped working and went to the house. My Daddy loved his children almost more than was natural. He was probably as anxious as I was to get there.

My Daddy would pick The Jeaner Jackson up from where she was crawling, push her high in the air and shake her from side to side. She’d laugh, giggle, and coo out loud. He’d say, “Whew, whew, how is my Jeaner Jackson?” I couldn’t reach that high, but I’d jump, laugh, and grab his hand. We’d have some grand ol’ times in that old log house. All living in that one big room, with beds everywhere, heated with wood and lighted with coal-oil lamps. The only time I ever felt lonesome was when a train, way off somewhere, would blow its whistle. It would go whoo, whoo, whoo, and if I’d just lain down, I’d feel so sad I wanted to cry. Today, when I hear that sound, I get that same feeling. Anyway, I’d then go crawl in bed with the General and she’d let me sleep on her side of the bed, as long as I’d be quiet, and not wake up The Jeaner Jackson.

Now, the General started getting these omens from God about this new baby He had sent down to us. Seems He was going to be giving her a lot more hardships than the rest of us. He needed to toughen her up, because she’d be doing battle with a very strong evil. It seemed the devil had a special interest in her. The General started praying, crying, and talking to the Lord about all that. We were in a crisis for about three months until the General and the Lord got it all worked out. I don’t think the General agreed on the plan completely, as later on in life she tried to alter some of what they had agreed on.

Now, the Messers are about as pretty a people, as there are anywhere in the world. It doesn’t seem to matter, whom, or what old ugly thing they marry, them kids come out pretty as you please. Now Jean, as we later called her, was no exception. The General would dress her in homemade dresses with little ruffles. She’d curl her long brown hair into drop curls just to make her look pretty. She was my own special little girl to love. I tried not to be too far away from her. After school, I’d come rushing home. No man has ever had a better greeting than I got when I stepped through that door. The hugging, kissing, and squeezing went on for quite a spell. I’d ask her, at least once a day, who she loved the best. Whatever dessert, toy, or object at my disposal, I’d use to get the proper response. My brother was now over eight years old and had become My Daddy’s helper.

The General went back to the fields to work after The Jeaner Jackson got a little bigger and I was left in charge of her care. I was a very responsible seven-year-old. I was determined my little sister wasn’t going to be left in that darned old, windup swing like I was. Sometimes, I’d get scared of what was lurking about when we’d be playing in the house. We’d then leave, and take refuge under a big tree in the front yard. I figured that way, I could see any approaching danger.

One fine summer day, when all the boogers had ran me outside under my Protector Tree, a strange thing happened. I fell asleep. When I woke up my sweet little sister, in the little white dress with the ruffled panties, had disappeared. This gave me quite a fright. Away I ran to the back of the house. There she was, hunkering down. Wait! She was putting something in her mouth. It was white. Glass! I knew the General had said glass would kill you dead if you ate it. I grabbed her up, and started for the field where the General was. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “She’s dying, She’s dying!” Well, the General was thirty-two years old in them days. She could fairly fly like a lioness when she thought one of her cubs was in trouble. Before I got out the back gate, and even started for the field, she was there.

She grabbed up The Jeaner Jackson, “WHAT’S THE MATTER?” she asked. The General had ran completely off and left My Daddy, but he soon showed up, and started having a little dancing fit. I was crying to high heaven knowing I was responsible for the death of the most precious thing in the whole wide world. Rarely, have I ever faced such a crisis. The General took a good look at that ol’ glass The Jeaner Jackson was trying to eat and reached right in there and pulled it out of her mouth. My Daddy was an expert on manure, being a farmer and all. He didn’t need no fancy lab test to know what chicken doodoo was. Once we got that all straightened out, and knew it was the white part of the doodoo, we went to work to get the bad taste out of her mouth. The General decided it was time to knock off, and fry up one of them ol’ fryers. And she did too.

I’m not going to get to far ahead of myself here, as I’ve a lot to tell you about. I’ll try to get back to my oldest sister “Jean” a little later on. Before I do go on, I want to tell you about how it was as we grew up. Me being six years older than her, and her liking me the best, we got along famously. If we were at the table, and I held up a piece of bread and said, “Jean, laugh,” she’d become hysterical. Whatever lie I invented, she swore to it. I convinced her the Messers weren’t only the prettiest people in the country, but we were damn tough too. When we’d have a go at something, we’d declare that to each other and it seemed to help us along. I believed it sorta, but she believed it with all of her heart. It has served her well. There just wasn’t anyone more determined than she was, and it continues to be so right down to the present day.
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Now, because we did farm work and the girls joined right in with the men, we were inseparable. I guess she was about the best friend I had, besides Ol’ Pal, in the whole darn country. For that reason, the night I was getting ready to go back to my duties in the Navy she just about broke my heart. I had just finished Boot Camp and was on my way to California to catch the USS Helena. I had just put on my dress blues, and tied up that silk neckerchief around my neck real high. I’d put my white hat on just like they’d taught me. Except, I placed it where my curls hung out in front. I went into the General’s room to look for her. The others had already said their good-byes, but she was hanging back. There she stood at the end of the bed. I could see her reflection in the General’s old dresser and I could see she was crying. I went over to her and she put her little twelve-year-old arms around my neck. With tears running down her face, and in that rich, melodious voice that only God gave to her, she said to me “Dick, I don’t want you to go.”