And so It Begins

By Wayne Fuller

And So It Begins, by Wayne Fuller, brings to reality the feelings of a man that was forced into retirement by a company rule. Carl Richard Wilson, who was a success in his own right, was forced into retirement under the Mandatory Retirement at Age Seventy Rule his company had established.

He then tried to surmise what had been his purpose in life and began thinking about what he had accomplished and what was left to be done. He read a poem from a book his daughter had given him for a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift. The poem he read was RETURN and he began thinking about a much earlier time in his life. Now he was recalling the happy times spent on a farm in Mississippi with his aunt, uncle, and cousins during the summer and winter of 1931 when he was five years old. Their teachings that he had learned remained etched in his memory and were used throughout his life. He and his five year old cousin Jess were inseparable and built a friendship that lasted a lifetime. Enjoy browsing around the farm and sharing the simplicity of life then as seen through the eyes of two innocent, but curious five year olds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 10, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469114682

Wayne Fuller

Wayne Fuller was born in Myrtle, Mississippi in 1932. The Fuller family moved to Memphis, Tennessee shortly after he was born. There he lived until joining the U.S. Air Force in 1951. He retired after serving twenty eight years. He is a talented writer who writes novels, poetry and children’s stories.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

RETIREMENT

The sky is the purest blue I have ever seen, with beautiful white billowing clouds towering majestically upward as if they are totally free from all worldly bonds. You can see the flowers blooming everywhere, and you can smell the pure clean freshness in the fall air; yet my world has turned to a sickening gray. I’m seventy years old, and for me, this is the worst day I can remember in all my seventy years.

Guess I always knew that someday this would happen, but even knowing I had never thought much about it. I never planned to retire and that makes it even harder. But here I am, Carl Richard Wilson, sitting in a rocking chair in my living room, thinking about the weather and my life in general.

The air is cooler than usual with maybe even a chance of frost, I thought to myself. This would be the first frost of the year and a little bit early. I can’t remember one coming in late September—but at my age, I’m not supposed to remember all that many things. I never thought that reaching seventy years of age would mean that your life is over. I have done many things in my seventy years. Some I was recognized favorably for and others I would just as soon be forgotten. In fact, there are many people who might consider me a success. This great house with a pool, big cars, and enough money to last me and Fran through two life times. Could, if we managed well, even be some left over to pass down to the kids after we’re gone.

Now I’m looking back and trying to surmise what life is really all about. I wonder? What is planned for us in advance? What is placed within our grasp to mold and shape as we see fit, to fail or succeed, or maybe to just ignore. Have you done something special with your life that might be remembered? What becomes the ultimate measure of ones success while we are here on this earth? I never thought about how short a lifetime is; how little time we have on this earth to make our mark or make it deep enough that it would even be noticed.

From the day of first beginning, does the cycle ever really end? Now that I think of different times throughout my life I wonder. Is this all there is to life? What were the motives for us being here? What future was ever there but death? Are we born just to start the process of dying? Only a very few men or a very few women make a mark long enough or tall enough to survive them after death.

Generation after generation seem to carry the memory of the same great men and the same great women. The impact of the deed or saying will only be judged in direct relation to the length of time it is remembered. I know I have said many things in my life. I doubt any of them will be carried from generation to generation. God knows, I can’t remember anything I’ve said that I would want to be carried from one generation to another. I do know however, I have been put here for a reason. My life is not yet done, and there still must be something left for me to do. Now, I must find reason and direction for this new change in my life. He sat in silence as he began to recall his past.

I have always been my own man, he whispered softly out loud. My life has not been easy, and there were many years of hard work, dedication, and personal sacrifice by both Fran and me to obtain the level of security we now have.

He smiled as he recalled how it took the two of them, working as a team, to obtain the financial security being pleasantly enjoyed now. I’ve never considered myself anything other than a sensible man, one that weighed all possibilities before making the final decision, but up until now I at least had choices. Now the choice of whether I want to work or not work is no longer mine. The few words said when I was called into the office of the company’s president are still ringing in my ears.

Now that you’re seventy, you must retire. I really envy you, he said. One of these days, when I reach your age I’ll be able to retire and start enjoying life.

It was very strange, when he made these farewell comments. It was like I was in a room, hearing the words, but not relating that these final words were being said to me. All I could think of was, the grass always looks greener in the other pasture. I did not consider this a welcome change, and would have gladly exchanged places with him. Even tho the company called it retirement, I was being fired! Yes, I was being canned and I sure didn’t like the feeling it gave me, but there was no recourse but to smile, shake his hand and leave.

I guess I could be referred to as a proud man, one that placed the job and family before everything else. Maybe I should have placed a greater emphasis on family instead of job, but Fran was there to partly fill my place when the job would take me far from home. She had many occasions to do just that. I can see now what a hardship I had placed on her. As I think back now, and if I was able to change some things in my life, family before work would be one of the major changes I would make. One thing for sure if I were able to change some things in my life, Fran would not be one of them. There are a lot of major things that have happened in my life: pedestals that have helped to catapult me from one area of success to another, but these would have been meanness if Fran had not been part of that life also.

Fran and I met while attending the same college. A junior college, but college. We both were only eighteen years old and thought we knew how to solve all the world’s future problems. It was love at first sight for me, but it took me courting her over the whole two college years for me to get her to say yes. I will never forget when I first saw her. There was no way anyone could miss her flaming red hair, long, about half way down her back. When the sun was shinning on it, her hair appeared to change, ever so slightly, to different shades of reds. It blended perfectly with her light green eyes that sparkled when she smiled, but rained fire when she was angry. Across her nose was a hint of freckles blending into the skin. Her petite five foot two inch statue made her appear smaller and more fragile than she really was. She was, and still is, the most beautiful person I have ever known. I considered myself average and didn’t possess any special skills. I was tall, a little over six feet, straight blond hair parted in the center and dark blue eyes. I sported the start of a handlebar mustache which was in style in that era. Since I had blond hair, I had to put dark coloring on it so it could be seen. It wasn’t long after we began seeing each other that she convinced me that my face would be much more appealing if it was clean shaven. Of course the mustache was immediately removed, and she also thought that my hair would look much better parted on the side instead of the middle. To this day my hair is still parted on the side and I have never grown another mustache.

Fran and I have been married for almost fifty-one years, and there were a lot of happy times and a lot of trying times. Guess this is what builds a marriage that lasts over fifty years. We were blessed with three children: two boys and one girl. Jack is an electrical engineer with a large company in Florida. He and his wife have one daughter Julia, and now Julia and her husband Fred are expecting their first child any day now. This will be our first great grandchild and the excitement is running pretty high in this house. There’s something about grandchildren and great grandchildren that gets women excited. William is a marketing advisor with a large company in New York, and he and his wife have no children. Mary is very successful in sales for a large company and has never been married. She tells her mother that her job takes all her time, and it wouldn’t be fair to marry and her husband be second after her job. Maybe this kind of thinking stems from her childhood and all the times my job called me away from my family.

Fran keeps telling me I need to relax more and get out and see what the world’s all about.

For the better part of your life, you’ve been cooped up in one office or another. Now it’s time you start thinking about what you want to do for yourself, she said. Now we will have time to travel and see all the children in one trip. I know they would love for us to come and see them, and not have to leave in such a rush just because you would have a meeting or something scheduled for first thing Monday morning.

I thought I had been doing what I wanted to all these years. It’s strange though, when you are doing something that you really like and are happy doing it, other people don’t understand and are continually trying to find a better life for you. If I had my way I’d be going back to work in the morning and face that awful life that other people thought I had.

Today I received a Congratulations on Your Retirement card from Mary. She wrote a little note with it saying how glad she was I had finally decided to retire.

Now, she said. You can start making your plans to travel, and I wanted to be sure that I was on the list of places that you intended to visit.

She couldn’t possibly understand the uncertainty I am experiencing at this time. How could she? Her job is secure and she has no worries about forced retirement. I hadn’t made any plans to travel. I hadn’t made any plans for anything, except to continue working until I died.

Think I’ll just settle back and not make any plans for now. I know one thing though, I don’t need to be in Fran’s way all the time, even though she has told me many times she’s been looking forward to us spending more time together. I don’t know how much togetherness she can stand. Wonder how she’ll feel about it when she finds that I’ll be here all the time. Maybe I had better start making some plans that would get me out of the house for a while. I could start on the flower beds tomorrow. May even be a good day to clean the pool and maybe paint the shutters. I think all this planning for work has made me tired. I’ll just go out on the porch where I can rock and relax till supper’s ready. Fran will probably be glad to get me out of the house. I’ll take this poem book that Mary gave me at Fran’s and my fiftieth anniversary party and do a little reading while I’m rocking. I remember there were big doings at our fiftieth wedding anniversary party last year. A lot of people were there. Some I didn’t know and should have; some I knew but wish I didn’t. Mary gave me a beautiful poem book, Shadows of Tomorrow. It has a white cover with gold title letters. She said it was written by a not so famous author, but she was sure he had me in mind when he wrote one or two of the poems.

Just think, she said. One of these days, when you are retired and sitting on your porch in your rocking chair, I think you’ll get some real enjoyment reading this book. Read, ‘Return.’ This poem reminds me so much of you, and I think you will find some real pleasure reading this one.

I hadn’t thought too much about the book until today. I had not even taken the time to look through it. In fact, and I know Mary would be hurt if she knew, but it had never been moved from the coffee table since she had given it to me. Now I think I have time to read a few of these poems before Fran calls me to dinner. Let’s see now—it was Return that she wanted me to read. I wonder why? Well, lets see what it’s all about. I need something to take my mind off this retirement and this sound like just the way to do it.

RETURN

As a boy I did many things,

of which I can recall.

I’d play and run and jump and swing,

but worry not at all.

The days did pass and as I grew,

I dreamed of things to be,

and as a man they came to pass,

for all the world to see.

Where did time go, it passed so fast,

my work is almost done.

In golden years I look to see,

what really have I won.

Throughout my life I set my goals,

and most were all complete,

but a void is there; I try to find,

if time can make life meet.

I’m dwelling now on yester year,

the past looms more and more.

I think about my life today,

and tally up the score.

All these things, both riches and fame,

I’d trade this life with joy,

to steal away, for just one day,

and live again a boy.

Yes, Mary does know me pretty well. Guess she knew I probably would be feeling a little bit sorry for myself, and maybe the poem would bring back some good memories for me.

Many times I have told Mary, William and Jack about my fun filled days on the farm in Mississippi, and how the teachings that I learned then have helped me all through my life. To this day, the one thing I always think about when I’m eating a homemade or a store bought cookie is the teacakes that Aunt Bess baked. They were nothing like the cookies you buy today. Everything was mixed by hand, using only the freshest of eggs, the purest of cream and flour that was hand ground and hand sifted twenty or more times. A full round of butter was worked into each batch. I have tried to duplicate her teacakes, but something always seemed to be missing. I think I know now what she put in to them that made them so special. Love. Her love for the family, and her love for making them happy. I have eaten many cookies, baked by many different people, in the years since I left the farm, but I have yet to find one that tastes as good as the ones she made. Unfortunately, no one knows her special method to create them, so it’s doubtful that anyone else will ever be able to duplicate her recipe.

He closed the book and carefully placed it on his lap. Then he started rocking easily back and forth, silently thinking, slowly rocking and the only sound to be heard was the rustling of the leaves from the gentle breeze in the nearby trees.

I’ll call Mary tomorrow and let her know how much I enjoyed the poem, he thought as he his eyes continued to survey the beauty of his surroundings.

"The world holds such beauty of it’s own and is displayed freely to those that who are willing to look and find it. Now that I think about it, there were many wonderful things that happened to me that summer and winter I spent on the farm when I was just five years old. I became encompassed in my new found world’s beauty and was in awe at everything I saw and did. That was truly a turning point in my life. I have learned many important things since then, but none have had such a profound influence on my life as did that one summer and one winter on that farm in rural Mississippi. Some of my fondest memories come from those early childhood times that are still permanently instilled in my memory.

The year was 1931, after my mother and father were divorced. This was almost an unheard of thing in that day and was considered a disgrace when it happened. We were living an Memphis, Tennessee at the time and it was in the end of The Great Depression. After my father left it was up to my mother to find a job and provide food and shelter for my sister, my brother, and me.

I can still remember the house she moved us into. It was called a shotgun house because of the room layout. One room after another, straight back, making all the rooms the same width and very small. It was a clapboard wooden house, that had a small front porch that was big enough to hold two small chairs. The living room was large enough for a small couch that doubled for a bed and one chair and end table. The bedroom was directly behind the living room then the kitchen. A portion of the back porch was the bathroom just large enough to house a commode. Every room had a single light bulb hanging down from the center of the ceiling. There were no light switches on the wall. The light socket that held the light bulb had a single switch to operate the light. The living room also had a pot bellied coal burning stove which was our only source of heat. The walls inside all the rooms were the backs of the boards on the outside of the house and some of them did not fit just right together. This created cracks and made the house very difficult to heat when it really got cold outside. Cardboard boxes were cut to fit between the wall studs and tacked to the walls to cover the cracks and that helped to keep the cold out and the heat in.

Mother had finished high school, but jobs were very hard to find especially for women. She was in her late twenties, brownish black hair worn shoulder length, hazel eyes that shinned and a wonderful laugh, although I don’t know what she had to laugh about. She did find a waitress job working in the restaurant at the Memphis Mid-South Stockyards. The salary was a dollar a day plus tips, working twelve hour days. If she was lucky enough to get a tip, most of the time it would be a nickel or a few pennies. With her salary and tips, she would bring home between two and three dollars each day. Her job required her to work seven days a week and she had to be there each and every day or chance losing her job.

During the day, while she worked, there was an old black lady that stayed with us. Her name was Roniece. She was short, weighed about two hundred and forty pounds and was in her late fifties. When she laughed, and she did laugh, it could be heard throughout the entire neighborhood. We loved that old black lady about as much as she loved us. Mother paid her fifteen cents a day plus her meals to keep us. I believe she loved us so much that she would have done it for nothing, except the meals.

During the summers, I was sent to my aunt and uncle’s farm in Mississippi. My sister and brother remained with my mother in Memphis.

The farming community was very close, and farming families were closer yet. Farm families then are not like some families we know now. They were close and dedicated people; their word was their bond. It was something that was important to them, and when given, was never broken. There was no such thing as social security or welfare, and had there been, I doubt any of them would have used it. They were a proud people who looked after, not only their family, but shared with those that were down on their luck because their crops had not produced enough to get them by till the next season. It always amazed me that no one ever had to ask for help, but those that were in need were always provided for, even without asking. Mississippi