The Vignettes of Jod - An American Story

By Joel Allen Havard

The story of an American son born in the 30s, a fiery lad, the second of four brothers separated in an orphan home following the death of their mother and confinement of their father in Huntsville for life.
When the promise the boys will be kept together is broken, his humiliation at feeling rejected by family turns to anger at those trying to rule his life and he evades adoption, running off at every opportunity.
Sent to Clear Lake reformatory, he observes a condition he cannot accept and is more determined to be the authority governing his life. Encouraged by a friend who teaches him the skills for survival, he finally gets the opportunity to break free to survive on his own.
Honing his skills in survival by observing those special people he meets along the way, his life is a unique adventure with his faithful companions, Little Red and Ranger, on the back roads and byways of America. In search of his place in the world, he lives with the hope of bringing four brothers together again one day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312135000

Book preview

The Vignettes of Jod - An American Story

The VIGNETTES of JŌD – An American Story

By Joel Allen Havard

As told to my beloved wife, Eve

© Copyright 2004 Eve Havard

All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-312-13500-0

First Edition

This book is licensed under the Standard Copyright License.

Preface

Perhaps, there is nothing that can free the burdens of a man so much as the relating of those hidden experiences locked deep inside, like pain, that once expressed give the inner self a sense of its dignity and purpose never before realized. In telling his stories based on his life experiences, Joel Allen Havard has found the assurance of his purpose in the excitement and the enthusiasm that has come in realizing his stories through the written word.

In this work, his first literary statement of man’s principles, in his colloquial vain, with frankness and with humor, Havard shows the underlying reasons for this orphaned boy’s anger that fired the determination that drove him to face a hard and cruel world on his own. It is the fiery character of the young Jod, his determination, his courage and joie de vivre that are the strength, the bulwark of this story of survival with its heartfelt joys and sorrows that must touch the hearts of all those who read it.

J.Y. Boileau

Chapter 1:  The Awakening

From the beginning of my remembrance, the events that I recall of the early days unfold with the appearance of an old hobo, events that would otherwise have been forgotten had he not made such an impression on me.

As I recall, I was a stout youngster of three playing with my brothers on the service porch of the house where we lived in League City, Texas. I stood just inside the screen door helping Benji, still in diapers, learn to walk when I heard a kind of hum, and I turned to see an old man standing outside the door as he knocked.

My mother was busy in the kitchen, and Jim called out, Mama, there’s somebody here!

Our screen door was one of those with screen only halfway down, the bottom half was wood, and my mother came and opened the door halfway. I remember that I was there with her, staring up at the old hobo when we both looked down to see that his feet were bare like mine. It must have startled my mother, for she turned quickly back into the house as the old man spoke.

I wonder if I might beg of you some food.

Oh, yes, I heard my mother say.

As we stood there, the old man and I, he never took his eyes off me as I kept lookin’ with total fascination, just starin’ right up at him. He held out his hand to me and I took it, and his eyes just gleamed. I had such a friendly feeling that I wanted to go with him; something like the feeling you get that you’ve been there before. Then, my mother returned with a pair of my dad’s steel-toed oil rigger’s boots and something to eat tied neatly in a white cloth. And without ever taking his eyes from me when I let go his hand, ― after my mother had set the shoes in the ol’ hobos outstretched hands and the parcel of food a-top the shoes, ― he bowed his thanks and backed away, and I tried to get out the door and go with him.

He made such an impression on me that I’ve thought from time to time over the years of that first meeting with the old hobo, and think of it still.

I vaguely remember the incidents that led up to the day of my mother’s funeral. I can see myself playing next to her chair where she often sat, and see her drinking coca cola and seconds after turning to the side to vomit. She remained a-bed except to care for me and by brothers.

Then, one day, my ol’ man came back. He’d been out for a while working, drilling for virgin oil on a wildcat crew, and he took my mother to the hospital. Stomach cancer was recorded as the cause of her death.

The day of the funeral, we were with my dad, Uncle Pete, Aunt Edith and all the family. I remember, as we turned out of the burial grounds on the outskirts of Houston, Pete and I watched out the side window of the car. The street was crowded with friends and family leaving and traffic was heavy up to the intersection ahead where a four-way blinking red light hung over the center of the street. 

As the car came to a stop, we both saw the old hobo, and we cried out, simultaneously, as we recognized him walking to the corner, There’s the ol’, there’s the ol’ hobo!  There he is, the man we gave the shoes to, and he had those high-topped steel-toed safety boots, laces tied together, slung over his shoulder.  As we turned away from him, Pete and I both watched the old hobo till he was out of view.

Where we lived on these acres, your eyes could see for eighty to a hundred acres across where the dirt road met the main road that run along a levee in that rice country. Durin’ rice plantin’ time, all that land was flooded. I can remember of an evening I’d look out to the dirt road and see this ol’ hobo walkin’ by, and not relating it to other incidents, it stayed on my mind. It was a time when hundreds of hobos, old and young, roamed across the land. It was a common sight.

After the funeral, my dad took us home and drove off leaving us four boys alone. We didn’t see anybody that whole day, and we’d been cryin’ and everything, tryin’ to do something.  My big brother, Jim, got the milk left by the dairyman for Benji, and boiled some potatoes, and he was only six years old.

That night, we all went to sleep on daddy and mama’s bed, waitin’ and cryin’ for dad to come home.

The morning of the third day, there came a knock on the door and a loud voice hollerin’, Are you there, Jim?

We’d heard a car drive up and we were all standin’ around lookin’ at the front door when the man peeked in. We ran to him, cryin’, Uncle Seeb.

Seeb Canon was a mason friend of my dad’s and the man my dad worked for at Humble Oil Company.

Thunder an’ tarnation! What’s gone wrong here? Why wasn’t yer dad at work? When did you see your dad last?

We just shrugged our shoulders. We’d just taken the diapers off ‘a Benji and the place reeked of soiled diapers mingled with the odor of dirty dishes and dribblings of peanut butter and jelly everywhere. Seeb Canon saw the desperate situation and immediately assumed authority. He picked us up, washed us off a little bit, put dry pants on, best he could.

Well, come on, get in the car. You’re goin’ to my house. 

When we got there, Seeb Canon’s wife took us and bathed us, and got out clothes of their kids that they’d handed down. She still had these and put ‘em on us.

That night, Seeb Canon called together a meeting of his Masonic order to take some kind of authority with us boys because something had happened to our father. We stayed for two or three days during which time he held meetings with his Masonic Blue Lodge brothers, and he also kept in touch with my Uncle Pete.

The Masons said that they would take the responsibility, if no relations could be found who would take us, to place us in a Masonic home; for, no matter what had happened, my father was still a thirty-second degree Mason in good standing. They also promised us that they would never separate us. 

The last day there, we ate in the afternoon. Seeb Canon’s wife had us spick and span when we got in the car. Then, we got our final instructions on how to behave.

Seeb Canon said, You’re on your way to see your Uncle Pete, and we were all happy. 

When we pulled up to Uncle Pete’s house there were two strangers on the porch, a man and a woman. I remember that we were all sittin’ around in the living room.

Uncle Pete, said, You boys! You’re goin’a have to go with these people. They’ll find yu a nice home and keep all you boys together.

The short ride from Uncle Pete’s to Faith Home for Adoption gave us boys no indication of what was to come but I memorized the trail anyway.

As we drove up to the administration office, I was struck by the blinding whiteness of the buildings and I sensed a sterile cold attitude when the Superintendent, a Miss Trinity, met us outside and led us into her office. When she reached out to take Benji, he turned and grabbed me tight.

I said, No, I’ll carry ‘im.

Oh, very well, then, follow me. With stern confidence, Miss Trinity directed us to sit, and quickly propped herself at her desk.

Another lady in a white dress entered and came forward to hand her the bed allotment for us four newcomers with the complaint: Where are we going to put them all?

As I held Benji, and us four boys sat together on that old over-stuffed couch facing Miss Trinity, she pushed a buzzer on her desk and the cold attitude I had sensed sent a shock of fear through me when three ladies came through the door in sterile white uniforms.

She said, in a very emphatic way, For the time being, you will all be checked into the hospital.  Go with the nurses and do as they say.

One of the nurses, said, I’ll take the baby to the nursery, and you boys go with the other nurses.

The nurse reached for Benji and the others took Pete and Jim by the hand.

I cried out, No! You promised you’d keep us together!

Miss Trinity looked at me with surprise and concern, and in her authoritative way, made an attempt to soothe me.

I began to cry and scream, Once you separate us, how do I know we’ll ever be together again, and you promised. You promised we’d be together! You’ve got to keep us together!

I was absolutely horrified. I was carried to a cottage room and laid upon a bed where I cried myself to sleep, a fitful sleep with horrible nightmares wherein I struggled to reach my brothers who were being dragged off by goblins and monsters. From that day, I held a premonition that if I did not find some way to get us boys out of there, we would never find each other again.

Faith Home sprawled behind a huge fence right in the middle of Houston and just across the Buffalo Bayou from one ‘a the richest areas of the city, called the River Oates District, and directly across the street from the Monastery, Notre Dame. I could look out the window of the cottage room where I slept and watch the priests solemnly parading with their great Danes.

How I hated to be behind that big fence. To be locked behind that fence was a personal hell for me with cars passing by and people looking out their windows at us, at little kids rushing around like little animals being herded about. I was overcome with humiliation and shame.

Beautiful place though, it really was. I mean, nice white stucco cottages, great manicured lawns. But because of age, Benji had to stay in the nursery. Jim, because he was the oldest, had to go to another cottage. And when they put Pete and me in the same cottage, they put me in one room and Pete in another room. They lied, was my thinking, they said they’d keep us together. Right away, I just rebelled against all their authority. Whatever I did it was justified was my thinking. I thought it was a strange place, and I wanted to be with my people.

I remember, the first night we got there, I wet the bed. That next morning they rubbed my face in it and whopped me.  From that day on, while I was in that cottage, I pissed the bed every day.

The cottage matrons would make you carry your sheets, and all the kids would chime: Bed wetter! Bed wetter! Bed wetter!

They moved me to Mrs. Gentry’s cottage. Oh, she had her pets and all her tattletales. I was put in one of the first three rooms. I wanted to be in a room down the hallway where I could look out and see the big wooded ravine goin’ over to the buffalo bayou. I had explored that ravine and I knew it very, very well. My eyes were like an eagle’s eyes lookin’ out through there. I knew where every twig on every branch was. My brothers and I would go there and sit and watch the marsh hawk hunt. We knew where nests of flying squirrel were. We watched them daily, and we watched the robin build its nest. 

Mrs. Gentry said, We’ll put you back with your brother Pete as soon as you stop wettin’ the bed for a week.

I didn’t wet the bed again.  I’m thinkin’, that’s a purdy good deal ‘cause I had some plannin’ to do.

When I caught Pete coming out of the mess hall after that first week, I said, Come oen, let’s beat it out ‘a here.  I know where the back gate is.

Where’re we goin’?

We’re goin’ to Uncle Pete’s.

Uncle Pete ’ll fix it, won’t he, Jod?

We thought Uncle Pete could fix everything for us.

They caught us a few blocks from there, and when we got back:

Why did you run away? Miss Trinity asked.

You lied to us. You said you’d keep us together.

A Christmas Never to Forget – 1936

Early the day before Christmas, Mrs. Gentry said, Git ready. You’re dad is here to take you and yer brothers for Christmas.

Oh, boy! I cried.

And when I saw Pete, Jim and Benji in the office, we hugged and kissed. Oh, Pete, come on! and I grabbed his hand.

In the doorway stood my dad with a pretty blonde lady. She picked up and carried Benji, and we all got in the car.

My dad said, Boys, this is Jackie, y’alls new mama.

It sounded strange, and I felt uncertainty and a nagging doubt. Still, we were all excited and happy as we rode along to Uncle Pete’s house. Once there, four boys got in the car with Uncle Pete, Aunt Edith and Mary Louise, their adopted little girl.  My dad and Jackie rode together in his car. 

On the way to the family home in Silsbee, they stopped a couple ‘a times for a hit and a miss and a shot of whisk, and then, they pulled up at a café in the lively little town of Liberty in a farm community with pulp mills where we had breakfast. The grown-ups were rushing around Liberty doing last minute shopping while us boys sat in a booth waiting.

I was looking out the window and just happened to see the reflection of Jackie comin’ out of a store with presents in her arms. Boy, I thought, she’s a good one. I didn’t say a word. Now, I had a secret.

So, me and Pete, and Benji rode with my dad and Jackie. Jim rode with Uncle Pete. And as we rode on up into East Texas to Silsbee, the closer we got the more frequent were the stops. My dad had a case of apples and a case of oranges tied on the back bumpers of the Model A and he and Jackie were lovey-dovey and had to change Benji’s diapers and carried on about him. 

We finally drove up the hill to the big family house. There were a lot of cars parked around it, and a lot of people were waiving and kids playin’ and shoutin’.

Hi, y'all! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Y'all come on in, now, and everybody was kissin’ and huggin’.

It was glorious; it was so joyous to have this Christmas. Us kids played all kinds of games.  Then, they set us all down to a big supper and sang Christmas Carols. 

After supper, we all walked into this huge living room where stood a Christmas tree twenty feet tall with a star at the top and decorated so beautifully. They played carols on the Victrola and everyone sang so joyously. I was just filled with anticipation and happiness.

The aunts passed out cups of hot chocolate and cookies and sat around singing while us kids were all falling asleep. There must have been twenty kids from babies all the way up to army age. Everyone was taken care of and sleeping arrangements were made. With the  singing of Silent Night, I fell fast asleep.

I awoke to a glorious morning. The bells were jinglin’ and Santa Claus was just leavin’ with a: Ho!  Ho!  Ho! On Donner! On Blitzen! and fading away. All us kids were clappin’ and jumpin’ up and down with joy and anticipation.  It was so much fun.

We were ushered into the main room and seated on the floor in front of the tree. It was crowded in there, and presents, huge and small, were piled all around and underneath the tree. An electric train circled around and around it with little presents on it:  Toot!  Toot-toot!  Toot! Toot-toot!

Aunt Opal, my father’s younger sister, called out, All you Santa’s helpers, come forward, now.

As she called out the names, the first presents to go were the biggest ones, the Schwinn Flyer, a bicycle with a light and a horn, the scooters and the wagons. Then she said, No one is to leave until all the presents are given out.

No one paid any attention to me, so, I really paid attention. Oh, it was so much fun. It was wonderful watching the kids open their gifts, their eyes wide open and twinkling to see the toys inside.

They called out, Sugar Boy, the name my dad called Jim, and he came up there and opened the box to find a new Daisy bee-bee gun inside. Wow, I thought. Then, he got a Gene Autry Cowboy outfit with a hat a vest and little chaps and two little cap pistols.

A little while later, they called Jackie’s name, and she opened a big white box. She took out of it a full-length winter coat with a fur collar.

Benji got new toys, little rattles and baby outfits. Pete got a little Indian outfit with bow and arrows. Then, he opened up a box with a Buck Rogers ray gun that when you pulled the trigger, sparks came out.

My brothers got new clothes that they were tryin’ on while I stood on my knees looking at the Christmas tree watching the presents being given out and listening for my name. It took a long time. You could smell bacon and biscuits baking. Everybody was admiring what everyone got. Ding, what I called my oldest brother, Jim, he just couldn’t wait to get outside and shoot the bee-bee gun.

So, they call off the names and they pile up the gifts until there are less and less gifts around that tree.

Then, they passed out the gifts from the choo-choo train to the adults.

Aunt Opal, said, Oh, here’s one back here. Let’s see who gets this one, and she called another name.

All the gifts but one were gone, a tall white box. I just knew it was mine, and I walked right up, so excited.

Well, here is the last gift and it belongs to  Mary Louise!

Is that all that Santa Clause left? I asked.

Yes, that’s all the gifts.  Everybody clap, now.

They all clapped and, they said, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

I looked around, and said, Not one more present?

No more gifts, said Aunt Opal, and she turned me around and gave me a nudge, and said, Now, go play.

I choked. God Almighty, the pain I felt. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. When I turned around everything was a blur and all was silent. I made it to the porch where kids were going with their skates and wagons and, I thought, oh, Santa doesn’t like me. I stumbled down the stairs and hid under the high porch. Then, I turned and raised my eyes to see my dad up ahead sittin’ on the running board of a car. I walked up there, somehow. It seemed like it took me forever ‘cause I couldn’t catch my breath, my chest and my throat were so tight. I looked at my father, and I tried to say: daddy, daddy, why treat me this way, but no words would come.

A friend tapped my dad’s shoulder with a bottle of bond.

My dad said, Now, Jōd boy, you run along and play with all the gifts Santa Claus brought yu this Christmas.

Then he turned that whiskey bottle up and took a big swig, and I kind ‘a backed away. As I turned to leave, I heard him say:

I spent sebun hundred dollars on ‘em this Christmas, and they all laughed.

I walked away, somehow, and sat down on a big tree stump in the yard at the side of the house. I could see the kids playing with their new toys, and I wanted to get away, to leave right then, I was so ashamed. I thought: they don’t want me. This is not where I belong. I walked down the road to the mailboxes, and the old hound followed me.

I sat down on the ground and the thought that this family didn’t like me because they ignored me, saying not one word to me, hurt me more than had one ‘a them said, we don’t have a gift for you or Santa Claus doesn’t like you. But I just knew that they didn’t like me; they didn’t want me around. I felt that I was not a part of this family for whatever reason that was known only to them and to God.

As I sat by the side of the road, two wagons pulled by teams of mules came by full of grown-ups and children caroling and hollerin’:

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

I didn’t utter a sound and just looked at them.  The old hound laid his paw in my lap, nuzzled me in the ear and kissed me. He was the only living creature that felt my pain.

I heard a big bell ringing in the afternoon, and everybody hollerin’:

Come to dinner. Come to dinner!

I just sat there unable to move for the longest time. The old hound dog kept nudgin’ me and walkin’ toward the house, tellin’ me let’s go. So, I followed him back to the house and up on the back porch and through the back door, screened in.

I heard, Oh, here he is. He’s probably been out playin’.  Uh-huh, wash yer hands.

I washed my hands and came and sat down on the floor with a few other kids lined up. They set a plate of food in front of me but I could hardly swallow air, and I just looked at it. I kept my head down.

They said I was bashful but I was hiding the hurt and the shame I felt. They took the plate away, untouched, and said nothing.

Then, it was announced that everybody was leaving and to put all your things in the car. Uncle Pete and my dad were two of the first to leave. As they said their good-byes and has everybody got everything, I got in the car. There was huggin’ and kissin’ but I could not look at them.

One uncle, said, You’re purdy bashful, yah?  Well.

Strange to him here, was the answer my father gave for the humiliation and devastating pain I felt, for the destruction of the love and trust of son to father. But the devastation was done, and when the Christmas bells ring every year that hurt comes back like an old wound.

When we pulled up at Uncle Pete’s house, Aunt Edith asked me, Do yu need ta go to the bathroom?

Yes, I said.

I headed into the house to the bathroom but Mary Louise jumped in front of me and slammed the door, sayin’, I’m first.  I’m first! 

So, I went outside and stood by the screen door.  I just stood there, lookin’ in and watchin’ my dad and Jackie and the family talkin’, braggin’ about how good they looked and taking Kodak pictures of everyone in their outfits.

As Sugar Boy stood between our dad’s legs, they all bragged about how great he looked.

Aunt Edith said to my dad, I’m sure glad I got some Kodaks of him.

Okay, my dad said, Git the kids in here and we’ll all have somethin’ to eat before we go to bed.

After I ate, I laid on a palate on the floor and, mercifully, fell asleep but I dreamed horrible dreams that I was falling all night long.

The next morning, I washed up and put on the same clothes that I’d left Faith Home in while everyone else had new clothes on. It was as if I was invisible. But I would smile and try to be helpful; yet, no one said anything, not a word. 

As we were gettin’ in the car to leave, while they made sure that Sugar Boy, Pete and Benji, my dad and Jackie had all their stuff. No one said a word to me. Still, I tried to smile as I waved good-bye.

When my dad pulled up at the front gate of Faith Home, I jumped out and headed directly to the front door of the administration building.

My dad said, Ain’t yu goin’a give yer dad some sugar, Jod boy?

Git it from him! I cried out, pointin’ to Jim.

I thought I saw my dad go for his belt but I didn’t turn back. He carried Benji to the nursery.

Miss Trinity came outside, and said, Where are your things?

I’m wearin’ ‘em.

But you got presents. Where are your toys and things?

I got nothin’.

I looked back to see the car drive off. They didn’t wave or say good-bye.

I ran out of the building to my cottage and to my room and fell on the bed, totally crushed. Then and there, I uttered a silent prayer to God, and every Christmas Day of my life, I’ve repeated that prayer from deep down: May God rot their souls in hell.  Amen.

It was a vicious attack against a five and a half year old boy. I was so deeply ashamed that I had done something wrong in their eyes. It completely changed me. I became a person filled with anger and distrust. From that Christmas on when any adult tried to have any authority over me, I separated myself from them very fastly, fastly. I showed them no respect at all. My first line of attack was to call them every cuss word I knew. I just knew I had to get away, somehow.

Some kids teased me, chanting: Santa doesn’t like you. Santa doesn’t like you, but with anger and frustration, I fought back. I got punished for hurtin’ a couple of kids but I didn’t care. I had made up my mind that I was not goin’ to stay at Faith Home.

I laid on my bed for a while, and when I got up, I unlatched the window screen and got away that night but nearly froze to death. It made me realize that I must have matches, a knife, basic tools for survival, and I figured out, very quickly that from the boy scouts, I could get what I needed.

When Miss Trinity called us into her office and said: Your father is in Huntsville prison, so, you’ll be with us until we can find homes for each of you, I knew my fears were founded.  We had to get away.

The story goes that my dad got to runnin’ with Jackie’s brothers and those East Texas gangsters. They were real bank robbers, real bad people from Nacogdoches to Neches, sons of the Texas Badlands. Mr. Clyde Barrel and Miz Bonnie Parker were descendants of the people of that territory. So, my dad had been in a robbery.  Some of the gang had been killed but he was one of ‘em that lived, unlucky bastard.

There’s never been a Mason that’s been executed in Texas, for some ungodly reason. I don’t know why. But dad was a thirty-second degree Mason, nonetheless, and at the trial, when the judge sentenced him, instead of sentencing him to death, he gave my dad natural life plus thirty years. He would make his parole in a pine box out the back sally port of Huntsville Penitentiary.

Uncle Pete and Aunt Edith lived off of Harrisburg Boulevard in Houston. I must ‘a run off twenty times before I finally made it the twenty-five or thirty blocks to their house. It was the first time I’d made it to anywhere I’d started and Pete was with me. My family called the screws to take us back. Another time, I carried Benji, and all us brothers hopped a freight train to Beaumont, Texas, walked and hitchhiked and caught a ride on a bread truck to Silsbee without gettin’ caught. It was a tour of over two hundred miles along that big thicket to Aunt Aida’s. She called the coppers on us boys, didn’t even give us time to eat supper.

Uncle Pete had said that he would come to take us out on Sundays. So, I’d get Benji from the nursery, and four boys waited at the gate with anticipation but not one Sunday did he show. 

Now, I couldn’t understand why my aunts and uncles couldn’t take my brothers, no matter me. It was a delirious period in my life. In my mind, I was going through a great emotional tragedy at that time. So, though the concept and attitude of Faith Home was fine for some, in my mind, oh, what a terrible harm and injustice they were perpetrating on me. And the result of the tragedy and the mental torment that came over me was a desperate flight to escape their haven of humiliation.

I believed that the authorities didn’t like my father’s family in their intent to separate us and give us to strangers that they accepted as qualified. The way I saw it, we were for sale kids. But I was not for sale. That’s the impression I gave to the families that came on Sunday to look us over as the matrons of Faith Home tried to line us up for adoption; for, if they said anything to me, I would look at them with a sneer upon my face and with hostility in my mannerisms, like, I hated ‘em, and I did. They were startled by my madness. But that’s the way it was. I was filled with anger, hate and despair.

I can still recall seeing a woman with one arm akimbo raise the other arm to point a finger at a boy and then a girl, saying:

Well, we might like to try these two.

Oh, how I hated to be there. I felt so embarrassed that the first chance I’d get I’d run away and take as many brothers as would go.

They sent me, one time, with this family of white shoe wearin’ Liberty Baptists, till they stopped at the filling station and I was gone. I snatched the lady’s purse as I split.

They were pleading with me, Come back!  Oh, please come back. You haven’t seen — Oh, oh! 

I didn’t say a word. I just kept on goin’. I didn’t like it at Faith Home but at least there I had a chance to run.

I stayed gone for a long, long time. I succeeded in learning what not to do. I learned to identify and qualify my enemies. That was the key to my success. I figured, very early, if anyone’s goin’a give me away, it’s goin’a be me, to whoever I want ‘a be with, and as I went through life, I learned that it was a good decision. My older brother, Jim was totally different; he would do what they say and submit. He was the first of us brothers to go with a family, and the next to go was Benji. But I could not overcome that hurt and that desire to get away from them, that burning inward drive that made me want to escape from them holding me and taking me and doing what they want to with me.

One time when we run away from that Faith Home, it’s kind ‘a pourin’ rain. Boy, it‘s miserable. We get on one of these old roads and have no idea on earth where we’re at and, all of a sudden, we’re on this sandy riverbank down this ol’ bayou when we come to a divide and don’t know which way on this bank to go.

I’ll know which way I’m goin’.  Come oen, this way! I cry out.

My brother, Pete, and these other three kids with us, say, How do you know?

I knew, only, that I had to get away from there, driven by fear, a fear magnified by the visions of the orphan trains of the early thirties that I’d seen on the news real at the Saturday Matinee, The Eyes and Ears of the World, trains filled with thousands of unwanted and abandoned youth of the depression from the big cities of the East that were herded like cattle to the farmlands of the mid-west, sisters and brothers torn apart, picked, one, by this farmer here, the other by that farmer there with a swift indifference to their needs or desires to be together. Out of that fear comes a determined voice with my need to pick that trail away from Faith Home.

I’ll know! 

When the lightning flashes, all of a sudden, we think we see the old hobo.

Look!

Yah, Pete said.

Let’s catch ‘im!  He’ll know which way ta go.

Now, we run and we run till we’re just plumb run out when, at the top of sandy trail, I see a shed, so we duck inside.  Damn, it was all right. In the shed there was some hay and a settin’ chicken. We boys shoved that chicken off the nest. Had all them eggs. Got us an old milk pail, built a fire and boiled them eggs and some corn we found around there. Ah, it was nice.

You know how you’ll huddle around a fire when yer kids. It’s all so scary the things you talk about and yer a little scary, anyway.

So, I say, It’ll be all right. That ol’ hobo, he’ll be back.  He’ll see our fire and he’ll come back, and I have a feelin’ he’s close by.  So, we kept waitin’ and we all fell asleep. 

The next morning, here’s the owners lookin’ down on us, sayin’, Well, y'all come on up ta the house, now.

They took us on up to their house and fed us, and gave us to the people that came n’ got us n’ took us back to that Faith Home.

I remember the time that Miss Trinity brought me to the stage for punishment in front of everybody. Surprising as it may seem, when I got reprimanded for stealing, ah, what an encouragement it turned out to be, for, it brought me popularity with the other kids.

I was watching this kid bouncing on a long slender limb of the giant oak tree that stood by the back fence of Faith Home. The limb reached way out from the trunk of that powerful tree and beyond the fence. But when the kid let himself down to the sidewalk he couldn’t reach the limb to get back over the fence.

I called to Pete, Hey, you said you wanted some candy.  Let’s go across the street to the store.

We run by the girls’ cottages and pick up the skip rope lying on the ground where they usually left it. I rolled it up and brought it up the tree and out on that limb where I tied one end.  Then, I dropped down to the sidewalk and tied the other end of the rope to the fence. Hot dog, I was thinkin’.

So, Pete kept jiggers in the tree while I ran to the corner store. I had three pennies but I ducked a handful of root beer barrels in my pocket for Pete and the littler kids, and to cover, grabbed a five-cent candy bar at the counter.

The storekeeper took his apron off, and he was talkin’, I’ll be takin’ you right to your cottage. What cottage are you in?  Are you in Miz Abrams’ cottage?

No.  I’m in Miz Gentry’s.

The storekeeper made me hold the candy bar in my pocket and took me right to Mrs. Gentry. She took me right to the superintendent, Miss Trinity. They were talkin’ at me that I got caught stealing candy and that I was off the grounds without permission, which was punishable.

When I brought my hand out of my pocket with the candy bar: So, there it is. All right, we’ll keep you in the office till suppertime. We’re going to show you that you did something very, very naughty, Miss Trinity stated to me in the most proper manner.

While they were feedin’ me back in the kitchen, ― and they ain’t takin’ their eyes off ‘a me.  I ain’t got no chance ta flee, ― Miss Trinity, dressed in a business suit, shirt and tie, walked to the stage and clapped her hands.

She called out, Attention! Attention!

Everybody turned silent and stopped eating.

Today, something very serious happened across the street in Mr. Goodman’s store. One of our inmates was caught stealing! They bring me out from the kitchen.

Miss Trinity continues, It hurts all the children of Faith Home when something like this happens. This is the little thief that did it. Jod, are you ashamed of yourself?

I just stood there. All the kids see who I am. They all know me, and they give me recognition. Although, I don’t know what delight it was for her to stand me up in front of the whole crew and tell them that I was a thief and a bad boy and if it ever happened again, I would be seriously punished, — but for right now, she thought that this was punishment enough, — for me, it was gratification, not punishment. Their reaction inspired me to continuously defy them. I never copped to the root beer barrels, and Pete and the littler kids got their candy.

The next time I got myself restricted and punished in front of everybody, what came out of the ordeal was an unusual turn of events. I’d spent the afternoon in Miss Trinity’s office.

You’re going to get a thrashing. You’ve deliberately stepped on Mrs. Gentry’s glasses and smashed them. That’s the most terrible thing that I’ve ever heard of. For that, you’re going to be punished in front of everyone.

It had been a child’s desperate act but it had worked. I would not be going out the gate and down the street behind Mrs. Gentry, like a big mother hen with about thirty for sale kids following, two by two holding hands. The time before, I had refused to hold hands. At the picture show we didn’t buy tickets but just walked in where they passed out a little package of candy to each of us. While we waited in a line to be seated, oh, the smell of the popcorn and everything! Boy, it looked real purdy, the huge candy box and I ran over there in front of the glass, thinkin’, wow, look at this. I want one ‘a these, a Babe Ruth or a Butter Finger and a sack ‘a popcorn.

Mrs. Gentry grabbed hold ‘a me, saying, I told you to behave yourself. You’re not comin’ to a movie show again. 

I thought, oh, if I don’t behave I’m not goin’a do this again.  Good!  I could not accept self-humiliation.

There was a quiet that fell over the mess hall when Miss Trinity came to the stage after everybody had finished their food and had their ice cream and cake in hand. She clapped her hands and all eyes just immediately turned to her.

She said, There is one child at Faith Home who is going to be punished, and then, she walked across the stage, and said, You can bring him in, now, Mr. Watts.

The chef, a big man, took me by the shoulder and escorted me out on the stage. 

You’re goin’a git yoruns, now, he growled.

Miss Trinity continued, Jod has caused Faith Home more embarrassment than any other inmate here. He deliberately ―

She ran the story down to everybody, while their ice cream was melting, when they all knew already by word of mouth that I had stomped on Mrs. Gentry’s glasses. I was marched to the center of the stage.

To one of the cottage matrons, she said, The strap, please, and to me, Do you know why you’re getting this punishment?

I shook my head, yes. 

Miss Trinity said, Jod, bend over the table. 

The head members of the staff ate at this table on the stage to watch over everybody. 

I raised my eyes to see the looks on the kids’ faces with their eyes wide open, and on those of the cottage matrons’ that sat at the head of each table like royal rulers over their fledglings, and I wondered, what can I do. Then, as she hit me the first lick, I saw this kid’s mouth fall open and a piece of cake dribble