The Tongue That Wouldn't Keep Still

By Robert Evans Jr.

This story expresses life,truth and beauty; it represents a 1950's American Southern way of life; it touches on love, jealousy, life, hate, death and hope. You will see a determination and love for his wife also the quality that he puts forth in all he does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463416430

Robert Evans Jr.

Robert Evans Is the author of The Tongue That Wouldn;t Keep Still. He is not a writer but a conductor for a commuter Railroad. He belived that if people could read this story, maybe someone could prevent similar things from happening to them.

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The Tongue That Wouldn’t Keep Still

Robert Evans Jr.

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AuthorHouse™

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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© 2011 by Robert Evans Jr.. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 04/19/11

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6403-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6402-9 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1643-0 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011907436

Printed in the United States of America

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Preface

Dedication

In Gratitude

Introduction

I

Childhood

II

Adolescence

III

Independence

IV

Ruby

V

Maria

VI

Awakening

VII

Memories

VIII

Adios Maria

XIV

Family

X

Oriental Dream

Epilogue

Preface

My name is James Jr. I am fifty-nine years old and a conductor for a commuter railroad based in Chicago, Illinois.

In March of 1995, my wife and I moved from Mississippi to Chicago because a job was offered to me and I wanted to be back near my mother and sisters. In April I started to work for the railroad as a clerk. I was trained in a number of positions: gate attendant, ticket agent, janitor, station master and tower operator. The things I learned about the railroad were new and exciting. I had no previous knowledge of trains or railroads.

In April of 1996, I applied for train service and was accepted in May. Within two years I was promoted to conductor and I have been working with the railroad for 12 years. I now have enough seniority to hold good jobs. Some jobs that I work require long layovers.

It is during these layovers that I have time to reflect on my life. One day, I got a pen and paper and started writing.

As I wrote, I kept thinking that this is a story that should be told. This is a story that the public should read. It is a mystery. Perhaps, after reading my story, someone can prevent having similar things happen to them.

This story is called The Tongue That Wouldn’t Keep Still.

James Jr.

Dedication

I’d like to dedicate this book to my mother, Bernice Evans, and to the Truth.

In Gratitude

I would like to thank some people for encouraging me to write this story of my life: Mark, Robert, Patty, Fran and Jeff. They really stayed on me to write this book. I also want to thank my writer and editor, Eileen Sheetz Kelley for bringing this story to life. I also would like to thank The meridian Star of Meridian, Mississippi and the Newton record of Newton, Mississippi for allowing me to use their newspaper clips.

Introduction

I want to take you back to the very beginning.

Then maybe you can understand what happened and why.

I

Childhood

Beatrice and James

In August of 1946, my mother, Beatrice and my father, James were married in Newton County, Mississippi. She was fourteen-years-old and he was seventeen.

In July 1947 they had their first child, Mary Jane and in October 1948, I was born. They named me after my father, James Jr. In September of 1950 they had their third child, Grace.

After the three of you were born, well, this was the beginning of the end of our marriage, Mama told me.

Mississippi—1950

In Mississippi, the only work for Blacks was as field hands. I had some money I had received from my father’s death, so I bought a train ticket to Chicago for your father, Mama said. He said that he would get a job doing construction work and he would send for me and the three of you.

So Daddy moved to Chicago and lived with his sister, partying, drinking and having a good time. Six months later he came back to Mississippi with no money. He stayed in Mississippi for two months, and then returned to Chicago, leaving us alone again.

Mama told me, One time in the winter of 1950, I had no wood for the heater or for the cooking stove. During that time most people had only wood heaters to heat the house and a wood stove to cook with. This was a cold day with freezing rain. I had to cut up my kitchen table for firewood to cook us some food.

There were many days when I had to walk for miles to pick cotton in a white man’s field, said Mama. Mary Jane would walk with me to pick cotton. You were a one-year-old and could walk, but you wouldn’t. I was so tired. As soon as I would put you down, you’d start crying, so I had to carry you with your baby sister, Mama added.

When she arrived at this field, she said, I carried an old blanket, placed it on the ground about half way down the row and set you two on it. I’d pick cotton until I got to you babies, then I’d move you to the end of the row so I could finish picking to the end. After that I’d turn around and do the same thing all over again.

In the evening, after the day was over, she collected her pay, four dollars. Then came the long walk back home with the three of you, Mama sighed. Those were very hard times. I didn’t think I’d ever get away from that life.

Separation

One day in 1951, Mama’s mother arrived from Chicago to take us all back with her.

My Daddy’s parents, Grandpa and Granmo, lived about a hundred yards from Mama’s house.

When Grandpa realized that Mama was going to take all three of us back to Chicago with her, he stepped in and said, No, I don’t want you to take the two oldest. You leave them here with me. You are going to Chicago, you don’t have a job and you don’t have anywhere to live. You leave those kids here with me: if I eat, they eat. When you get set up in Chicago, you can come back and get them. That baby… you can carry her with you.

Mama said, This was a difficult choice for me, but I knew this was my only chance to leave.

So she left Mary Jane and me with my grandparents. I was between two and three years old, so I didn’t remember any of this.

One summer day when I was about five years old, Grandpa told me that my Maw (Grandpa had a real way with words) was coming to visit. I didn’t remember her. I knew that I had a mother because my grandparents always told me about her. I just couldn’t remember—all I knew was my Grandpa and Granmo.

That afternoon, we were sitting on the front porch. A car came down the hill blowing its horn. Grandpa said, There come your Maw. I jumped off the porch and ran around the side of the house to the China Berry tree. I climbed up that tree and stayed there.

My mother and her sister got out and spoke to Grandpa. They came to the tree I was perched in. My mother asked me to come down. I didn’t want to, because I didn’t know this woman. After a short while she started crying and begging me to come down. I just sat up there and looked at her. Grandpa finally came around and said, Boy, come outta that tree.

Grandpa didn’t have to tell you but once, so I came down. My mother was hugging and kissing me. I didn’t want this lady kissing me. She asked Grandpa if she could take me with her to her uncle’s house. He agreed. I went with her and stayed all night.

The next day she brought me back. I was happy to be home.

Mama and Daddy

Mama once told me, When I first arrived in Chicago, I lived with my mother. Your father was living with his sister. We would see each other and talk, but we never got back together.

One day, while Mama was at work, Daddy came over to my Mama’s mother’s house. My grandmother was babysitting my little sister Grace. He asked if he could take her to the store to buy some candy.

After Mama arrived home from work, she called my Daddy’s sister’s house looking for her baby. My aunt told her, He’s not here. I don’t know where he is. My father had taken Grace and not come back.

That night went by, and the next day, but still no word of the baby. I was really hurting, but the one thing that gave me comfort was that this was my baby’s father, Mama said, and I knew he’d take care of her.

Two weeks later, Mama was told that Daddy had moved to Detroit, Michigan. Daddy kept Grace in Detroit for a year. In his later years he told me I took real good care of Grace. I loved my baby girl with all my heart. I used to dress her real pretty and comb and braid her hair.

Grandparents’ Farm

When I was five and Mary Jane was six, we were still living with Daddy’s parents in Mississippi. We knew that we had a baby sister, but we didn’t remember her.

One hot summer day we were very excited because we heard that our baby sister was coming home. In the late afternoon, a car pulled up and a man got out and talked to Grandpa. He took a little suitcase from the car, and then a little girl. Daddy sent Grace back to Mississippi, saying, I want all of my kids to be together. Mama didn’t see her baby again until she returned to Mississippi.

Mary Jane and I were happy. And Grace was so pretty. I remember the reunion just like it was yesterday. I told Grace, I am your brother and she is your sister. Grace stood there crying.

I remember trying to take her hand, but she didn’t want any of us to touch her. She didn’t know us, and we didn’t know her, but that was okay. Mary Jane and I were still happy to have our baby sister back.

Peas in a Pod

Time went by. I remember being seven years old. The three of us were very happy, poor as we were. We were like three peas in a pod. If one cried, we all cried: if one got a whipping—we all cried.

Our grandparents did not have electricity or running water. We had coal oil lamps for light. We carried water from a spring about two hundred yards from the house. We walked down rolling hills, through weeds, to the edge of the woods, and finally, there was the spring. Every day we had to go and carry water for cooking, washing and bathing.

Some days while we were walking to get water, a black snake would cross the path. Sometimes there was a water moccasin near the spring. Whenever we saw a snake, we would run back home without the water.

Grandpa would get really angry. He’d say, To hell with a snake!! Go and get that water. I thought he was a very mean man.

We would go back, and if the snake was still there, we would throw sticks at it to make it leave. Then we would get the water and run back up the hill. If one of us fell and spilled the water, we would have to go back and fill up the pail again.

Looking back, I realize that those times were hard.

Grandpa

There were many times when I had no idea what Grandpa’s words meant. I was afraid to ask him. If it was cold outside, he would say that it was airish. When people would ask how he was doing, he would