A Little Boy in Utopia, Georgia: A collection of true childhood stories from the south in the 60s.

By Phil Jones

The little boy grew up in a very rural part of South Georgia in the 1960s. It was a small farming neighborhood just outside the town limits of Nashville, in Berrien County. It was a time when kids could ride their bikes two miles to town, spend the afternoon at the movies, and return home by dark. After nightfall, the agenda included collecting fireflies in a jar covered with one of mom's old stockings. A jar of fireflies would guard through the night and keep the monster confined beneath the bed. While collecting the fireflies, the calls of the Bob-white Quail and Whippoorwill would serve as company and assurance that good prevailed even in the dark confines of the surrounding forests.

On windy evenings, whistling sounds came from the needles of the tall pines, and in a distant pasture, a cow might bellow to her calf as the day ends. Moms knew kids would return to the house before the last ray of sunshine because kids followed rules. Moms were confident that kids would be alright venturing out alone. Few moms worked, and neighbors watched each other's homes and kids. Bad people existed, but none so twisted to want to take a kid. Country living was a great life and provided a world of entertainment for little boys. South Georgia will forever be his childhood home. Dan grew to be quite a storyteller. The stories came easily because they were true. As time passed and the stories were told to new acquaintances, or anyone who did not experience such a childhood, they became real treasures. They serve as a direct line to a past life. They were the result of living happily in a world that no longer exists and can only be relived in memories or on pages like the ones in this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098348601

Book preview

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Copyright 2019 by Phil Jones

All Rights Reserved

Print ISBN 978-1-09834-859-5

eBook ISBN 978-1-09834-860-1

Acknowledgements

I thank my agent and editor,

R.K. Young

for her continuous patience through the process.

I thank

Alan McClung

Hazel Hawkins

Ken Kinard

Lindsi Jones

for editing, assistance and encouragement.

Foreword

The little boy grew up in a very rural part of South Georgia in the 1960s. It was a small farming neighborhood just outside the town limits of Nashville, in Berrien County. It was a time when kids could ride their bikes two miles to town, spend the afternoon at the movies, and return home by dark. After nightfall, the agenda included collecting fireflies in a jar covered with one of mom’s old stockings. A jar of fireflies would guard through the night and keep the monster confined beneath the bed. While collecting the fireflies, the calls of the Bob-white Quail and Whippoorwill would serve as company and assurance that good prevailed even in the dark confines of the surrounding forests.

On windy evenings, whistling sounds came from the needles of the tall pines, and in a distant pasture, a cow might bellow to her calf as the day ends. Moms knew kids would return to the house before the last ray of sunshine because kids followed rules. Moms were confident that kids would be alright venturing out alone. Few moms worked, and neighbors watched each other’s homes and kids. Bad people existed, but none so twisted to want to take a kid. Country living was a great life and provided a world of entertainment for little boys. South Georgia will forever be his childhood home. Dan grew to be quite a storyteller. The stories came easily because they were true. As time passed and the stories were told to new acquaintances, or anyone who did not experience such a childhood, they became real treasures. They serve as a direct line to a past life. They were the result of living happily in a world that no longer exists and can only be relived in memories or on pages like the ones ahead.

A Little Boy in Utopia, Georgia Phil Jones

A collection of true tales from the rural south

Episode 1: Aunt Della and the Great Chicken House Scare

Episode 2: Young Love

Episode 3: Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Place with a Baptist Preacher

Episode 4: The Whirlwind Tour of Florida

Episode 5: The Catfishermen

Episode 6: Miss Chief

Episode 7: Cal and the Red Clay Underwear

Episode 8: Holding onto Dixie

Episode 9: Frostie Root Beer, Jo-Jo, and Topp Cola

Episode 10: What?

Episode 11: Aunt Mamie, Rufus, and the Tobacco Warehouse Snack Bar

Episode 12: Kissin’ Cousins and a Skunk

Episode 13: Family Reunions

Episode 14: Greyhound Granny

Episode 15: The Horses Get Loose and Mama Kisses the Bedroom Door

Episode 16: The City Pool and the Haunted Hotel

Episode 17: The Smokehouse Movie Theater

Episode 18: Mottney and a Toe in the Spokes

Episode 19: Mayo, Jack, and Clarance

Episode 20: Tara, the Ox, and the Marvelous Majestic

Episode 21: Sleeping with Chickens

Episode 22: A Little Boy Becomes Mayor

Episode 23: The Burger Box

Episode 24: Elvis and Donny

Episode 25: Tidbits and Travels

Episode 26: The Six Flags Over Georgia Host

Epilogue: What is Utopia?

Episode 1

Aunt Della and the Great Chicken House Scare

Those South Georgia summers sure did get hot. The little boy entertained himself by riding his gold banana seat bicycle two-tenths of a mile to visit his Aunt Della and her brother, Uncle Carl. They lived in a traditional farmhouse, with a wooden front porch and no air conditioning. Entering the house was like stepping into a living museum. Only the dining room and kitchen way back in the rear of the house had ever been painted. Strings serving as pull chords attached to single light bulbs hung from the ceilings throughout the house. There was no washer, no dryer, no dishwasher, practically no modern conveniences. The only plumbing was to the kitchen sink. They used an outhouse until sometime in the 1970s. In your head, you may have a picture of people existing in extreme poverty, but they were far from poor. They had lived during a time when such items simply did not exist, and the gift of daily living brought all the happiness they needed.

The purpose of riding the bike in that miserable baking heat that day was the simple reward of sitting in one of those big wooden porch rockers and listening to Aunt Della talk, as she cooled herself with a paper fan on a stick, usually from the funeral home, a church, or a bank. If she noticed the sweat dripping from the boy’s body, she would offer a Pepsi or water and a dry rag. Always choosing the Pepsi, the boy never drank her water because it had a heavy taste of rust and things could be seen floating in the glass. The water came from an incredibly old open top well out behind the house. Rocking on that porch was one of the happy places for the little boy. It was the greatest of simplicity and relaxation. Days growing up in Utopia, Georgia were mostly great, except when the horses and/or cows got out, but that is another story.

Being frightened or scaring someone was always a little boy thrill. Early one evening just before dark, Dan and his younger friend from down the road got their wits scared beyond imagination. Way, way out behind Dan’s house was the chicken house with an elaborate roost and maybe 50 nests inside. At one corner and bottom of the building was a small, sawed out hole through which the chickens could exit the house to the yard, the sunshine, water, and food. It was right at ground level and the chickens would have to stoop low and crawl through the hole one by one.

Country fun and entertainment included herding the chickens around their enclosed yard outside the house, using tobacco sticks, and then corralling them, forcing them to enter the house through the hole. When all chickens were inside the house, they were encouraged to roost for the night. The boys had been told not to run the chickens too much. Tiring them out and upsetting them would result in less eggs.

This evening the boys knew they should have been in their homes long ago but there never seemed to be enough time for fun and they convinced each other no one would mind them being a little late for supper. Besides, seeing to it the chickens were properly roosted was important work. Who else would do it? While relishing in this backyard delight, as well as exhausting the chickens, the young boys heard a strange sound. It was coming from the west wall of the house. Both boys stopped still and dropped their sticks staring at each other in horror. The noise came again, this time barely audible but it was a definite growling. The two boys had been to the marvelous Majestic Theater in downtown Nashville together many times and no time had they ever stayed for the vampire or werewolf movies. They were not certain exactly how werewolves might sound, or how they stalked their prey, but this was probably it. They knew what werewolves looked like from posters they had seen. They knew werewolves could walk like men but were much larger and very hairy like a dog, usually dark. They suddenly realized they had been herding chickens in near darkness. It was time for such creatures to begin their nightly lurking. The dry dirt inside the chicken house had been thoroughly stirred and thick dust was flying everywhere highlighted by the streaks of golden twilight piercing through long cracks in the walls. Dan fanned the dust and ever so slowly turned toward the wall.

The sun had almost set completely but the slender rays of light revealed the terrifying sight. There it was! The black silhouette of something like a man was moving ever so slowly toward the corner of the building. It was bent low as if trying to hide. If it rounded the corner, it could easily block the only escape. Both boys now stared, froze in horror, electrified from head to toe, unable to move. The thing stopped and let out an evil growl. Both boys turned for the chicken house door, pushed it open wide, and ran as fast as two legs could move their bony bodies. They dropped their tobacco sticks enabling them to increase their speed, too frightened to look back. The friend from down the road took the lead, grabbed his bike, jumped on it while still running, and swiftly pedaled straight to his house. Realizing he was now alone in the dark with a monster on his heels, the little boy began to yell wildly.

At last safe inside the house, he screamed mama, there’s something out there at the chicken house, gasping for air. Of course, there is, came the unexpected reply, followed by uncontrollable laughter. Between gasps, the boy whined why is Aunt Della here? It’s not funny! He fell to the floor on his knees, his breathing out of control. Mama explained that the monster was Uncle Carl wearing a terrifying mask. It being near dark, she had called Aunt Della to ask if the boys were there and to send them home because supper was ready. They had hatched this plan, and with the help of a fun-loving Uncle Carl, succeeded in scaring the dickens out of the boys chasing the chickens. Everyone but Dan got a good laugh. The little boy now owns that mask and often dreams of the great chicken house scare.

Ready for another story? This one is all about revenge. The younger friend from down the road and Dan dreamed of scaring Aunt Della. The two boys were together almost daily. Being made of frogs, snails, and puppy dog tails anything could happen at any time. It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. They made a plan that had them laughing happily as they bicycled themselves down the hot road toward Aunt Della’s house on stilts. It was not really on stilts, but three feet off the ground it always made curious boys dream about what might be under there and they did not have to stoop too low to go underneath.

Curiosity was not in the plan today. Aunt Della lived alone, after the death of her brother, Uncle Carl, and the boys laughed with excitement imagining her running from the house screaming for help. Or maybe they would hear her dial the phone (yes, she did have a party line phone) to call someone to get the spooks from under her house. Arriving at the house, they crawled underneath the bedroom. Aunt Della always watched television there. They positioned themselves directly below the target. They held their mouths trying to stop their laughter. Dan reached up to tap the floor but had to stop to stifle laughter once again. He reached up again and tapped the floor while his younger friend from down the road made wailing sounds.

There was silence. More wailing, and more silence. They heard the sound of Aunt Della getting out of her chair. Snickering, holding mouths, and trying to breathe without making sounds, the boys were absolutely bursting with anticipation. They were certain their wailing had been heard and any second now Aunt Della would run out screaming. The boys continued staring at each other with wide eyes, trying to stop laughing. There was no running. There was no screaming.

The television went quiet followed by more wailing and another bump to the floor from underneath the house. Giggles slipped out and oh what a happy place it was. They followed the sound of footsteps above them. They heard a door creak open and shut followed by the footsteps until they stopped just above them. Once again there was silence. It lingered on and on. It became unbearable. Imaginations ran wild and fear began to take hold. What was she doing? The silence continued. Sweat was popping out on the brows of both little ghouls as they stared into each others eyes. Worry was evident on both faces. Then came the loud, heavy thump followed by a few more seconds of silence. At last, in her calmest voice, Aunt Della proclaimed loudly, All right now, come on out from under there, I got my shotgun ready.

Eyes widened, dust and sweat beaded throats gulped, and soon two little boys could be seen running and jumping on bicycles as if chased by a ghost. There had been no screaming. There had been no phone call. There were only two barefoot country boys running from a shotgun they had never seen.

In Dan’s lifetime, he had cried uncontrollably at only two funerals. The first was when Aunt Della died at age 93, some 30 years after that frightful day. The other was when his mom died at age 82, about 18 years later.

Next: Love strikes everyone sooner or later. For the little boy it was sooner. And later, some young fishermen catch more than just catfish.

Episode 2

Young Love

Children love their mothers in a unique and everlasting relationship. At a young age, in the early 1960s, the little boy discovered a unique kind of love. He met his first love in kindergarten. The classroom consisted of two tables, the blue bird table and the red bird table. Based on family status, Dan and Vicky were assigned to the lesser red bird table. The bluebirds immediately began to vie for domination. The redbirds, unconcerned with status, quickly became friends. Dan and Vicky fell in love. It was not a romantic love, but indeed, a deeply shared affection. It’s a friendship that has remained constant to this day. Well almost. That’s another story.

Kindergarten ended with the culmination of one of the best shows ever presented in Nashville, Georgia. Dan was cast as one of the singing sailors. His mates included Marty, Lee, Robbie, and Richard. Together they performed Anchors Away. Later in the show the cast of sailors changed costumes and became monkeys. Their costumes consisted of red pants and vest with gold trim. The vest sported big buttons. A tail pinned to the pants completed the ensemble. The finishing touch was a small round cup for a hat with a little tassel on top. The boys’ show stopping number was Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. Monkeyshine memories and his affection for Vicky went together with his second love, Elvis Presley.

The marvelous Majestic Theater was introduced to the little boy by his mama when he was 6 years old. It became a center of entertainment that was to have a major influence on his life. The movie that day was Roustabout, starring Elvis Presley. Stepping through the front doors of the Majestic Theater, he experienced the greatest fragrances ever to strike his nose. The aroma of hot dogs, French fries, popcorn, chilly dilly-pickles, cola syrup, and the scent of pine oil was driven through the lobby and out the front door by the huge auditorium fan. The wind was so strong the boy strained to get through the front door. Inside, the theater manager handed the boy a black and white glossy picture of the young Elvis Presley playing a guitar. He still has that picture today. Moments later Elvis burst onto the screen playing the role of a singer and all-around great guy working in a carnival until his motorcycle can be repaired. He rode on a Ferris