Backfields of My Memory

By Loyd Gilbert Gilley

I lived in a very special time and place that most of those who lived there have forgotten. Or, due to time and age, they cannot remember how wonderful it was. And those who have come since do not realize what happened, how it happened and how very special this time and place really was. It was a time before electricity, running water, indoor bathrooms and telephones.
Before I forget, I want to I tell my stories for the benefit and education of my children, grandchildren and all the generations that are to come.

The message I want to pass on is that the essence of life and happiness has absolutely nothing to do with material things but has everything to do with loving and caring for each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9780983238287

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Going Home

Thursday, February 4, 2010, traveling west on I-10 just after 2:00 p.m. Central Standard Time. The engine on the old Chrysler minivan hummed like a sewing machine, while I listened to songs on an old Hank Williams Sr. CD. As I approached the Apalachicola River, Hank sang the old classic, I saw the light … praise the Lord, I saw the light. A flash of joy rushed through me. It was as if the spotlight from heaven shined down on my old van and me. All I could say was thank you, Jesus, for my many blessings.

I was going home. I was going home to see my brothers and sisters and their families and Robbie Joe and Hope. I was going home to see those who knew who I was, what I was and loved me anyway. I was going home to my roots and to celebrate the 60th birthday of my twin sisters, Faye and Kaye.

The Apalachicola River spilled over its banks, muddy and rushing to the bay. Within fifteen miles of this spot live my three brothers and two sisters. It is also where I spent the first eighteen years and seven months of my life. Under this bridge, I enjoyed many wonderful hours, fishing with my brothers and Daddy and saw Daddy catch a big, thirty-eight-pound catfish on a small rod and reel.

I was going home, and I was overwhelmed with joy. With virtually no traffic on the road, I turned the music off to relish this wonderful feeling in quiet solitude. I slowed down just enough, so I could see everything that reminded me of my past.

Just up the river a ways was where we pulled the joke on Cousin James Gilley a few years back. On that morning, my brother Larry, Daddy and me decided to go down the Apalachicola River to do some speck fishing. We launched the boat at the public ramp behind the Gulf Power Plant. As we got out in the current, we saw a large catfish swimming downstream on top of the water. This was unusual as fish normally swim under the water and upstream. We knew something was wrong with this old fish. As we passed the fish, I used the dip net to catch him and threw him into the boat. I do not know why. We certainly did not intend to eat the fish, not knowing what his problem was. We motored downstream a ways and started fishing in the brush top of a big tree that had fallen into the river. Immediately, we started catching some nice speckled perch, or crappie, as some folks called them. Some weighed as much as a pound and a half.

A little while later, we heard a motorboat coming down the river. Daddy recognized the boat and said, That is James Gilley. I reached up and dragged that sick catfish up closer to me. I hooked the line of my small reel and rod in the fish’s mouth and dropped him back into the river on the side where James could not see what I was doing. Larry took the push pole and shoved the fish out into the current where he drifted down the river a little ways.

When Cousin James was in clear sight and could see what we were doing, I stood up in the boat and jerked on the line to set the hook. That fish had more fight left in him than I expected, so with that and a little play acting, I struggled to reel him in. Just as James neared our boat, I pulled the fish up to the side, and Larry used the dip net to catch and throw the fish into our boat. I removed the hook from the catfish’s mouth and held him up for Cousin James to see. He was a beautiful five-pound channel cat, our favorite at a fish fry.

James sat there with his mouth wide open. Daddy looked at the fish and grunted, Nah, he is too small. Throw him back. I immediately tossed the catfish back into the river. I thought James Gilley was going to have a heart attack. Imagine what must have been going through his mind to see his fishing cousins and his Uncle Ramey throw back a nice five-pound channel cat like that, saying he was too small.

After crossing the river, I took the first exit, which was the way to Sneads, Florida. I did not remember the name of the road, but I knew it would take me home, and that was all that mattered. I noticed a new, little pig-trail road, running off to the right and leading up the hillside to a large mansion. I wondered who might live in that beautiful house, and if they could possibly be as happy as I was at that moment.

Farther down that road, I passed through what was, at one time, the most beautiful cattle farm and ranch in the area. It had lush pastureland filled with white-faced Hereford cows and some Black Angus cattle as well. I often wondered if that place was the inspiration for the Farm and Ranch Magazine. As a young boy, I read and studied this magazine every chance I got. We did not get the magazine in the mail as some folks did, but I had access to it at friends’ and relatives’ homes. The pictures in this magazine were my only idea of what life looked like outside of Jackson County. This ranch was just that wonderful. The years and hard times had taken their toll. Most of the cows were gone, and the grass was not so lush anymore, but I did see a patch of crimson clover off in the distance. I always thought crimson clover was beautiful and looked like it would be great grazing for the cows, horses and pigs, too.

A little ways down the road, I came to the spot where I was pulled over a few years back for speeding. I was in a rush to see my daddy. When I saw the red lights behind me, I simply pulled over and waited for the policeman. A big, heavy-set man came up to the window and asked why I was speeding. I told him very simply that I was not paying attention and apologized. He asked for my driver’s license. When he looked at my license, he shouted, Loyd, do you not recognize me?

I looked up at him, trying to figure out who he might be, and said, Well, you don’t recognize me either. Turned out he was the grandson of a favorite first cousin, Jessie Lee Gilley Tyus. I reminded him that if he gave me a ticket his grandma might kick his ass. He agreed and suggested I slow down.

As I entered the old village of Sneads a half-mile down the road, the first building on my right was once the Sneads movie theatre where I spent many Saturday afternoons watching old westerns, starring Johnny Mack Brown, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers and Clayton Moore as The Lone Ranger. I got in the movie for nine cents and had a penny left over from my dime to buy a jawbreaker that lasted throughout the picture show.

Hinson’s Livery Stable, where one could buy, sell or trade mules, horses and donkeys, once sat directly across the street. The stable has since been torn down and is only a vacant lot today. I am pretty sure this was where Granddaddy purchased or traded for his mule Queen back in the early 1940s.

After crossing the railroad tracks, the building on my right was once the Edgar Bailey Lidden’s dry goods store. You could buy just about anything from Mr. Lidden from socks to funeral caskets.

Seeing that place reminded me of the day in February 1950 when I walked to this store from school at lunchtime to buy gifts for my new twin sisters. Mrs. Bulla Hill worked there; I knew her from my Sunday school. I approached Mrs. Bulla and told her I wanted gifts for my sisters. She asked how much money I wanted to spend, and I showed her all the money I had. It was less than a dollar.

Mrs. Bulla took me over to the section with baby toys and suggested two baby rattles. They were little pigs on sticks that made noise when I shook them. One was deep red, and the other was smaller and more of an orange color. I am sure she gave me a discount, as it took all the money I had to pay for the rattles. I thought they were great gifts. I planned to give the bigger, red one to Faye and the smaller, orange one to Kaye. I was pleased with my purchase and proud to have gifts for my little sisters.

Map of Sneads, Florida in 1945

Just a ways down on the right side was the old office of Dr. O’Hare. I saw Dr. O’Hare a few times when I was sick. Mama and Granddaddy Williams took me there in a mule-drawn wagon. On one visit when I was about four or five years old, I saw a human finger in the waste basket. Boy, did it look gross, all blue and shriveled up! It made me question Dr. O’Hare’s sanitation practices, but somehow I always felt better after I left his office.

Directly across the street from the doctor’s office was Mr. Joe Cogburn’s barber shop. Mr. Joe cut hair for twenty-five cents. He used scissors and hand-powered hair clippers; I don’t think electric hair clippers had been invented yet. It took a while for Mr. Joe to earn his twenty-five cents because he waved and spoke to everyone who passed by the shop. The sidewalk was wooden and made a creaking noise, so Mr. Joe could always tell when folks were coming and going. If he knew anything about the person, he would share the scoop: there goes a good man, but he cannot seem to keep up with his wife… poor Old Joe, his cow died last week… that woman is crazy… that one there is such a nice, young lady. Mr. Joe always seemed to have an opinion on everything and most folks.

I heard a man say that he could walk down the streets of Jacksonville—almost 200 miles away—and people recognize him as being from Sneads by his Joe Cogburn haircut. There were always jokes about Mr. Joe’s haircuts, which left lots of gaps and gouges, but then, he had the only pair of hair clippers in town.

Right next to Mr. Joe’s barber shop was the Suwannee Store where Mrs. Barfoot and her son Bruce ran a little grocery and dry goods store. This was Grandma Bet’s favorite place to shop. Mrs. Barfoot was a friendly lady and had time to talk and spin yarns with anyone who came in. Mrs. Barfoot shared stories about local politics, school issues, her son Bruce, the weather and crops. She shared tips with Grandma about sewing and making special stitches. She also sold all kinds of threads and yarn in her shop.

On the opposite corner was Mr. Boy Gleason’s cafe where the bigger boys and girls talked about going for store-bought hamburgers and french fries. I also heard speak of a blue plate special served there. Sometimes Daddy and the men he rode to work with stopped for fresh oysters and a cold beer. I never saw my Daddy drink a beer, but I am sure he did at times. I never went into any café or restaurant until I was fifteen years old. I never was hungry enough to pay for anyone to cook food for me. Plus, I never had the money; that made it easier not to go in.

Pump stand in Sneads, Florida in 2011, had rails on three sides to tie mules and horses in 1949

I eased across old US Highway 90, also called the Old Spanish Trail, and looked back over my left shoulder. There I saw the pump stand where my granddaddy tied up his mules, Nell and Queen, when he came to town. Granddaddy sat around that pump stand and talked to friends and neighbors while Robbie Joe and I went to the movies.

Left Mr. Cecil Lanier’s old store (left) - Sneads’ post office (right)

Across the street was the post office and Mr. Cecil Lanier’s grocery store. Granddaddy had an account with Mr. Cecil and purchased most of his groceries and farm goods there—vegetable seeds, tomato plants, plow points and everything needed on a farm that he didn’t already have. Granddaddy paid his debt each fall when the crops came in.

About half a mile down old US 90 to the left, next to the creek, sat the grist mill where Granddaddy got his corn ground into cornmeal. The miller took a share of the cornmeal for his effort.

On the Old Spanish Trail was where Granddaddy made a little joke. He and I were going to Sneads one Saturday morning and got to the traffic sign that read Speed Limit 25. Granddaddy said, We will have to turn around. I asked why, and he said, These little mules cannot pull the wagon that fast with this load. My granddaddy did not make many jokes, so I found this very amusing.

Just past old US 90 on the left side was Mr. Cecil’s homeplace. It was still there but vacant and run down. As well as owning the grocery store, Mr. Cecil was my school bus driver when I went to Sneads School through the first semester of the third grade.

As I reached the new US 90 Highway, I saw the old McDaniel grocery store building on the far right corner. This was where I went grocery shopping with my daddy after Mama died in 1974. Many times Daddy said, If you see anything you want, just put it in the basket. In his later years, Daddy was doing okay financially, and when he wanted something, he did not pay too much attention to the cost. The W.R. McDaniel Grocery is still in business but has moved a quarter of a mile to the east into a new shopping center.

Straight ahead and a little to the northeast is Clabber Hill where there was a little juke joint back in the late 1940s and early 1950s. I never went up that way, but local folks say that is where Little Willie Brazil was killed in a poker game. Little Willie came home from the Army on the train to visit his mama. He walked from the train station up to Clabber Hill and was never seen again. Rumor had it that Little Willie Brazil was killed while playing poker at the juke joint with some of the good ol’ boys of Sneads.

I took a left on the new US Highway 90 and headed west again. An old, rundown gas station with a sign that read Used Tires for Sale was the only business still open on this side of the road.

Heading out of Sneads, I passed a place that once was the Twilight Motel. People say Little Willie Brazil’s body was dumped in an abandoned well after he was killed in the poker game. The motel later built over the well, and his body was never found. Since Little Willie was a soldier, there was a big investigation into his disappearance that went on for many years, but they never found his body and never solved the mystery. Much of what I heard about this case was simply rumor and speculation.

A little to the west, I came to Four Points. On the northeast corner at Four Points was once the Log Cabin, a popular juke joint. The Log Cabin was where the McKinnie brothers got shot in a bar fight in the early 1950s. Shula McKinnie died immediately, and his brother A.R. spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. The bartender shot them as they came over the counter to beat him up.

I turned north at Four Points onto a nice paved road, but when I was young, it was not paved and became a muddy mess with just a little rain. One time, going down that muddy hill, I remember Granddaddy had to lock the brakes on the wagon to keep it from slipping into the back legs of the mules.

Otis and Sam McDaniel’s house was on the left. They were five and seven years older than me, but I watched them play basketball in high school. They were good ballplayers.

Just a little north was the home of Miss Barbara McDaniel, a beautiful, young lady who graced my life by dating me a few times. I don’t exactly know what happened, but Barbara’s friend, Linda Walden, came between us and stole my heart away.

Past Barbara’s house was a small cabin in the field where Henry lived. Henry was a colorful, little black man. He was about 4’10," wore overalls, a felt hat and brogans and was always smiling. He did not have a tooth in his head, but he was always happy and friendly. He worked for the McDaniel family but spent most of his Saturdays in Sneads. Folks offered him a dime for a dance, and he did a little jig while humming some tune to himself. A couple of times, I heard people make this deal with Henry, and then after the dance, they refused to pay him. I did not think well of these folks. I still remember who they were, and nope, I have not forgiven them yet. Henry was a good little man!

After a couple of slow turns in the road, a small lane leads off to the left. Next to the lane used to be a post with a sign that simply said, Duce. The house cannot be seen from the road, but Mrs. Duce lived there and ran a successful little farm. I went down that lane one time with Granddaddy on the mule and wagon back in 1948. I wasn’t sure what Granddaddy’s business was there, but I saw a big, dark blue car in the garage and a clean, well-run farm. One could buy eggs, milk, butter and vegetables in season from Mrs. Duce.

Pig-trail road in Jackson County, Florida

Down at the next turn in the road on the right hand side was the home of Aunt Lucy Hill who lived in a big white house with a porch all across the front that had many high back rocking chairs. The house and chairs are still there. About ten years ago, a tornado came through that area and blew down a new brick home just across the road about 200 yards away. The tornado took that house down to the foundation, but it did not blow a single rocking chair off Aunt Lucy’s front porch. Aunt Lucy was a good Christian woman, and I know God protected her place.

The El Bethel Assembly of God Church sat on the next corner on the left. That was where I went to Sunday school and church as a child. Granddaddy Willie was one of the founders and a deacon at El Bethel. If I took a sharp right at the church and went down to Willie Bet Lane, I would find my Uncle Robbie Joe and his wife Hope. They now live at my granddaddy’s old place.

On the left, down about two miles and a few turns, stood my Uncle Leon’s old homeplace. Uncle Leon was my daddy’s oldest brother who ran a fairly large farm and raised eight children. At one time, this was a busy place with farm equipment all over and folks running in every direction to keep the farm life going. This was a darn good place to visit on Sunday, but during the week, they might put you to work!

Uncle Leon’s home

The old house stands silent today and is just about to fall in, but I remember the good times we had there. I loved and respected my Uncle Leon. We spent many wonderful days at Uncle Leon’s and did some darn good eatin’ there. Cousin Ida Bell baked one of the best seven-layer, lane cakes ever made; the large pots of chicken and dumplin’s were pretty good, too. Aunt Ezella was a big woman, beautiful and always had a smile. She was always a pleasure to be around, but I noticed that no one ever tested her grace.

Just past Uncle Leon’s place, I took the left fork, which was the unpaved Stephens Road. About half a mile down Stephens Road on the right is the home of my brother Larry. Larry lives there alone since his wife Linda Ann got killed in a car crash back in 1999. He has a nice place and seems content to live here on his own. This is my roosting place when I come home to visit my family. Larry always has a room ready for me, and we get along very well. We grew up together; Larry is one and a half years younger than me. We never had to talk much as we each knew what the other one was thinking most of the time. We still think alike today. We both like our naps in the early afternoon and take them without asking permission from anyone. If I went past Larry’s house, I’d run into my daddy and mama’s place on the left. My sister Faye and her husband Eddie Paul Lawrence live there now.

When I arrived at Larry’s, he was out under the pecan tree waiting for me. I pulled up and rolled my window down; he came over and shook my hand and asked how I was doing.

Fine, I responded. In fact I just wrote a story on my way here.

Are you still writing them stories?

Yes, I always will, I said. I like it, and it is in my blood now. Larry helped me in with my stuff, and we sat in the living room and chatted about politics, the economy and how we might keep our little savings from the sharks at the banks. We talked until it was time for us to go down to Brother Jerry’s house for a family fish fry.

Brother Jerry and his lovely wife Linda live about eight miles to the south, near the little community of Shady Grove. Jerry and Linda know I dearly love fried sucker fish from the Ocheesee Pond, so they went out for two or three nights and set nets to catch a mess for this family fish fry. Linda also knows how I fancy banana pudding, so she made an outstanding one using sugar-free, yellow, ‘nilla puddin’ mix, ‘nilla wafers, nanners and Cool Whip on top. It was good, but it took three servings for me to really appreciate how wonderful it was.

It was a blessing for me to be with my brothers, sisters, sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law. The meal was simply delicious, as always. As we were leaving, Linda put the leftover fish in a bag and gave them to me. I snacked on the fish over the next two days, as one would an old sweet tater or candy bar, but the fish were much better.

The next morning Larry asked what I wanted for breakfast, and I told him that I wanted us to pick up our sister Faye and her husband Eddie Paul and go out to Blondie’s for breakfast. We drove to their house and asked them to come to breakfast. Eddie Paul would have nothing to do with it. He insisted on cooking a big breakfast with biskits, grits, eggs, bacon and venison sausage. We also had some good cane syrup to pour on the biskits, and homemade fig preserves with butter. It was delicious. That Eddie Paul has been such a blessing to our family; I don’t know how Faye found him, but I am glad she did.

After breakfast, Larry and I made a shopping list of last minute things needed for the party, celebrating my twin sisters’ 60th birthday. We had a pleasant time in the grocery store, shared a sandwich at Subway for lunch and made it back home in time for our afternoon nap.

On that Friday night, Faye and Eddie invited the whole family to their house for a steak dinner; Eddie cooks a mean steak on the grill. The newest member of our family is Bryan Steele, who recently married Faye and Eddie’s daughter Alissa. I do not think I could have picked a better man for Alissa. After the outstanding green bean casserole Bryan cooked for dinner and all his efforts to make the party come off well, he made the grade. We plan to keep him.

On Saturday morning, Larry and I were invited back to Faye’s for a steak and eggs breakfast. There was steak left over from the night before, and my family simply cannot waste good food. Again it was delicious.

A big basketball game was scheduled for Saturday morning. Great-nephews Trent (brother Larry’s grandson) and Dalton (brother Harry’s grandson) were in a basketball tournament, playing against each other in the eight-to-twelve-year-old category. Larry and I went to the game and met brother Harry and Bryan there. The game was held at the old Sneads High School gym, the same gym where I scored two points back in 1957 in a game between the Grand Ridge High School Indians and the Sneads Pirates.

It was the damndest thing I ever saw; the boys and girls played on the same team, together. After watching for a while, I was glad girls were not allowed to play with the boys when I was coming up. Them gals were scrappy little devils, and as a gentleman, I could not have elbowed them out of the way. Trent’s team won with him scoring six points. Dalton played a very respectable game and scored four points. This was a world-record-setting basketball game. There were more dribbles per point scored in this game than in any other basketball match in history of the sport. It was a big day.

The 60th birthday party for my twin sisters Faye and Kaye was wonderful. The twins looked beautiful, more like forty than sixty. Larry’s garage, where he keeps his RV, pontoon boat, other fishing boats, picnic table and other stuff, was cleared out and decorated with hundreds of brightly colored balloons for the big party. Many friends and relatives attended, some from as far away as Atlanta and Tampa. The chicken grilled by Keith Godwin (my nephew-in-law) on an open grill was wonderful and very moist. I read my story, The Day that Changed my life, about the day Faye and Kaye were born on February 7, 1950. My brother Harry held the microphone for me. The guests seemed to enjoy my story and said it reminded them of their younger years. The party was as good as a party can be.

Faye and Kaye’s 60th birthday party

Larry had spent all week getting ready for the big birthday party and had been up late Saturday night with the after-party party, so on Sunday morning, I tried to sneak out without disturbing him. It did not work; he got up and wanted to cook me breakfast before I left. I would not let him do it and promised I would get a cup of coffee on the road. As I drove away, he stood in the open doorway in his drawers, and it was very cold. Though he could not see me, he knew I was crying, not out of sadness but out of love and appreciation for his hospitality, our life and history together and the special bond we have as brothers.

As I crossed back over the river headed east, once more my heart filled with love and appreciation for a wonderful family. I will come again in the spring and go fishing with my brothers and maybe Eddie Paul and Robbie Joe. We will all get on Larry’s pontoon boat and have a great time. I will not catch as many fish as they do—I tend to spend more time visiting than fishing—but I will be the happiest, proudest and most grateful man on the boat.

I hurried along down I-10 to meet my daughter Jessica, her husband John and my three wonderful grandchildren—Tyler, Emily and Austin—for lunch in Live Oak. That is always a big treat for this granddaddy, and then I was on my way down to Clermont to be with my Marilyn.

The Beginning

My life began in early 1942 on a tiny, winding, pig-trail road in the backwoods of Jackson County, Florida. The REA (Rural Electric Authority) electric power lines did not get back into these woods until June 1950. The way we lived in these eight years and what we did to survive are worth remembering. The things we experienced and learned here gave us the foundation to deal with the world and people around us and taught us how to succeed in life. The key to everything was devoted and caring parents and a warm and loving home. Our lessons were simple: