J.B. Madison

By D R Hann

Based on some true events and some real people, this is my fictional interview with Jonathan Byrd Madison, who is one hundred and eleven years old.
Jonathan, was born in February of 1900, and grew up in the old south, Dixie, in Bluffton, South Carolina. When white was white, and black was black.
Jonathan will tell his very interesting, one of a kind life story, along with his wisdom and wit.
I would like to thank Google search, Wikipedia, and my wife Phyllis. Without her hard and diligent work, this book would not have been possible. Thank you, Phyllis.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D R Hann
• Release date: Dec 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301505685

D R Hann

Just a story teller, not a Leo Tolstoy. You'll either like my books, or hate them. Remember, keep going forward.

Book preview

Introduction

Based on some true events and some real people, this is my fictional interview with Jonathan Byrd Madison, who is one hundred and eleven years old.

Jonathan, was born in February of 1900, and grew up in the old south, Dixie, in Bluffton, South Carolina. When white was white, and black was black.

Jonathan will tell his very interesting, one of a kind life story, along with his wisdom and wit.

I would like to thank Google search, Wikipedia, and my wife Phyllis. Without her hard and diligent work, this book would not have been possible. Thank you, Phyllis.

Jonathan Byrd Madison

It was three weeks since I emailed the home where Jonathan Byrd Madison lived who, at this time, is the oldest person alive, at one hundred and eleven years old.

I was hoping to interview him to see if his was an interesting story, most people have an interesting life story, which I was hoping for.

The reply stated: Mr. J.B. Madison would be happy to see you, but no promises.

Mr. Madison stated that you should be here at 11:45 sharp, no earlier, no later, and Mr. Madison wanted me to impress upon you that if you are late, or early, you can forget the little chat, and that Mr. Madison will not give you a second chance, and if you do not show up, you are probably an SOB (Mr. Madison’s words, not mine).

If I can be of further assistance, please feel free to call, or email me.

Judy Franklin, Manager, Green Lawn Home, Bluffton, South Carolina.

As I waited outside Mr. Madison’s room, waiting for the clock to tick to 11:45, I wondered if this man could remember his childhood, was coherent, or even sane.

Don: Mr. Madison?

John: You cuss?

Don: Sure, doesn’t everyone.

John: Good, fuck, shit, bitch. (Laughing while he said each word) How’s that? Surprised an old fart like me says things like that?

Don: No, I’m guessing we have all said those words.

John: Have any beer? Sure could go for a cold one.

Don: No

John: Next time you come, bring me a cold one, I prefer Yuengling, you heard of that brand?

Don: Sure, but are you allowed to have beer?

John: Get out, you young, little, snot nose kid, you SOB, I’m one hundred and eleven years old, I can do whatever I want, even fuck a whore if I want.

Don: I’m sorry, I don’t want to get into trouble.

John: "A brown nose, huh? Go ahead ask the nurse, you little shit brown nose.

I live in a damn home, you think I like living this way, you bastard, now get the hell out, we are done for today. You can come back tomorrow, as long as you have my beer. I’ll tell you my story, my whole life story, the truth and nothing but the truth."

Now I am wondering what I got myself into, would this even be worth it, and do I want to write anything about this old man who seems as though he’s mad at the world?

Okay, I’ll give it more time, what the hell, one more day won’t hurt. If he just wants beer, then at least I did not waste much time.

On leaving, I stopped at the office to see Judy Franklin to ask if the old fart could have beer.

Judy told me not to judge Mr. Madison too quickly, he does this to people he does not know. Become his friend, and Mr. Madison is interesting, kind, the best kind of friend you could want. Judy went on to tell me that most people here are just patients, but not Mr. Madison; he is everyone’s friend and has helped most of the people working or living here.

Judy went on to tell me this story.

"You see, about ten years ago I was in a dead marriage; my husband would drink and sometimes abuse me. Mr. Madison helped me find other living arrangements, and even made a visit to my ex. Mr. Madison stuck a gun in his face and told him if he ever hurt me that Mr. Madison would find him and kill him. Mr. Madison told my ex that he didn’t care about jail as he was probably going to be dead soon, that was when he was one hundred and one years old.

Give Mr. Madison some time. I think people should hear his story. As far as beer, sure, he can have beer; just make sure it’s Yuengling."

John’s family

Don: Mr. Madison?

John: Yeah, yeah, you’re that writer. What’s your name, boy?

Don: My name is Don.

John: Did you bring the beer or do I have to get up and kick your ass out of my room?

Don: Yes, I brought your Yuengling beer.

John: Good, now we are getting somewhere, but why only a six pack?

Don: How much did you want?

John: "Damn, got you! Only drink one every couple of days. Don’t take life so serious, and never again take any crap from anyone, including me.

See, I was pushing your buttons. Now I know you’re hoping for a good story, and if it’s good enough you want to write my story real bad. You would not be a good poker player.

So how much do I get?"

Don: How much do you want?

John: All of the money the book makes.

Don: All? I can’t do that.

John: Okay, get out, don’t know why anyone would want to hear my life story anyway.

Don: Okay, here is your beer, sorry I wasted my time!

John: Wait, just wanted to see if you were listening to me, about not taking crap from anyone including me, and you were. If you want, I’ll tell you my life story.

Don: So, how much do you want for doing your life.

John: "Money, I have no need for money now, but during the depression I sure could have used some.

Have a beer and I’ll start.

What’s that thing?"

Don: It’s a recorder, I am going to record what you say, then I’ll write on my computer.

John: "Computers! They put people out of work; they may be the devil’s toy.

I think we should do this book in chronological order. I hate books and movies that jump around. If you have a story, it should start at the beginning and finish at the end."

Don: Okay, it’s your story.

John: First, I want be known as John, I hate Jonathan, so when you mention me, make sure to write John, John, did this and John did that. John even killed a man, but that SOB had it coming.

Don: Wait, you killed a man?

John: "Yeah, but that SOB had it coming. He took from me something very near and dear to my heart.

You SOB, Don, don’t confuse me. When I get to that part, you will hear and know why I did it.

I was born at the turn of the century, 1900. Some thought that was great, the golden age. Others said it was the end of the world. You know what they say today, damn; wish I had a quarter every time I heard the world was going to end.

Do you know the year I was born, the first electric bus made its debut in New York City? It was the end of the horse and buggy days.

President McKinley placed Alaska under military rule. My Father disliked McKinley, said he looked like a man who would steal your soul, and the fact he was a damn Yankee, who fought against the Confederacy. McKinley was the last Civil War veteran to be president. Of course, when he was shot and killed, let me think, 1901, that was the year he was killed, then everyone just did not talk bad about him.

1900, the first Zeppelin flight in Germany, and a bad hurricane killed 8000 in Galveston, Texas. Some shit, all that crap the year I was born.

It was the old south, Dixie, black was black and white was white. We didn’t know any better, it was the way my daddy was raised, and his daddy and so on.

I was born on February 15th. I am sure glad that I was not born a day earlier, on the 14th, you know, Valentine’s Day. Growing up, I probably would have been teased; love boy, sweet boy, cupid boy, hearts boy, you know how kids like to tease other kids.

I want my family to be in this here book."

Don: Sure, go ahead.

John: "My dear mother, Ida Lucy Williams, born 1873, died 1931.

She was the only reason I received a high school diploma. I was the only one in my family to go that far in school. My mother fought my father the whole way through high school. My father’s thought was a grammar school education, up to eighth grade, would be good enough.

I think my mother had plans to send me on to college, but the big war, WWI, would change that.

My mother’s father, Elroy Williams, was a Minister, he used to say everyone deserves to be treated fairly, but the Negros should stay in their place. I guess today my whole family would be considered race prejudice. Like I said, hell, everyone was brought up that way. I have learned a lot in my life about being prejudice, and I’ll say it right here and now, it’s dumb!

Black is beautiful, Summer was black, she was a beautiful butterfly. Summer was my black beautiful butterfly.

I know, you ask who she was. Damn, you’ll just have to wait for that.

My father, James Lee Madison, was born 1861 and died May 1924, seems like yesterday.

Now his daddy, William Seymour Madison, died up north at a place called Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, you heard of it?"

Don: Sure, I think everyone has.

John: "Wanted to go there but never been, you know, see where granddaddy was killed.

Daddy owned a hardware store, right here, at this very spot where this home is now, use to be where my daddy’s hardware store was, and the back parking lot is where my parents’ house was, where I grew up. Look out the window, see that oak tree there?"

Don: Yes.

John: "That is where I buried my treasure. What kind? No, there’s no gold or silver there. When I came here, I dug my treasure up, thought it would have been gone but it was still there.

See that shoe box in my closet? Bring it here, please.

Open it up, tell me what you see?"

Don: "Its three wooden animals, an autographed, Ty Cobb baseball card, and some tobacco, and baseball cards.

John, do you know what this stuff is worth?"

John: "To me it’s worth a lot. Oh sure, it has monetary value but the story that goes with it is worth a lot more but you’ll have to wait.

My father made sure that all of his children had something at Christmas, and daddy could carve wood. My father made our gifts. Damn, I later found out he would start right after Christmas and would not finish until weeks before Christmas, always wondered where daddy went after supper.

Daddy worked hard, started small, selling out of our home, you know, hardware, nails, screws, door latches, then moved into selling tools. He kept going till he owned a store, well he didn’t do it alone, there was his brother but they had a falling out and they went their separate ways; sad, they never spoke to each other again.

My brothers, all three of them, could raise hell, and if that is where they are, do you believe in Hell?"

Don: Yes.

John: "Good, that’ll keep you out of trouble.

Back to my brothers, if that is where they are, it’s got to be one of the biggest parties ever, drinking, cussing, screwing, big cigar smoking, and poker playing. Why I would not put it past them to try