No More An Island

By Henry Jordan

The world and new lifestyles are moving fast -- too fast for Jake and Mary Lou, as well as all the rest of the people in Oakswood, and for that matter, for the entire South. The tried and true ways they learned growing up in their Southern town are melting away, as the whole world around them begins to morph their lifestyle with new, surprising turns.

Taking place between the two world wars, No More An Island is a delightful story about people and everyday situations and adventures. Its about the real South in the 20's, between the two world wars.

Interwoven throughout the book are authentic descriptions of life as it REALY WAS in the deep South, contrasted to the Hollywood versions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hank10 Publishing
• Release date: Jan 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452494005

Henry Jordan

Henry Jordan (aka Hank) lives in Southern California. He started serious writing as editor of his third grade and high school newspapers. Over the years he has published several magazines and weekly newspapers. He also managed four different businesses over the years – an advertising agency, an aircraft dealership, a computer systems company, and a business consultancy. These days he writes free lance for business owners and operates Hank10 Publishing. He is well into his next novel.

Book preview

NO MORE AN ISLAND

Henry Jordan

Copyright © 2010 Henry Jordan - All Rights Reserved

Published by Hank10 Publishing at Smashwords

Chapter 1

It was almost ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning in late June, 1920. The hot rays of the summer sun were softened by the leaves of the large mimosa tree in the front yard. Nature’s yellow fireball in the sky was directing its revealing radiation right through the screen in the front door. Filtered light fell gently across her face as she looked out, watching the handsome young man walking along the sidewalk. Jake Johnson saw her and turned his head smartly to the left, flashing his best big smile.

Inside Jake’s mind, the sunlight turned her honey blonde hair into angel’s hair, as he continued to strut westward along East Main Street toward the business section of Oakswood. He was just on his way to work. He could set his own working hours now in his new job as an automobile salesman because he worked on commission only. Before he passed her house, he had been thinking about the shiny new Model A Ford demonstrator he would get this week. Mr. Moses had promised him the next roadster to roll off the railroad car when the new shipment arrived at the depot Friday, direct from Detroit.

Jake’s blood rushed as he watched the shimmering strands of hair move like waves of summer grass in the breeze when she tilted her head ever so slightly behind the screen door. All thoughts of automobiles were instantly drained from his mind. He could not control the sudden hard that pushed his pants forward. Embarrassed, he hoped she could not see the throbbing cigar shaped bulge that hinged upward.

Good morning Miss Beautiful; your hair is lovely in the sunlight, he said in a loud voice as he tipped his yellow straw hat and bowed his head ever so slightly.

Go to the devil! the seventeen year old responded, and whirled around to retreat farther inside the house into the shadows out of his sight. But she smiled to herself and felt a warm surge through her body as her youthful bosom heaved gently.

Who is this young man who dresses so smartly and walks by here almost every morning now? she thought to herself, I wonder what he does. I don’t dare show any interest. It wouldn’t be lady-like. Maybe Papa could find out who he is.

Papa was the county sheriff. He knew or knew about everyone in town and he could find out almost anything about anybody. But no, Mary Lou wouldn’t dare risk asking her father to check up on him. Papa would surely smell a rat. Papa said she was too young to have a steady boy friend, especially a newcomer to town. Besides, she was supposed to study all summer and get ready to become a school teacher.

Papa always said that Mary Lou was the smart one in his family of four girls and three boys. She was the first one in the whole family to graduate from high school. Less than ten percent of the entire population of the United States graduated from high school. He told his friends she would become his pride-and-joy school teacher daughter. But Mary Lou wasn’t convinced at all that she should sacrifice her youth, and her deep hormonal desires, just to stand in front of a room full of young boys and girls every day, mostly to please her Papa’s ego. Sure, she was intelligent and school work had always been a snap for her, but she strongly felt all the urges that oozed out of the Irish genes buried inside her body -- the urges to set up housekeeping and mate with a handsome young fellow who could add excitement to her life and father her children. Mary Lou Huggins equated school teachers in her mind with old maids. And she had absolutely no intention of becoming an old maid, thank you very much. She saw a much more exciting and fulfilling future through the crystal ball buried in her mind.

Her oldest sister Emma was long married, with three sons and she was expecting again. Emma had moved to Jacksonville, Florida, six years ago, right at the beginning of World War One, with her husband Bill Bromley. Bill worked as a mechanic for the Atlantic Coast Line railroad. Shortly after they were married he was promoted and transferred from Oakswood to the major terminal in Jacksonville, to work in the roundhouse, maintaining box cars and steam engines

Her sister Lettie Jane had elected to quit school and go to work at the Thomas Mercantile Company in Oakswood when she was only fifteen. School bored Lettie Jane, who was a big strong woman, full of energy, and eager to keep busy. Sure, Lettie Jane knew how to cook, because Mama Huggins insisted on teaching all of her girls to cook and cook well, but she greatly preferred to mix with the public every day and spend as little time as possible inside her house. She was now twenty two, married to Carl Cooper and still working, although she had taken off six months to have Lorna Jane, who was four now. Carl learned to be a barber in the navy, and he now owned the best gentlemen’s barber shop in town. His business was beginning to blossom. Practically all the business men in town, and many of the well-to-do farmers from close by, liked to patronize his shop and swap man talk. Everyone agreed the shoe shines there were absolutely the best shines you could get anywhere in South Alabama.

Most of the men in town and the traveling salesmen who stopped off there in mid-summer bought a small paper bag of fresh boiled peanuts for a nickel from the lad who stood on the sidewalk by the front door of the shop. Later on, it would be fresh roasted peanuts after the new crop of tender young peanuts matured. Folks outside the South had never even heard of boiled peanuts. They were boiled right in the shell, with some salt thrown into the iron pot.

Peanuts and cotton were the biggest crops around Oakswood. Ever since the boll weevils had wiped out many cotton farmers years ago, more and more local farmers had started growing peanuts. Carl encouraged all the customers to throw the empty peanut shells on the floor, but no spitting on the floor please. That’s what the great big brass spittoons were for. The peanut lad came in and swept the floor every half hour in return for his right to stand by the door and vend his product.

Young Lorna Jane, Lettie Jane’s four year old daughter, was in good hands every day with Maggie, who doubled as her nanny nurse and the household cook during daytime hours Monday through Saturday. Maggie had a family of her own. Her mother, who lived with Maggie, took care of Maggie’s children every day while Maggie worked at Lettie Jane’s. Maggie lived in a spotless white frame house with a picket fence over in the nicest part of the colored section of town. She was as devoted and loyal to Lettie Jane and her family as if she were a sister. She would fix breakfast for her own husband, her mother, and her two daughters before leaving home, and then walk almost two miles to arrive at Miz Lettie Jane’s house each morning about six thirty to fix breakfast for Lettie Jane, Carl and Lorna Jane. She would clean the house thoroughly every day and do all the laundry, while Lettie Jane was at work at the store down town. Lettie Jane and Maggie admired each other. Their relationship was a practical, pleasant arrangement.

Nobody in Oakswood had what they would call a maid, but most of the white folks except for the poor white trash had a colored cook. The cooks washed the clothes and did house cleaning as well as cooking. They also helped with the children. It was just that nobody called them maids. Considered virtually part of the family, they didn’t get paid much, but they didn’t really need much money to be content. They decided how much to cook every day, and they took home all the food that was left over, which was always enough to feed their own family at supper time.

Mary Lou’s next older sister Madge spent so much time and energy flirting throughout high school that she failed to make the grades necessary for graduation two years ago and she had to quit. Madge was still living at home with Mama, Papa, Mary Lou, and their brother Bobby Joe. Bobby Joe was still a bachelor at age twenty three, which was considered almost ancient for any unmarried person in Oakswood and most of the South. Bobby Joe was tall, good looking and healthy. He was the youngest of the four boys, and completely spoiled. Who wouldn’t be with five women, counting his Mama, all around while he was growing up to spoil him rotten.

Bobby Joe had avoided being drafted during the world war because he had flat feet, but his three older brothers had all volunteered and served in the army. Two of the boys, Jimmy Paul and Johnny, had moved away from Oakswood before the war started, to a small town forty miles away. At ages eighteen and nineteen, they married twin sisters in a double wedding ceremony. Both met their wives-to-be at the same big regional church revival tent meeting in Oakswood. Luke, the oldest Huggins son, had left town to take a traveling job in Georgia as soon as he turned eighteen.

When the boys all decided to move away from Oakswood, it almost broke Papa Huggins’ heart. He wanted his whole family close by. He was overjoyed when all three young men returned home from the war, unscathed, although they didn’t live where he wished they did, around the corner from their Papa’s house.

Jimmy Paul and Johnny, the two brothers with twin wives, each took his family to visit Mama and Papa Huggins about once every four months during the year, making the journey by horse and buggy over dirt roads. The distance kept them from doing what they would like to do -- spend every Christmas Eve with one set of parents and then spend Christmas Day the next morning with the other parents. Instead they worked out a compromise arrangement to spend Christmas time at the wives’ parents’ house one year, and at Papa’s house the next year. The only hitch was figuring out a convincing way to tell the kids how Santa Clause knew where to bring their presents each Christmas Eve. They decided just to tell the children that Santa always knows where you are, and what you’re doing, so you better be good all the time.

Madge was a pert, short brunette, well endowed with ample breasts and a slender body. She spent full time trying to persuade Durwood Davis that she was hard to get, but really planning to snag him soon into matrimony. She used the proven technique of running away until she caught him, wiggling her buttocks, smiling suggestively as she fluttered her eyebrows, teasing and heaving her breasts at the right moments. It was working. They would no doubt tie the knot any month now.

Durwood could hardly wait to get it in and sample Madge’s flesh. She often let him get almost in, when they kissed and practiced heavy petting behind the bushes out back of the empty lot down the street, but then at the crucial moment every time, she drew back. He went home frustrated every Saturday night after their regular weekly date. Madge wondered if he manually relieved himself as soon as he got home. It wouldn’t be lady like to ask him.

Mary Lou saw all her sisters settling into comfortable, but in her mind, boring marriage roles. She felt she would get married too, but she craved excitement and wanted to taste first hand the leading edge of human experiences. She was a born gambler and she knew it. She wanted to see more of the world. She knew she would have to take her destiny into her own hands; otherwise she would either become a clone of her older sisters and marry a local boy with a steady predictable income, or be a school teacher and probably never get married at all. Little did she realize at her tender age that Mother Nature has a habit of shaping our destiny without bothering to ask for human permission, but she would find out, as the summer progressed.

The next time she saw him, he was driving the new Ford roadster. The word convertible wasn’t coined yet. It was a honey, with big shiny wire spoke wheels mounted in front of both running boards. Four wheels on the ground to go and two up on the top for show. The car was painted bright yellow, with accent touches of dark brown. The tires were white sidewalls. The front and back bumpers were heavily chrome plated. The light brown canvas top could be folded down. It was absolutely the most beautiful moving vehicle Mary Lou had ever laid her bright blue eyes upon, and the well-dressed brown-eyed fellow driving it obviously had a shine on her.

Now how could she wangle a ride in that car?

She puzzled over the problem of how to meet him for three days before she hit upon what she decided was an ideal solution. It was a bit of a gamble, but it would be worth it if it worked. She would use Tut as her foil.

In Egypt, a British archeology team had unearthed a mummy named King Tutankhamen a few months ago. The newspapers and magazines were abuzz with publicity about the fabulous tomb of the boy king. Stories abounded about the rich golden artifacts, the luxurious furniture, and the unique colorful drawings on the walls of the tomb. Everyone started calling the mummy King Tut for short, because practically no one knew how to pronounce the whole proper name. The Huggins family had decided to bestow the name King Tut upon their new white puppy dog. Most of the family members immediately ditched the King part and shortened the name to Tut.

Tut was a playful fellow, and he quickly learned to come when called, wagging his little tail furiously. He was not allowed to leave the yard, and only once did he find his way into the house. Mama Huggins promptly shooed him out with a gentle swish of her straw broom. Dogs lived strictly outside the house in their society. Almost every family in town had at least one dog. All the dogs were loved, fed well and cared for, but dogs lived outside; people lived in houses. Some dogs had dog houses, but many made their beds in the wood shed or the buggy shelter.

It rained a lot in the summer, and it got cold in the winter. As more and more families began to get automobiles, garages were built and lots of dogs were allowed to sleep inside the garage, near the family car, out of the rain and cold. Tut had a nice little red dog house. His name was lettered in white paint over the dog house door: King Tut.

Mary Lou carefully constructed her plot to meet the young man with the yellow macho car. She noticed he drove past her house frequently, going back and forth, east and west on Main Street. He obviously lived east of her house, but not on Main Street itself. Most probably he lived in one of the two boarding houses on Long Street, which was about five blocks farther east, out toward the train station. One of the mysteries in town was why it was called Long Street. It only ran three blocks. Nobody knew whether it was named as a joke or if, perhaps, a Mister Long had christened it. No records at the court house mentioned it, one way or the other.

There were two train stations in Oakswood. One was on the north side of town and everyone called it The Depot. The other one was on the east side of town just beyond the ice house. Almost everyone called it the other train station. The north side depot was the local stop for the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, the large railroad company that covered most of the southeastern portion of the United States with regular passenger and freight service. You could sit in the nice waiting room on the hard wooden benches that looked a lot like church pews, watching the huge Seth Thomas clock on the wall click each time a minute passed by, and then get on the train and ride all the way south to Miami without changing. Or you could ride north to Nashville, Tennessee, change trains there in a magnificent terminal station, and then keep on going to Chicago or New York.

The smaller station on the east side of town was the northern terminal of the Alabama-Florida Transit Line and also the eastern terminal of the Acme Railway Company. Some jokesters called it The Acne. The other end of the AFTL tracks were down at the coast, on the Gulf of Mexico near Pensacola, Florida. Nobody but the railroad employees called the line the AFTL; most folks called it the Gulf Line. The small railroad company made a handsome profit because it offered the best and cheapest way to ship pine logs from southern Alabama, either to the big paper mill in Pensacola or to the nearest seaport on the gulf.

The pine logs were loaded on flat, open carrier rail cars with no need for sides or a roof. The carrier cars were extremely inexpensive to build and very little skill was necessary to load the rough logs and strap them down with ropes. Rain and weather did no damage to the merchandise. Each pine log was part of a tree that had spent its entire life outside, often in the rain.

The mission was to move lots of pine logs toward the paper mill and gulf seaport with no frills. It was truly a high profit business operation if there ever was one. The railroad schedule was one trip daily. South on Monday to the coast, then back north on Tuesday to Oakswood, and repeat. No operation on Sunday, so the crew could rest at home with their families. Early in its existence, the company made the crew’s rear caboose into a nice comfortable car with some springs, and wisely included a few passenger seats. The result was much like a seagoing freighter that carries a few passengers. Any paying passengers were bonus revenue for the line.

The trips northward usually carried some freight from Florida destined for Atlanta or Birmingham. Such freight was transferred to the Atlantic Coast Line depot via horse-drawn dray wagons.

The Acme Railway Company ran a total of less than a hundred miles, going roughly east and west, through the Alabama farmland and forest land, along a single set of tracks just north of the Florida panhandle state boundary. The Acme carried no human passengers other than the engineer, fireman and brakeman. Its bread and butter business was hauling all sorts of goods to and from the small farm towns and pine tree timberlands of southern Alabama into and out of Oakswood. From time to time the Acme line contracted with the Gulf Line to hook one of its red boxcars onto their long pine log trains.

The Gulf Line then transported the Acme’s freight south to the coast. Other freight items not destined for Oakswood found their way back and forth across town via horse-drawn wagon, to and from the Atlantic Coast Line Depot. This enterprise put the small farmers and small timber growers, as well as the merchants in the small towns, in transportation-touch with the nation and the world. Decades later, trucks would take over, but at this time, the rails were the main way to move goods around.

There was only one Acme train engine. On alternate days, it would go west or come eastward. Some days it didn’t go at all, if there was not enough freight to make a profit. The payload would just have to wait for a day or two until the train filled up. You checked with the warehouse keeper at each end to see if your stuff had arrived yet. Three freight cars hooked together in a daisy chain was about the limit the engine could pull. Top traveling speed was twenty seven miles per hour, but there was no hurry, and no time tables were posted.

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Mary Lou would arrange to be in the front yard of her house. She would make sure the front gate was open, and she would pretend to be sweeping leaves off the small lawn. She had made a note in her head of the approximate driving habits of this desirable piece of manhood and his gorgeous riding machine. She knew he often drove past about nine o’clock in the morning during the week days.

On Wednesday morning, at eight forty-five, she went out into the front yard, where the gate was closed. She called Tut, and sure enough the little dog came bounding into the front yard from the back yard where he had been sprawled under a china berry tree in lonesome agony. He was more than eager to please, and happy to see Mary Lou outside in his world. She leaned down and petted him and spoke to him, all the time watching the street. There weren’t too many cars in Oakswood yet. Not more than ten cars a day drove past the house, mostly going to and coming from the ice house and railroad station, so she hoped to be able to hear her young man approaching before he got there.

Luck was with her. She heard a car engine and looked down the long block. It was the yellow roadster. Carefully judging her timing, she picked up Tut, walked swiftly to the front gate, paused a moment, then opened the gate and put Tut on the ground, giving him a hefty shove toward the outside world. This startled and pleased the dog to no end. He had never been outside that gate before. Sudden freedom was his. He looked, he jumped up and down, he sniffed the sidewalk, and then, just as Mary Lou had hoped, he decided to investigate the street.

The gods of love were clearly on her side, as Mary Lou saw Tut run into the middle of Main Street at precisely the right moment to put himself smack dab in front of the oncoming yellow Ford roadster.

Jake Johnson saw the dog and slammed both his feet against the pedals as hard as he could, jamming the clutch on the left and the brake pedal on the right. He pushed with all his might, and the tires bit into the brick paved street with a loud squealing noise that brought three neighbors out of their houses to see what all the commotion was about. No other cars were in sight in either direction.

The Ford came to a quick stop just inches away from the spot where the trembling puppy stood frozen in terror, virtually glued to the pavement, trickling yellow urine onto the red brick pavement.

Thank God he stopped in time, Mary Lou said softly out loud to herself. She had harbored the hidden fear that the prank would backfire and she would have effectively murdered the beloved family pup. Fate saved her from that tragedy, however, and the morning sun was now smiling down upon her carefully orchestrated opera entitled How to Meet Jake Johnson. The scheme had worked!

Chapter 2

Mary Lou grabbed the dog Tut and cuddled him in her arms next to her two breasts. Tut trembled and shivered for a few moments, then settled down. Mary Lou walked with a bit of hesitation to the driver’s side of the roadster. She looked right into the eyes of the handsome young man driving the car. She admired his strong chin, his flashing brown eyes, his rich black hair, and his overall masculine aura. She smiled her broadest smile, then said haltingly I’m awfully sorry. Our dog got out through the gate when I wasn’t looking. He’s just a puppy, and he has never been outside the yard before. I guess he just doesn’t know about the danger of being in the street when an automobile is approaching. I want you to know how very much I appreciate it that you could stop in time to save him.

I’m glad I saw him and could stop in time. He’s a cute little thing. What do you call him? said Jake Johnson, as he returned her frank gaze. He thought she was the most delicious mortal he had seen in Oakswood, Alabama. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her creamy complexion, her well proportioned body. This was a girl he could go for in a big way.

How can I get her interested in me, he wondered.

Struggling for something meaningful to say, without blurting out what was really in his mind, he simply said, I like dogs.

Mary Lou lost no time in keeping the conversation going. His name is Tut – actually King Tut, but everybody just calls him Tut. We named him after the Egyptian king mummy they dug up over there.

Oh, I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Egypt or mummies.

I’ll bet you know a lot about cars, though.

Well, yes, I do know a little bit. In fact I am a car salesman, and this is my new demonstrator. My name is Johnson – Jake Johnson. He tipped his stylish straw hat and smiled broadly, revealing his jet black hair, and never taking his eyes away from hers.

Holding Tut tucked against her with her left arm and hand, she stuck her right hand through the open window and shook his masculine hand demurely. Howdy Mr. Johnson. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Miss Huggins.

Do you live in this house?

Why yes I do.

Jake glanced briefly at the neat lawn and white frame house, but quickly returned his full attention to Mary Lou.

I heard that the county sheriff lives in this house. Are you his daughter?

Mary Lou flushed and blushed a bit, but managed to control her voice as she replied "Well, you