Bittersweet Grace

By Percy Pendergrass

The silence of grace intertwines within this anecdotal review from Percy, a child born to divorced parents in rural Appalachia in the early 1940s. World War

II is coming to an end, and a fear of communism smothers his community as they struggle to maintain their dignity to endure everyday living. He is

encompassed by a strong spiritual family and adults friends who give encouragement and advice. However, Percys perception of himself is tattered and broken

from guilt. Many children have these unfounded guilts, which are very real. The perceptions of a child are always different from those of others who witness

the same events. This narrative of nonfiction gives Percy freedom to cradle his own perceptions of his truth through the muddy journey as a young boy

slaying his own dragons with bittersweet victories.

Percys confidants have diverse backgrounds. Mr. Billingsley is his mentor in religious matters when blood family doesnt fit the needs of the moment.

Dude is a mans man who gives all the worldly advice a boy should have. Doc is the intellectual coach for encouragement for loftier youth dreams. Walker

serves as the back-seat driver to challenge and humble Percy at every turn. Walkers personality develops Percys embryo of benevolence to find a meaningful

expression.

Because of the historic nature of the book, seasoned citizens can use it to reminisce with their children and grandchildren and others in their circle.

Teenagers may read the book and get a glimpse into the past and be consoled that they are not alone with their demons. Grade-school children can easily read

the book for entertainment because of the youthful language. People of faith may find hope within to be their victory and be encouraged by circumstances

that surround the limited Bible verses. Tom, Dick, Harry, Sally, and Betty can just pick up the book and read for pure pleasure.

Percys grade-school education began in a one-room schoolhouse in southern Appalachia, which he attended during grades one thru six. The fear of

communism permeated his rural community. Rich in Christian ethics and tenacity, Percy achieved his masters degree and worked as a soil conservationist. He

retired on Sand Mountain, Alabama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 29, 2010
• ISBN: 9781449709358

Percy Pendergrass

Percy’s grade-school education began in a one-room schoolhouse in southern Appalachia, which he attended during grades one thru six. The fear of communism permeated his rural community. Rich in Christian ethics and tenacity, Percy achieved his master’s degree and worked as a soil conservationist. He retired on Sand Mountain, Alabama.

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Copyright © 2010 Percy Pendergrass

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ISBN: 978-1-4497-0936-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4497-0937-2 (dj)

ISBN 978-1-4497-0935-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942218

Printed in the United States of America

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/2/2010

Contents

Chapter 1 Oh, no! Not Satan!

Chapter 2 The Gift of the Floor Grate

Chapter 3 Goin’ Fishing

Chapter 4 The Wisdom of Mr. Glass

Chapter 5 The Bedroom

Chapter 6 New Friends

Chapter 7 My Rock

Chapter 8 That’s That.

Chapter 9 Nuggets

Chapter 10 Extra Information

Chapter 1

Oh, no! Not Satan!

Satan is alive and well. I know because I see him every day. In my childhood, days came and went as countless moments of fear and, at times, pure terror. Such was the early pattern of life growing up in a small rural community in south central Kentucky.

World War II was raging; food and gasoline were rationed. In school we were being taught to watch the skies for enemy airplanes and to grow victory gardens. Children were encouraged to collect junk iron for the war effort. Our old Philco radio was only turned on in the evening for the war news, usually given by Gabriel Heater or H. V. Kaltenborn. All the adults were subdued and preoccupied with world conditions and winning the war.

The world of a small, reclusive child was not on anyone’s list of things to be concerned about. Yet, I was sure everyone would come to my aid if they only knew what was happening; after all, the men had put a stop to Mrs. Purdue’s abuse from her husband. If they only knew what some of the older boys were doing to me when they could catch me on my way home from school …

Mr. and Mrs. Purdue had gotten married late in life. She had been an old maid who cleaned houses for some of the community families who were better off than the rest. Shortly after they got married and moved into the little vacant house across the creek that flooded in the spring rains, Mrs. Purdue wasn’t seen very much. Occasionally, she would walk to the general store for some necessities. On one of those occasions, she was just coming out of the store when Mr. Anderson was entering, with me close behind.

A gust of wind caught Mrs. Purdue’s bonnet and lifted the long sunshade brim, exposing her face. I was stunned at what I saw. Her face was puffy and had black circles under both eyes. Mr. Anderson simply said, Morning, ma’am, and continued on into the store. I stepped to one side and stood by the lamp oil barrel.

I heard Mr. Anderson speaking to the store owner.

Something has to be done about Purdue; you know I am right, Jack. You know which men to tell. Tell them to meet me out back of the store tonight about dark.

I wished I had been old enough to be a part of that meeting. I had always liked Mrs. Purdue and wanted to get Old Man Purdue also. However, I knew this was something for the adults to take care of, and I couldn’t even tell anyone that I had been eavesdropping. I was still curious about what was going to happen.

Early the next morning, I headed to the store for my grandmother to purchase a half pound of sulfur for her to smoke the jars she was using for canning. The sulfur was used to kill bacteria and make the canning jars sterile. As I came around the curve in the little gravel road that passed by our house, I could see the store and the blacktop highway that was the main road. Old Man Purdue was standing beside the mailboxes across the blacktop from the store. As I came up close to the store, I could clearly see Purdue’s face. It was awful. One eye was completely swollen closed, his lips were huge, and his right arm was tied up tight to his chest in an old piece of bed sheet.

I dropped my head so no one would see me smile to myself. I knew not to say anything, for it was none of my business. However, I knew now that if the men caught those boys who were catching me and pulling my clothes off, tossing them up in the trees, and chasing me through the woods with switches, they would look like Old Man Purdue. It was at that time that I began to fantasize about those boys getting caught while they were hurting me.

Life was rich and wonderful for me as a young child in most ways. After my father walked out on us, my mother and I moved in with her parents when I was fourteen months old.

My grandparents were wonderful. I grew up in a house of five adults. My mother was a schoolteacher, and was ever vigilant to make sure I was exposed to a good formal education. My grandmother was the pragmatist and enforcer of order and scheduling. It was she who announced when it was time to do whatever was to be done. This ranged from such things as mealtime to preparing and planting the garden. Every morning at breakfast, which always followed the morning chores, she would say such things as: Tolly, you need to go visit Cloyed today and see what kind of barn he wants you to build. George, you should clean out the chicken house and put the dung on the onion bed. Grandpa, could you split some kindling wood for my cook stove? Mary, stop on your way home from school and pick up a spool of black thread for me; and you, son, must make sure the chickens have more oyster shells for their scratch pile when you come in from school.

My grandmother always emphasized the importance of being tidy and organized. I never saw her write anything down, not even a recipe, as everything was from memory. She was a wonderful writer, and I treasure to this day the notes she wrote to me. She never required reminders; she instinctively knew what the rhythm of life should be for her family.

Uncle George was a retired schoolteacher and the bachelor brother of my grandmother. As a young man, he had traveled with a vaudeville show as one of the actors. When coaxed by a group of visitors in our home, he would do skits from his vaudeville days.

My grandfather (Papa) was a self-supported evangelist. He farmed and built farm buildings for neighbors and friends to support his preaching of the gospel. He had monthly appointments; he would preach at Cedar