Gone but Not Forgotten: The Life and Times of William Oscar Austin Jr.

By William E. Austin

In these tough economical times it has been a popular assessment to try to compare this recession to the Great Depression. The stock market crash of 1929 led the way and by the time dust storms had turned the Farm Belt into the Dust Bowl hundreds of thousands of Americans were hungry, homeless, and barely alive. At the end of it all was a war that no one wanted, but everyone was willing to fight. Hitler and his Germans to the east and The Japanese Imperial Army to the west gave Americans a common theme that brought them together to bring this nation from the depths of poverty to the greatest nation on earth.
Gone But Not Forgotten is a true story about a man who lived through it all. The starvation and destitute of living with an alcoholic father in The Depression; the terror and inhumane conditions of World War II; the battles with alcohol and malaria that sent his world spiraling out of control; and finally finding peace and salvation through his creator. To live through all of this and still be able to relive these stories at eighty-nine is not only a blessing but is also a miracle.
When I first began writing this story I asked my dad if this is going to be a religious book. Before he could answer I realized that any book about my father would have to be a religious book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 8, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462830312

Book preview

Copyright © 2009 by William E. Austin.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2009913039

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4415-9977-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4415-9976-6

                   eBook                                 9781462830312

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:Xlibris [e-mail]

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Contents

William Oscar Austin Jr.

Son Of Honest John

The Meanest Men

Elizabeth Bryant

Columbia, South Carolina

Midway Was A Dangerous Place

Running Away From Home

Going Home To Go To School

The United States Army

I Love New York

Good-Bye Uncle Sam

The Craziest Man Gets Religion

One Drink Was All It Took

And The Lord Works In Mysterious Ways

Ahh . . . The Life Of A Boy Scout

The Move To Montgomery Heights

Back Pain And Company Strikes

Retirement And Back To School

Too Sick—Staph And Strep

Alma Lee Says Good-Bye

Alone Again But Never Alone

A very special thank you to Helen Palmer for the days and hours she has spent listening and taking valuable notes. It is because of her that this book becomes reality.

Thank you to Milton Shaw for reading, editing, and shaking out the errors that put Gone But Not Forgotten into a presentable format.

ALMA LEE COLEMAN AUSTIN

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William Oscar Austin Jr.

Born June 20, 1920

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WILLIAM OSCAR JR.

With baby Thomas Bryant

1922

This is the story of my life as I tell it to my son William Edward Austin. All of the stories about places, people, and memories are true as best as I can remember them. Much of the recalled dialogue herein is not exact, but it best conveys conversations and remarks made by others and me at those times throughout my life. To anyone who may feel inaccurately portrayed or left out, I give my most humble apology. This story is not intended to glorify or offend anyone. It is the story about my life at home and in foreign lands. It starts in the roaring twenties with a life of plenty that ended when the Great Depression stole our wealth and split our family. Leaving a broken family without a home, I left at the age of fourteen and found solace working and living with a farmer and his beloved wife. When I was eighteen, I enrolled in National Youth Administration School.

WILLIAM OSCAR JUNIOR

1923 and 1924

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After two years of school, I answered the call to battle and enlisted in the U.S. Army. Dodging Japanese bullets and friendly fire from our own troops, I was fortunate enough to survive World War II; however, I could not evade the malaria and yellow jaundice that saturated the jungles of the primitive countries I had been assigned to help liberate. I returned home to a hero’s welcome of hard liquor, loose women, and high unemployment. Desperately wanting to settle down and find peace in my life, I married a beautiful country girl. Although I had four children and a wife who was going blind, I found myself in a battle with the same demons that had haunted my family for decades. One hopeless night, the Lord sent a messenger through the voice of a Baptist preacher who pointed me in the right direction and gave my life a new meaning and a real purpose. I dedicate this book to all of the people who have reached out to help in my time of need. There have been many in the past as there are still those today who are truly my brothers and my sisters in the name of Jesus Christ.

This story is dedicated to the loving memory of my wife, Alma Lee, who lost so much through her blindness, yet gave so much to our children and me. She is forever loved and greatly missed.

WILLIAM OSCAR JR.

1947

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CEDARTOWN GEORGIA

Early 1920s

*Courtesy of Polk County Historical Society

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Son Of Honest John

Violent Times and Moonshine

HONEST JOHN THOMAS AUSTIN

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William Oscar Austin Sr., my father, was born in 1884 in Cedartown, Georgia. He was the youngest son of a northwest Georgia farmer, Honest John Thomas Austin (b. 1857), and Georgia Brannon Austin (b. 1863). The family of ten included his brothers Gene, Walt, Jack, and Jim; and three sisters Minnie, Stella, and Lois. The younger brother, Jim died from unknown causes at the age of nineteen. His grave is in a cemetery in Cave Springs, Georgia. It is on the top of a hill with a beautiful view of the Blue Ridge Mountain foothills and is marked by a tombstone donated by the Woodmen of the World that is a sculpture of a tree.

The family lived in a large antebellum plantation house. My grandfather owned six mules, a horse and a buggy, and two tenant houses. They grew cotton, corn, wheat, and syrup cane on the family farm that was just off the Prior Station Road that ran west out of Cedartown, and into Alabama. My father was a handsome but rugged little man who stood about five feet and two inches tall. He had a taste for liquor, a poor disposition, and a will to fight. Living along the Georgia-Alabama iron ore belt, the boys grew restless of the farm life and sought employment in other industries. My Uncle Jack went to work for Goodyear. My father, Walt, and Gene became proficient steam shovel operators and traveled from one mining town to the other; they worked as long as the work held out and then moved on to the next job.

The close-knit group of boys had their squabbles. One Saturday, my grandfather, who I called Pa, told the boys that if they finished their work by noon, they could all go to town. Gene skipped out of work and told the other boys that he was going to town anyway. The brothers responded by using chains to tie Gene to a tree while they all went to town. They returned that night and set him free. When Pa found out, he laid the strap to all of the boys for what they had done to Gene.

Drinking and fighting were the major forms of adult entertainment in the late 1800s. To procure their liquor, townsfolk would venture out into the mountains to a place called the Bell Tree. True to its name, there was a bell hanging from a limb of the tree. Beneath the bell was a stump. My father made regular trips to the Bell Tree. From a pile of wooden sticks that were cut to different lengths, Dad would take the one that represented the amount of liquor he wanted to buy. He would then lay down his money and place the stick on top of it. He would ring the bell, leave, and come back thirty minutes later to find that the money and stick were replaced by a bottle of moonshine also known as White Lightning or Corn Liquor. The Georgia-Alabama state line was absolutely the perfect place to moonshine whiskey. Bootleggers could run their operation out of Georgia until the law-enforcement agencies discovered them and then move just a few feet or yards over into Alabama where they were safe from the Georgia revenuers. The craft of distilling illegal whiskey in the Georgia-Alabama foothills continued until late in the twentieth century.

Violence was a common occurrence in this backwoods community. It was prevalent in the schools, in the bars, and in the churchyards.

A young boy was so angered by being expelled from school that he began throwing rocks through the school’s windows. He broke nearly all of them until the school let out and the students were sent home.

My father’s best friend and drinking pal, Johnny was upset with him over a girl. He came into a store looking for Dad, saying he was going to beat the hell out of him. My father climbed up on a beer barrel and said, Here I am. I’m right over here, Johnny.

Johnny rushed at him just as Dad brandished a quart liquor bottle and broke it over Johnny’s nose, knocking him unconscious. Dad said, I ‘kiltzed’ him.

The sheriff put Daddy in jail and told him that if Johnny lived, he would set him free. If Johnny died, he would charge him with murder. One day, a man approached me, smiled, and pointed to a scar across the bridge of his nose and said, Your daddy did that to me.

WILLIAM OSCAR AUSTIN SR.

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Tombstone of James D. Austin

Cave Springs, Georgia

May 1, 1890 – Nov. 1, 1909 (unknown)

Son of John Thomas and Georgia Brannon Austin

Monument provided by Woodmen of the World

Photograph courtesy of:

Michelle Beckman Cedartown, Georgia

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 The Meanest Men

One of the meanest men around was a man I’ll call Bill. It was said that Bill had several wives. One day, a man from town came out to visit Bill. The two men walked around to the back of the barn and a shot rang out. Bill walked back around and announced, Well, I guess I just paid that debt.

One of the most revered religious festivals is called the All Day Singing. Church members from the community pack picnic baskets with all kinds of delicious food that is served in the afternoon following a morning of singing gospel songs. Everyone would break for lunch and then return to the church and continue with the singing until well into the afternoon. One day when Dad was making a rare appearance at a singing, this fellow Bill showed up in a drunken and irritated state of mind. He pulled out his pistol and ordered two men to get on their hands and knees and eat grass like a cow. The two men obeyed his order, but when Bill started walking away, one of the men pulled out his pistol and fired a shot that just missed Bill’s ear. As Bill turned to look around, the second shot found its mark, and Bill lay dead on the churchyard grass. Needless to say, the All Day Singing broke up early that Sunday afternoon.

Uncle Jack owned a meat market. He claimed that he could slaughter a cow, skin it, and cut it in quarters in thirty-five minutes. Every day, an old man would come into the store, sit down, and stay all day. Clarence, who worked for Uncle Jack, proposed that he and Jack put a scare into the old man by starting a fight. They took their positions. Clarence picked up a butcher knife and Jack got his pistol. Clarence came around the meat counter screaming obscenities as he headed for Jack who was at the register holding the pistol. The wide-eyed old man stomped his foot on the wooden floor and belted out, Ye better shoot him, Jack. He’s vancin on ye!

My father often felt the urge to be outrageous when consuming large amounts of whiskey. It was very late on a cold and snowy night as dad drove along in a horse and buggy. He noticed the lights were on in a farmhouse. He stopped at the house, knocked on the door, and asked the farmer if he had any meal. The farmer said that he did indeed have some meal. My father replied, Well that’s a damn good thing to have on a cold morning like this.

As the man retreated for his gun, my dad hastily made his way back to his buggy and hurried down the road as he heard shots ring out and the bullets whizzed by his head.

My father once took a lot of money from a black man in a poker game. Angry and wanting to get revenge, the man blindsided my father, knocking him unconscious. When Dad woke up, he got his pistol and chased after the man, firing several rounds without hitting him. Another time, my father was hospitalized when he put up a fight against a man with a knife who was robbing him out of seven dollars. When asked why he didn’t just let the man have the money, he said, It was the principles.

My father went to court drunk one time and cussed out the judge. The judge said, When you come back in here drunk again, I’m going to dress you like a zebra. When he went back to the same judge, he was told that if he apologized to the judge, the judge might let him go with just a fine. When the judge asked him if he had been drinking, he told the judge that he had to have a drink to get up the nerve to apologize. The judge fined him fifty dollars. My grandfather paid the fine.

Elizabeth Bryant

ELIZABETH BRYANT AUSTIN

With Alma Lee’s niece Penny Coleman

(1949)

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Sometime in 1918 in Jennifer, Alabama, my thirty-four-year old father met a very young and spirited sixteen-year-old girl named Elizabeth. She was the daughter of an Irish father, Andrew Bryant, and a half-German, half-Sioux Indian mother, Adeline Scoggins. Because of the reputation of the Irish being lazy and drunken, Mr. Bryant changed the family name from O’Brien to Bryant to try and escape the enigma that was tied to the Irish heritage so that he could find work.

Elizabeth was not happy living at home with her father who hoarded his