The Still Hog Theory: The Times and Memories of Ray Miller

By Ray Miller

The Still Hog Theory captures the life and times of Ray Miller who grew up in the rural South. He was born at the end of the Great Depression and the start of World War II. His vivid memory of events of early childhood allows him to portray what these events meant to real people.

He tells of the many adventures of growing up far removed from modern conveniences. His childhood was spent around a mill complex consisting of a corn mill, cotton gin, lumber mill and country store. He shares the many hilarious events that accompanied these years. He was an avid swimmer but never owned a swim suit until he joined the Army. He was a good student in a two-room country school and shares the adventures of the many characters who attended. He later attended a consolidated county high school where he played in the band that could have been the inspiration for the Music Man. The ones who could think did use the think method. He shares the strategy of running for and being elected Student Body President.

He attended college at Georgia Tech and for the first time in his life had the feelings and emotions of one being in a situation completely over ones head. He was an average college student but received the education he needed working a part-time job in the data processing department at Georgia Tech. He was graduated from Georgia Tech in 1961. He entered the computer field as a salesman for a large manufacturer and writes of the rapid growth and changes in that industry.

He recounts the history of his family which has been in this country since 1622. His family has been in his home county for almost 200 years and the adventures of his extended family are captured in his many stories.

The last twenty five years of his career he served as President/CEO of a data processing company. He attributes the success of the company to the lessons he learned from watching three hogs during slopping time.

The Still Hog Theory is a lesson of the satisfaction and success that can be enjoyed by keeping it simple.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 13, 2006
• ISBN: 9781469111216

Ray Miller

Ray Miller pastored for twenty years before serving as a missionary in the Philippines for fifteen years. He earned a DMin from Asia Pacific Theological Seminary in Baguio City, Philippines. He now serves with Assemblies of God US Missions. He is the author of Training Spirit-Filled Local Church Leaders for the Twenty-First Century.

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Copyright © 2006 by Ray Miller.

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Contents

Preface

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXX

Chapter XXXI

Chapter XXXII

Chapter XXXIII

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Preface

Christmas 1999, I received as a gift from my daughter Sally; a small tape recorder and a handful of blank tapes. It seemed that she and her sisters, Chris and Allison, had decided that I would write my memoirs. I was to record my thoughts and then pass the tapes on to one of them to be transcribed. I gave it a go and sent Sally the first three tapes. When I read what I had recorded I knew that this was not going to work. I just did not have the ability to organize my thoughts using that contraption. So in early 2000 I cranked up my Microsoft Word program and began a five year effort.

The girls had always been fascinated by the simple life I had led as a child. Being born at home, bathing in the creek, living on a muddy road and not having a telephone seemed a story from the Dark Ages to them. The more I wrote the more I realized that simplicity had been the key to everything I had known and all the success and happiness I had enjoyed. The girls never understood why I always wanted vanilla ice cream. The answer was, I liked vanilla. How could any flavor be better than vanilla?

I love to read and have spent my life reading hundreds of biographies of famous people. Most of them have one thing in common. They are unhappy. And their unhappiness was usually rooted in their desire for more and more and letting complexity creep into their lives. If we don’t learn from what we read we may as well not read. We study history to see what went wrong then continue to do the same thing over and over. All wars are caused by trying to appease evil. We learn nothing from this and continue to try to appease evil.

The success and happiness I have known is mostly due to learning what not to do. I worked for one large company and two start-up ventures. All their problems stemmed from not keeping it simple. The world does not understand the difference in complication and sophistication. Complication is putting together a group of things that won’t work hoping somehow that things will work out. Sophistication is putting together a group of simple ideas that have stood the test of time.

When I put together Southeastern Data my partners and I combined basic solid ideas with the wonderful new technology that came our way. The result was a simple system that worked and cost a minimum amount to develop and maintain. Our competitors let technology drive their thinking and wound up with complicated systems that were expensive and in most cases didn’t work. When confronted by wild claims by our competitors our reply was We are just ole country boys trying to get the job done.

The world’s idea of success is a $6,000 watch that you have to jump up and down to keep running and it doesn’t keep good time. My idea of success is a $39 watch that keeps perfect time and you change the battery every three years. The best way to stop up a sink is to stick a rubber stopper in the hole. The world likes a ten-piece bunch of junk hung together with a chain that requires tearing out a wall to fix. (And the sink won’t hold water.)

Cell phones are the best example of technology gone awry. We all grew up watching Dick Tracy and his wrist radio. We now have a wrist radio that has taken control of our lives. The telephone was one of the world’s greatest inventions. We have taken that and turned it into a slave master. We never have one minute’s peace. I have seen those damnable things interrupt everything including a high tech pastor whose phone went off during a graveside service. I have refused to play this game. My cell phone stays in my truck turned off. When I want to use it I turn it on. I have no idea what my cell phone number is. If Alexander Bell had invented the cell phone first Mr. Watson would have answered, Can you hear me now?

This past Memorial Day, 2005, my son-in-law Joe, grandson Graham, and I went boating on the Potomac. What a great adventure it is to ride up through all the monuments in D.C. and see the beautiful homes like Mt. Vernon from the river. On board the boat we had a C.B. radio, a ship to shore radio, a cell phone for local calls, another cell phone for long distance, a global positioning system, a Palm Pal, and a Blackberry to check on our e-mail. The purpose of the trip was to get away from it all.

The more I wrote the more I was convinced that simplicity had been the key to my life. I learned everything I needed to know when I was four years old watching my brother and father slop the hogs. The hogs held the secret that I am going to share.

Prologue

The purpose of this writing is to pass on to my children and grandchildren the heritage of their past. Even though I was born well into the 20th century I was blessed to be surrounded by people who were born in the 19th century and were willing to take the time to share their memories. I especially remember my grandmother, Julia Sims Lovern, telling me about the families on my mother’s side. She was a very patient woman and would spend hours telling me stories from her past. Her information has allowed me with the help of the Henry County History to trace our family back to some of the six original families in the county. Watts, Cloud, Elliott and Hinton are all long-time Henry County families who are our ancestors on both maternal and paternal sides.

Chapter I

I was born May 20, 1939 at the end of the Great Depression and just as Hitler was marching his troops across the face of Europe. However, I have always felt an attachment to a generation or so before my time. I think this comes from growing up in the country where times had not changed very much since my father’s time. Electricity was the only notable change. Dirt roads, drawing water from a well, and the walk down the path to the potty were the same as generations before.

A very early recollection was the blacksmith shop still being in operation. It was a fascinating place with the fire burning and being stoked by turning a handle to power the bellows that furnished the air to make the fire very hot. Zack Henderson, a relative of Grandpa Dave Miller, was the blacksmith I remember. I was only two years or so old when the shop closed. It still stands on Hwy 155 just north of the mill complex. The shop was built by my grandfather who had been a blacksmith since his early childhood.

On December 7, 1941 I was 2 ½ years old. Pearl Harbor Day. I remember it as though it was yesterday. It was on a Sunday afternoon when we heard it on the radio. We had been visiting up at Mae and Nell’s (my grandfather’s half-sisters). Their house is still standing just north of the blacksmith shop. I remember the war being all the talk. Even though it was December I remember that we were sitting on the front porch. This was my introduction to World War II which was to have a profound effect on my life.

World War II caused me to have a lot of memories of that time since everything was so dramatic. I remember everyone being at home. Trudy, the eldest sister, was married in 1942 at the height of the war. Her husband, Robert Clark, was in the Army Air Corps so she was at home also. Just before the birth of her son, Bobby, I recall that we had to spend a couple of weeks with my Uncle Loy, Mother’s brother. He lived in Hapeville just at the end of the runway of old Candler Field, now Hartsfield International. Trudy had a heart murmur and some complications were expected. Since we lived way out in the country we couldn’t be that far from a hospital if that occurred.

It was an exciting time for me. It was the middle of the war and every night we had to observe a blackout. All shades drawn and all outside lights turned off. I am not sure how we expected the Japanese or the Germans to bomb us from Tokyo or Berlin but it seemed to put everyone in the spirit of doing their part.

Uncle Loy was a practical joker and Aunt Winnie liked a good time also. Grandpa and Grandma Lovern were nearby so I was getting plenty of attention. Grandma Lovern called me Little Boy Blue. One Friday night we went to the Methodist Church to hear an exciting new gospel singing group, the LeFevre Trio. Alf Lefevre and his brother sang lead and tenor. Alf’s wife, Eva Mae, played piano and sang alto. It was a glorious event. I remember their theme song was Farther Along. At this writing in 2000 Eva Mae is still alive. I have known two of her sons through the years. One was in the Army with me. I also knew another fellow who played drums for them after they went hip in the 80’s. They sang at many of my electric co-ops’ annual meetings and have been a part of our culture for all these years.

Uncle Loy worked for the Post Office. His vehicle was a Baby Austin, a tiny little car made in England. He took me to work with him one day and let me ride in the Austin. For some reason we went in a bowling alley. It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that. I reported to Mother that they were knocking down milk bottles with a ball. (I have always been good with analogies). Loy came out of the bathroom one day and I asked what he was doing with a large jar in his hand. He tried to explain that he had a case of hemorrhoids and he was going to put that ointment on me as well. At the last moment Mother saved me from that dreadful thought.

The baby’s birth went well. So we left the excitement of the city, watching the DC 3’s land and take off, and returned to our home in the country where everyone anxiously awaited our return with the new baby.

Robert Hilton Clark, Jr. (Bobby) was born March 12, 1943 and was indeed a beautiful child. He had a round face and a lock of hair that draped his face. He was the center of attention and very smart. I remember he had a little rocking chair that we both enjoyed. Even though he had all this attention I remember his being very polite and we seemed to share everything we had. I was not jealous of him at all even though he was my Father’s pride and joy. His mother worked so he and I spent our days under the loving, watchful eye of my Mother. Even though he was a toddler I made him a part of my everyday play.

Before the days of TV and video games we had vivid imaginations. And everyone had to have imaginary playmates. My playmates were Adolph Hitler and Grady McCullough. I heard so much about Adolph that I assumed he must be a neat fellow and certainly would be a good playmate. Grady McCullough was the song leader at Union Methodist Church and my boyhood idol. He was a rather large man with a booming tenor voice. His wife, Miriam, was the pianist. She was part of the Ricks family in our community. I dreamed of one day Grady allowing me to lead the singing. Meanwhile Grady and I sang away in the woods all day. Grady, the tenor, me, the bass. (Hitler couldn’t sing).

Many years later after his retirement, my wife Martha and I became very close to him and Mickey (Miriam) and I was able to tell him how special he had been to me in those early years. It was my privilege to deliver the eulogy at his funeral. At this writing Mickey is still alive but in a nursing home in Rome, Ga. I have visited her on two occasions. Their two daughters Beverly and Barbara are both accomplished musicians. Barbara’s daughters have beautiful voices and sing as a trio. (Miriam died in 2001.)

I remember my fourth birthday May 20, 1943. You couldn’t buy anything during that time. My present was a turtle that was made of some ceramic or Plaster-of-Paris material. We used it for a door stop for years but some time in the early 50’s, when we were living up at the little store, someone broke into the house and my turtle was one of the things that were stolen.

I also remember around my fourth birthday that Betty, sister number two, took me to Atlanta to have my picture made. Being the last of five, pictures were not very exciting so there are no professionally made baby pictures of me. I believe this was the first one ever made at a studio. We went to Stockbridge and caught the train. That was the first and only time I ever rode the train to Atlanta. We got there and made our way to the studio. I had on a new tweed suit which I remember scratching. Having grown up in a house full of adults I was probably a lot older than four years would indicate. I remember being so amused at the photographer. He had a hand puppet that he would run up behind the camera trying to make me smile and I thought how silly that was. I really had no idea what he was trying to do. The pictures turned out well and several copies are still around.

A vivid memory of the war was rationing. We had to have stamps to buy everything. I remember one of the few spankings that I ever received. To buy gasoline you had to have a sticker on your car. The type sticker determined how much gas per week you could buy. I believe a regular family car could buy two gallons a week. We had a ’37 Dodge. I remember sitting out in the carport one day and with nothing better to do I used my finger to scrape the sticker off the car.

Another thing that I recall about the ‘37 Dodge was a small lapel button that was attached to the back of the sun visor. It was a picture of General Douglas MacArthur. He was a hero in every respect and revered by everyone I knew. He was the Commander of the Pacific Theatre during World War II. He was bigger than life. He wore dark glasses and always had a corn cob pipe clinched between his teeth. He did as he pleased with no regard for the politicians. Later during the Korean War he crossed President Truman one time too many and Truman fired him and told him to come home. His homecoming was a huge event with ticker tape parades and an address to a joint session of Congress. He gave a moving speech and I remember both my parents crying over his demise. It is hard to believe nowadays that we ever had an era with genuine heroes. Nowadays the media will destroy anyone who appears to be a hero.

Everything that you bought of any value had to have a stamp. I remember going down to Pleasant Grove School to get ration stamps. As I recall you could buy one pair of shoes a year but you had to have the special shoe stamp. We have one amusing story about buying shoes with the stamps. We didn’t go to Atlanta very often. My dad, Carlton, had a special stamp for his truck since we ran the store and had to go get supplies and stock. My mother saw a pair of shoes in a Rich’s ad that she liked. She told Carlton to buy size 7 AAAA. Mother had the narrowest foot you ever saw and was very difficult to fit, especially during the war. He came back with size 7 EEEE. They were as wide as they were long.

In the spring of 1945 President Franklin Roosevelt died. He had been president since 1933 and was a god to rural people, particularly in the South. His name was spoken in reverence at our house and no one would have dared say a critical word. He was given total credit for ending the depression and getting the country back on its feet. History has taught us differently but at that time history didn’t matter. I can remember both my parents crying the day he died. He was at Warm Springs, a little town near Columbus, Georgia, when he died. A special train carried his body back to Washington. Since there was no place between Atlanta and Warm Springs to turn the train around the train backed all the way from Atlanta to Warm Springs. School was let out early so that everyone could go to the depot in McDonough or Stockbridge to pay their respect as the train passed by. All my siblings saw the train pass through. One of the saddest things of my life has been to see the presidency of this country fall into a state of disrespect.

1945 was a very formative and traumatic year for me. I was awaiting my sixth birthday and anticipating going to school with much fear and trepidation. Bobby had just had his 2nd birthday. Being just four years older I had really been like a big brother. Everyone has a Bobby story but one I remember so well. Da, our name for Carlton, was rocking in his chair reading the paper. Somehow I got my big toe under the rocker and he mashed it pretty badly. I was crying and screaming. Bobby stooped down to the floor and kissed my filthy toe which had been playing outside all day. He had a spirit that was so special. Bobby was a precious child that everyone loved very much. I remember how very much I loved him and there was never any competition between the two of us. It just seemed that we all got along fine.

On March 17, 1945, right after Bobby’s second birthday, I remember being at the store across the creek playing with Herman, my cousin, when I heard a lot of commotion. Everyone was very excited. Herman’s dad, David, came over and got their car and sped across the bridge going over to our house because Bobby was missing. Within probably an hour or so, our dad found him. He had drowned in the creek there at home. We had a foot log across the creek to avoid having to walk all the way around to go over the old bridge (the bridge on 155 was not there at that time.) We assume that he slipped off from home after lunchtime following Da back to work. He must have fallen off the foot log into the swollen stream of Cotton Indian Creek. Of course, this was a very traumatic experience for all of us and particularly me. Being five years old it was my first experience with death. I remember its being a very sad time for all of us and I think particularly for our father. I don’t think he ever got over Bobby’s death. Bobby is buried in our family plot at Union Church but his memory has never died.

That was in the spring of ’45. The war in Europe had ended in May and the war in the Pacific was winding down. Just as I was starting to school in August of ’45, I remember the atomic bomb being dropped on Japan bringing an end to the war.

Chapter II

I remember the first day of school vividly! I was scared to death. It was really the first time I had been away from Mother for any length of time. The teacher was Miss Jessie Kelley, but that was her maiden name. Her name was Mrs. Jessie Hightower and she was an institution at Pleasant Grove School. She had taught my brother and sisters. She appeared to be maybe about 70 years old. Looking back she was probably about 35 at the time but she looked old to me and I thought she was the meanest thing that ever lived. I believe I remember everyone in the first grade. Nancy Scott, Carol Crumbley, Alice Wilder, Maude Owen, Ronnie Hayes, Shuford Jones, Richard Wilkerson, Gene Smith, Ramon Reagan and myself.

Pleasant Grove was a typical country school and had four rather large rooms. The building sat on the southeast corner of the intersection of Pleasant Grove and Kelleytown Road. It was a good-sized building with a large front yard for playing. The first and second grades were in Miss Jessie’s room with the third grade spending half-day in her room and half-day in the other. The fourth, fifth, and sixth grades were taught by Annie Q Taylor Chafin. She too was an institution. She had taught everyone in our family and even her own husband. At that time you could teach without a college degree. She had finished her degree and received a Masters by the time I arrived. The fourth room had been used in the past when the seventh grade was there. But when I attended we only went through the sixth grade. There was no running water, no plumbing, and no lunchroom. The girl’s outhouse was straight out back of the school with the boy’s about 100 yards away down across the road in a field.

I remember Mother had bought me a raincoat to start to school. It was a big heavy coat made out of a rubber covered canvas type material. I also had a new lunch box and a thermos bottle. It was the first thermos bottle we had ever seen. I found out in a hurry that it was very fragile because the second or third day I dropped it and the inside shattered. I don’t recall ever having another thermos bottle after that!

With no lunchroom everyone had to bring his or her lunch. A lot of times the pump on the well didn’t work and we would go down the road to a farmhouse. Two boys would be sent down there to get a bucket of water to bring back to the school. Everyone made him or herself a cup out of a sheet of paper. That was one thing we had to learn to do. Being left-handed it was difficult for me to do. I really needed the Americans with Disabilities Act to help me with that cup.

One amusing thing was that even though we didn’t have a lunchroom, the federal government sent commodity food. Miss Annie Q and Miss Jessie would announce that tomorrow we were going to have apricots or peaches or whatever. Everyone was to bring a piece of bread to eat with their apricots or peaches or whatever the commodity food for that week was. Sometimes it was peanut butter. This was before it was homogenized and there was not enough water in the well to wash it out of the roof of your mouth. Some things are better now than then and peanut butter is one of them.

We had plenty to eat during the war but it was mostly food that was available at home. Processed food was hard to come by. Things like Spam and bologna were a real treat. I can remember swapping a country ham and biscuit for a Spam sandwich.

My brother Bill relates a very funny story that happened at Pleasant Grove. Behind the first grade room was a cloakroom where everyone hanged their coat and stored their sack lunch. At lunchtime everyone would run to the cloakroom to get their lunch. The story goes that the class bully would run into the room, pick out the heaviest lunch and take it for himself. Everyone went outside to eat, weather permitting. One day the bully had stolen the heaviest lunch as usual. When he got outside and opened the bag it contained five hickory nuts and a large rock.

My siblings do not share my opinion that Miss Jessie and Miss Annie Q were great teachers. (One problem is that they were not great students). Miss Jessie sat in your desk with you and taught everyone individually. Our reading book was Alice and Jerry. Run Spot run, see Spot run. See Jerry run. See Alice run. We learned our lesson by sheer repetition. Being left-handed, writing was very difficult for me. In the front of the room were charts with all these writing exercises on them. I just could not do them. Everything was backwards for me. I believe I was the only lefthander in the entire school. Miss Jessie was very patient with me and just accepted that writing was not going to be my forte’. However, neither she nor Miss Annie Q ever thought about changing my left-handedness and for that I am very grateful.

There was no attention deficit disorder at Pleasant Grove and hence no need for Ritalin. Miss Jessie had Shuford Jones on a steady diet of her brand of Ritalin. Shuford was so lazy that he never did his homework and Miss Jessie spanked him every day. Shuford made the decision that doing the work was worse than the spanking. I have not seen him since he moved away in the second grade. If it were today Miss Jessie would have spent 40 years in Leavenworth. One huge benefit of the small class with two and sometimes three grades in the same room was that you listened to the lessons being taught to the older kids. When you reached that grade you had a pretty good idea of what was going on.

Whereas Miss Jessie’s strong suit was teaching by repetition, Miss Annie Q was a very creative person. She would bring professional people in to talk to us and tell us about the world that existed outside of our little community. I remember her older brother came to talk to us. He was from DALLAS, TEXAS. We wouldn’t have been more impressed if FDR himself had shown up. He worked for Mobil Oil in Dallas. He told us that the tallest building in town had a big red horse on top of it (the logo for Mobil Oil). Just a few years ago I was in Dallas. I looked out the window of my hotel and there next door nestled in among the modern skyscrapers was the building with the big red horse on top.

Miss Annie Q would take us into the woods to identify different trees, plants and birds. She taught us art and how to read music. We would have plays to replicate what we had learned. We had a play in which each person was a bird. I remember being a chickadee. Frank Henderson was a hawk. Shuford Jones a buzzard.

Women have always played a major role in my life, especially older women. The first older woman in my life was Millie Jo Elliott. She was a real looker. She lived up the road a piece in the Whitehouse community. I fell in love with her around 1944. I was five but she was a very mature six and already in the first grade. I never made any progress with that relationship.

The girls in the first grade were an interesting group. Carol Crumbley was the first women’s libber. Her nickname was Doodle. What Doodle wanted Doodle would go for. One of the first days of school in the first grade Miss Jessie took us outside to play. We didn’t have any playground equipment so we played organized group games. One game I detested was Go In and Out the Windows. Everyone got in a circle and joined hands. The person who was it went around the circle going in and out the windows. It was Doodle’s turn. She was going in and out the windows and we all sang the little jingle that went with the game. One line said Go forth and choose your lover. Doodle headed straight for me and I burst out crying with a sudden heart attack or stroke. Having lost my heart in the affair with Millie Jo I had already chosen to remain celibate for life.

After a triple by-pass to fix my heart condition I soon returned to the playground. We played Red Rover, Red Rover, and Pop the Whip. You could really hurt yourself if you were on the end of Pop the Whip. We also played Jump Board. This consisted of a board about four feet long and a brick. The board was balanced on a brick with one person jumping on one end propelling the person on the other end into the air. That person came back down and propelled the other person into the air. A lot of skinned and sprained ankles were the results of this game.

Stitch-Starch was a favorite of the girls. Two people would join hands, put their toes together, lean back and go round and round. The force was about 2 G’s and nausea was usually the result. Boys couldn’t do it. It was a woman thing. We also played Hide and Seek and jumped a lot of rope. Rope jumping gave an insight into one’s personality and character. The decisive people ran right into the rhythm of the rope and started jumping. The indecisive people ate flies. This was a malady that caused the jumper to hesitate running into the moving rope. They just stood there rocking back and forth. You could never trust a fly eater. Hopscotch was another favorite. I was pretty good at that. I could pitch the rock in the correct square and balance on one foot pretty well.

The two games that were men only were top spinning and marbles. In top spinning tobacco tags, which came on cloth bags of Bull Durham and Duke’s Mixture, were the medium of exchange. Each person put a tag in a circle. Then everyone threw his top into the circle. As the tops spun around they would knock tags out of the circle. Whichever tags your top knocked out were yours. (I still have my top)

Marbles consisted of drawing an oblong circle in the sand or dirt with a line through the middle. Each person put a number of marbles on the line. Then each person took turns shooting at the marbles by flipping their taw, usually a larger heavier marble, at the row of marbles. If you were playing for keeps (against the law in Georgia) you got to keep the marbles you knocked out of the circle. One day Glenn Moseley showed up with a steelie ball that was a bearing out of a B-17. (His brother Harper had brought it home from the war). Glenn cleaned our plow with that thing.

Washers was another favorite of the boys. You dug a hole in the ground and tried to throw a large washer in the hole. Very similar to horseshoes. Tops and Marbles produced several compulsive gamblers in the group. It is hard to equate this to Game Boy and Nintendo but I believe we are the richer for it.

The schoolhouse sat about five feet off the ground in most places. Of course it never rained under the house so the ground was very dusty and dry. This was the ideal home for doodle bugs. After locating a doodle bug hole you proceeded as follows. Insert a small stick in the hole and move it round and round while reciting Doodle Bug, Doodle Bug, come out of your hole. With some patience and luck a small grub would emerge from the hole and you were the winner of the game.

All the boys carried pocket-knives which were used in the game of Mumbly Peg. Most knives had two blades. The larger blade was opened all the way while the smaller blade was opened to be at a 90-degree angle. Holding the point of the large blade against the end of your index finger you flipped the knife. Points were awarded based on which blade stuck in the board.

One of the most exciting times of the year was when we could start going barefooted. This occurred on the first day of April. We would wear shoes to school but off they came at recess time regardless of the weather. For the first few days it was painful because our feet were very tender. But after a few days the soles of our feet were like leather. Starting May 1 we came to school barefoot and shoes were put away until late fall.

Barefoot season brought forth two challenges. Running barefoot inevitably led to stumped toes. They were usually the result of running where there were exposed tree roots. We would literally tear the end off our toes including the toenail. This was the most excruciating pain one can imagine. The cure was to soak the entire toe in kerosene and wrap a rag around it. For some reason this aided the healing and removed the soreness.

The other problem with going barefoot was getting all sorts of matter between your toes. Running through the barn lot or the chicken yard almost assured you of this malady. The cure for this was to find a weed with leaves on it. A bitter weed was the best choice. The stalk of the weed was placed between the two affected toes and run up and down to get the mess out. Several weeds were usually required to complete the job.

Many adults also went barefoot in the summer. Many farmers plowed barefoot. It was a way to keep your feet cool and save wear and tear on shoes which were very expensive.

Nancy Scott was another one of the girls and was cute as a button. We had a short romance but decided that being friends was a lot more fun. We remained very close throughout school and I enjoy seeing her at our class re-unions. At one of our re-unions a few years ago I shared with the class how I had loved her and considered it a one-way deal. At the end of the evening we all go to a high-school banner and sign our name. Nancy came to the table where Martha and I were sitting. She took my hand and led me over to sign the banner. On the way she whispered I loved you, too.

After the third grade I began attending school in Stockbridge. We had a small store closer to Stockbridge so I changed schools. The other kids continued on through the sixth grade at Pleasant Grove. The school closed in 1951. Half went to Stockbridge half to McDonough. Years later we were all re-united again at the high school in McDonough. It was the only high school in the county. When we graduated from Henry County High School there were ten honor graduates from a class of around ninety. THREE were from that first-grade class at Pleasant Grove. So, it isn’t just a fond memory that we had such a marvelous start in education, I think it was really true. Around 1995 a fabulous new school was built in our community. They named it Pleasant Grove. Around 80 of us who had attended the original school attended the dedication and open house.

Looking back I can see that we were very isolated at that time. Of course all the roads were dirt. The closest paved road was up next to Stockbridge where 42 highway and 138 merge. When we went to McDonough, it was all the way to McDonough city limits before we got to a paved road. That made the school the center of everything. It didn’t happen so much after I came along but in my brother and sisters’ time at the school they had a lot of plays involving the entire community. They would practice for weeks and weeks on the plays and then the whole community would show up. But even during my time we would have some plays and things like the Halloween carnival. Spring festival was always a very big event.

In 1948, our dad stopped running the corn mill down home that he had run for over 20 years. He built a small store up on Miller’s Mill Road closer to Stockbridge. We lived up there for about 3 years. That’s when I started going to school at Stockbridge. Pleasant Grove kept going for another couple of years. I started to Stockbridge in the fourth grade. My teacher was Miss Sarah Grant, who was a Hinton before she married and was a distant cousin of ours. I remember her being such a marvelous teacher. One thing I remember was her reading to us. She read William Greenhill books. It wouldn’t be allowed today because the story line was that William was raised by black people after his parents died. Later he went to live with his Aunt Minerva who lived in town. Miss Sarah was such a marvelous reader and we were all enthralled as she read. We also had Little Black Sambo. Political correctness has robbed us of much of our heritage.

Stockbridge was uptown compared to Pleasant Grove. The class had a football and I was introduced to team sports for the first time. My hands were too small to throw the ball but I was quite adept at catching it. The baseball we played was rather innovative. We didn’t have any equipment. Steve Pate brought a rubber ball from home. We found an old chair in the trash bin. We pulled the rungs out of the leg and used the leg as our bat. It was a great game and taught me to love the game of baseball. Steve Pate and Billy Garrard were my buddies at the new school.

I went to Stockbridge through the ninth grade. It was called a junior high back at that time. After the ninth grade we all went to the consolidated high school down in McDonough.

Chapter III

I’m going to back up a little now and talk about some of the places that the family lived. My mother and dad were married December 8, 1923. Mother was a few days shy of 17. Da was 19. Mother says the first time she ever saw Mama Sallie, her mother-in-law, was the day that she and Dad were married. They married on the front porch of Mr. Gus Elliott’s house which is still standing down on Kelleytown Road. It’s the white house on the left before you get to Pleasant Grove Road. Back at that time it was traditional that you married at the preacher’s house or your own home. Church weddings were very, very rare.

They lived with Mama Sallie and Pa Miller. Trudy, the eldest, was born while they lived there in the big house on hwy 155 that sits about halfway between the mill and the blacksmith shop. They later lived for a period of time in Mountain View, a small community near Hapeville. Even the elder sisters don’t know the details of that time.

Later they moved into the house that sits next to the store. Of course, this was before my time and I don’t know a lot about it. Betty, Bill and Jean were born in that house. The house in which I was born and grew up was on the south side of the bridge, just as you cross the bridge on the left toward McDonough. The bridge was not there at the time so the house was very isolated. It sat down at the end of the road at a dead end so no traffic ever came down there. At that time, what is now 155 was a dirt road. It went around by where the Cottonfield subdivision is now and down by my cousin Hampie’s house. It then circled around and went over the old bridge across the river and came on up by the old store. They moved over to our house in the fall of 1938 so I was on the way about the time they moved over there.

I came along in May of 1939 and was delivered by Dr. Robert Brandon. He was and still remains to this day a legend in the county. He died in 1997. Dr. Brandon was a very interesting character. He grew up in St. Mary’s, Georgia but spent his adult life in Henry County. He has written an interesting autobiography that is a good history of the county during his time.

The new house was a wooden frame structure with two stories. The back porch was actually on the side of the house with a carport sort of deal next to the back porch. On the back side of the house was probably about a 6 foot drop. I can remember as a little fellow always being told not to go over to the end of the porch or I might fall off. Inside, I remember there being a kitchen, dining room, living room and two bedrooms downstairs. We stayed primarily in the bedroom downstairs because that’s where the heater was located.

Bill tells an amusing thing that happened to me as a little fellow. I got too close to the hot stove and accidentally backed into it without any clothes on. It blistered me pretty badly. They held a mirror up to my rear end and could read the words Atlanta Stove Works. I assume that is a true story. We didn’t attempt to heat the whole house. It would’ve been impossible. Upstairs there were two bedrooms. I shared one room with Bill, my brother, and two of my sisters, Betty and Jean, shared the other bedroom. As I recall, the times when Trudy was living at home she was in the other bedroom downstairs. Mother and Dad had the bedroom where the stove was and that’s where we congregated.

The living room had a fireplace in it. We used that just for very special occasions. The house didn’t have sheetrock in it. It had wide pine boards and over the cracks was a half round molding. It would cost a fortune to do that today but I can remember going to people’s houses that had sheetrock and thinking that was such a luxury. Not knowing that our house was made out of something that was a lot prettier and a lot more valuable.

I remember early on we didn’t have running water in the house. We tried earlier to dig a well. They dug about 25 or 30 feet and hit solid rock. Well, rather than fill the hole up, Da just poured a concrete slab over the top of it. I assume the hole is still there