The Years That Counted

By Henry Winfield Hill Jr.

These works are entitled THE YEARS THAT COUNTED based on the autobiography of his childhood and young adulthood. After giving his personal account of his early years he ends his autobiography with these words, On these years that I am presently working my way through, I will probably have cause to think back. It does not seem too far-fetched that I will quite possibly refer to these times as The Years That Counted. THESE TIMES captured in his writings is where he gives a continuing glimpse of THE YEARS THAT COUNTED.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477121160

Henry Winfield Hill Jr.

Henry Winfield Hill, Jr., better known as “Hank” to his family and friends, entered this world on December 30, 1938. He left this life, at the prime age of 48, on the afternoon of March 20, 1986. Born in the township of Columbia, NC, five years old “Hank” moved to Elizabeth City, NC where his life was shaped and molded by his parents, siblings, relatives, friends and teachers. “Hank” exhibited his creative imagination, even in his younger years. This was obvious to his siblings whom he kept entertained with his spontaneous theatrical moments and presentations. His amazing antics are still remembered and marveled at, with much joy, in the Hill’s Family Circle to this day. When “Hank” did not act it out or talk it out, he wrote it out. These are a collection of his personally typed poems, reflections, loves, hurts, thoughts, salutations, good-byes, etc - - word for word, dash for dash, comma for comma and space for space. “Hank” captured much of his life and thoughts in words, whether autobiography, rhyme, verse or ode; self-reflection, life reflection, world reflection or America reflection. His 48 years are expressed through his autobiography and typewritten collection of works, dating from 1970 to 1986.

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Copyright © 2012 by Henry Winfield Hill, Jr.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012909718

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4771-2115-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4771-2114-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4771-2116-0

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To each of his siblings Hank wrote a poem and put into verse the things he saw within us. This is the poem he wrote for me.

TO MY SISTER

(THOMASINA)

If goodness comes back, dear sister,

In repayment to your good-send

Then your life will be a span

Where joy shall never end.

Up from the realms of infancy

I had cause to watch you grow

Into a pleasing personality

Unstrained for outward show.

And had I compiled some notes

There’d be quite a sizable folder

Going back to the period when

I carried you on my shoulder.

I pampered you right along

As you obviously took to me

cause wherever we would go

You seemed content to be.

So quiet a child did you remain

Playing happily at make-believe

Till one wondered what you’d become

Or whatever you would achieve.

But it was no surprise to find

You were as regular as a clock

And, sister-girl of my favor,

A chip off my own block.

You have emerged in full step

With your ever ready response

Despite the trace of indifference

Or child-like nonchalance.

And now the mirth shines through

In your big light-brown eyes

Like natural rays of sunshine

From bright and sunny skies.

Your clowning has been spontaneous

Your reserve so alluring

And knowing you stand your ground

Is refreshing and reassuring.

It’s a virtue noted with pride

How you never fume or shout

Nor choose to allow the face of

Every emotion to hand out.

You’ve proved you are for real

Just being a genuine sport

Sister-girl of my own style

And carbon-copy of a sort.

So, if goodness is returned, dear sister,

In response to your good-send

Then your life will be a span

Where joy shall never end.

Hill

3/76

I promised my brother, on his death bed, that I would publish his works. He thought that his works would never be published or appreciated, except in death. This book is the fulfillment of my promise, but more than this, Hank’s gift to the world of the gift that GOD placed in him. I Love You, Hank.

Thomasina

To Hank

For Hank

From Hank

I write what I want to write

And I say what needs to be said

Some of it comes from my heart

The rest off the top of my head.

The expressions of my mine

That danced inside my head

Have formed the perfect words

Of the truths that I’ve said

From the corners of my mind

Pass the tip of my tongue

My songs have rolled forth

And at last, I have sung.

Henry Winfield Hill, Jr.

THE YEARS THAT COUNTED

(An Autobiography)

Being born is not the same dramatic event for a baby entering the world as it is for the parents; especially the mother. One such special event that terminated a nine-month period of expectation in the winter of 1938 was no different, I am sure. With absolutely no concern for, or knowledge of, the imperative situation, it seems I presented myself and bestowed upon two people the heavy titles belonging to parenthood. And, this was staged in the early morning hours of a cold November 30th day. Mom was Virgo and all of twenty while Dad was Aquarius and twenty-one. I was Sagittarius and brand new. The scene, I am told, took place in the only hospital located in the township of Columbia…situated in the lower eastern section of North Carolina. My introduction to my parents was very informal and of no significance to me. My indifference could have been accredited to the fact that I knew, in some strange way, that I had all the time in the world to get to know them. Thus, like any other new-born baby, I found nothing so important as to entice me to start right off recording incidents for memory. (Instructor’s comment: "I like the drama and the unique way in which your paper was written. It reflects careful thought and a great deal of time or you are an excellent writer".)

Columbia was the central geographical area for both of my parents from their births through high school graduation. Mom had grown to know only what little urban environment the smallish town offered. Dad had been raised in the farm-life atmosphere of the rural routes belonging to the county. Because of the difference in locations, they attended and graduated from separate schools. However, their lives were very similar in some respect. Both were descendents of school-teacher fathers and simple housewife mothers. Both descended from an origin of the same mixture….Irish, Negro, and Indian. Each was the youngest child in the family, likewise, they each had developed an interest in medical professions.

They had met while still in high school as a result of their both having been engaged in the school athletic activities. She stood five feet, eight and one half inches, and was captain of the girls’ basketball team in her school. He participated in all the sports in his school and built a sound reputation for himself though he was only five feet, eleven inches in height. In the young years of my life I was to hear many times over, the tale about how one basketball game brought them to acknowledge each other’s existence.

Dad was in his second year of college some sixty-one miles away from Columbia when Mom entered a nursing school of approximately equal distance in another direction. Despite their vocational interests, and highly contrary to the rules of the nursing school as well as the hopes and wishes of Mom’s family, they were married secretly during the Christmas Holidays of 1942. Their secret remained well guarded for four whole months and was discovered just one month prior to their acknowledgment of the fact that school was permanently out for them.

The first year and a half of my life was spent with my parents in the home of my maternal grandparents. Dad later moved us to his family homestead where the house was shared by his brother and his family. My paternal grandmother had been dead for many years, and my grandfather seemingly passed just a matter of months before I was born. Dad and my uncle being the youngest two heirs and the only boys in the family were left to run the farm. It is of this location that I acquired some of my earliest memories. We remained there until still another move took us to Elizabeth City, N. C. and into the home of one of Dad’s older sisters and her family. By this time I had gained a younger sister and she was apparently old enough for my parents to trust in someone else’s care as she and I were returned to our maternal grandparents in Columbia to reside with them for awhile.

In less than one year we were back in Elizabeth City with Mom and Dad and our new-born sister. I was enrolled in kindergarten and was just beginning to enjoy the freedom of living in our own house with other relatives around. We had become a simple nuclear family at long last. The neighborhood was nothing spectacular, but it was a convenient location. Our two-story home sat on a raised lot that provided a sprawling grassy lawn and a sufficient number of trees for the fun and games I was to use them for. We were located on a well kept tree lined street, and our house almost marked the mid-point of the distance between the kindergarten I attended and the all black High School I was to graduate from many years later. Adjacent to the ‘kindergarten building’ was a public park of a fairly good size, and the High School campus featured a large and a small out-of-doors roller skating rink. Not very far from my back yard was an area heavily decorated with brush, weed, trees, and other thickets, all of which ran alongside a ditch that served for drainage purposes in that particular low area. This wild playground became the neighborhood jungle for every child in the vicinity, and definitely had more attraction than the public park. It was in this general area where I spent my most formative years.

There was, and still is, a significant difference in the southern atmosphere and the typical highly urbanized atmosphere of a city such as New York. While I had many childhood scrapes and faced many possible street hazards, there was nothing in the smallish city to compare with the street gangs and other dangers typical of larger cities. (Instructor’s comment: Good insight!.) I, therefore, never quite developed the same type of block toughness that most city dudes do as a result of their experiences and struggles for survival in their asphalt jungles. I can remember having been mean, stubborn, cocky, curious, and daring, but I was nothing like some of the city block boys. Had my early family life style been quite different I might well have developed stronger shadings of deviant behavior, but as it was (and this is my belief) the established closeness between my parents and myself thwarted that possibility. To my sisters and me my parents were playful but firm, and friendly yet authoritative. They always told us that they wanted us to feel that they were our best friends and could help us with any problem if we came to them first.

Of those years between three and nine, I can remember such things as Dad coming home and announcing excitedly that he had received his barber’s license and could quit the Naval Base job as a civilian employee and go into barbering; Mom being more than slightly involved with neighborhood organizations and acting as house-mother and advisor to what seemed like scores of teenaged girls who flocked to her for tips from sewing to dating; the vast collection of marbles that I had won and hoarded, and was capable of turning into cowboys, Indians, football teams, and various other similar characterizations that my imagination could conjure up when there were not other kids around to pit my game strategy against, my having access to all types of baseball equipment since Dad was a member and popular player of the city team. (I became his constant shadow on weekends when there were Sunday games either at home or in another town); the habitual Sunday night rides that allowed us to explore the countrysides from the dark rural roads as we moved along in our car; the combination picnic and fishing trips we took whenever the Wednesday (Dad’s day off) weather permitted; the rabbit-breeding venture that we talked Mom into; the wonder and excitement over the wild game Dad brought home from his occasional hunting trips…and how some of the game turned out to be our favorite dishes; the periodic trips by car to Columbia where we visited our grandparents and other relatives; the various young cousins who often came to spend part of the summer months with us; our enjoyment in attending the Sunday-school classes as well as the regular services at our Baptist church; the lawn parties and Bible-school during the summer months; being allowed to attend the theater every Saturday and Sunday afternoon. (Instructor’s comment: Which were the more significant events? What impact did they have in shaping your personality?)

If I were asked, I would have to say that we were a very close and rather happy family. My parents had it hard and found it quite a strain, no doubt, in managing to clothe and feed all of us on Dad’s non-professional income. However, I might add that they were careful not to make these woes or burdens obvious to us. We were aware of the fact that we were poor because we observed how we had to go without many things both needed and desired. Yet, the few things they did get for us meant so much until they compensated for the lack of others. There were many other kids around the same neighborhood who seemingly had no more/less, depending on how one looked at it. Kids who I recall had almost everything to wear or play with lacked the good fortune of having understanding and loving parents, or something of the sort.

I try to search my memory for a clue to any childhood wish I might have had that did or did not come true in my adulthood. However, though I am sure there were some, I can only think of one that is really worth mentioning. This was my desire to grow up very muscular and become a professional athlete or go into professional boxing. Obviously none of this came true for me, but more important now is the fact that I can see and understand that my reasons at the time for having such wishes stemmed from my Dad’s involvement in sports. That along with having had him tell me many times over about the breaks I could make and the barriers I could knock down. I was too young to realize that he was dreaming and plotting for me the very life he had wanted for himself. (Instructor’s comment: Good insight!.) The result was that I did go all out for certain sports and managed to become just another average participant. I even read books and did exercises in the hopes of improving my physique in preparation for my intended profession. I cannot say exactly when the interest dissipated but by the time I was to graduate from high school the matter was no longer of any great importance….and, I was still of the same small, tall, lanky frame, and had not made any outstanding impression on the school coaches, my fellow students, nor myself as for the little hell I raised on the baseball and basketball teams. A leg injury early in my freshman year football season had acted as a mental block preventing my making any attempt to try the game again. And so it is that today I am still non-muscular and maintain only average interest in sports.

During those years from nine through twelve, I stuck by my Dad, as usual, but I was also beginning to pick out other values in my surroundings. As a curious lad the subjects in school were satisfying for my growing interest, and my ability to get down with my teachers was equally rewarding. I took summer vacations with the same cheer as other kids, but I was always anxious to return to the classroom in the fall. Museums, zoos, and other educational aides were only book mentionables in my home-town, therefore, eight-tenths of my educational experience was inside the school. The one thing that I feel might have made some lasting impression on me (good or bad) was the typical southern school. The classroom relationship between teacher and students was a positive experience for me. It made for the development of my concept about how students who begin their school years with affective teachers who show concern and interest in each individual’s progress, comfort and comprehension go out into the business world ready and capable of competing. This is so, I feel, because it has already been proven that they have the ability by the fact that they produced so well in relaxed atmospheres of the classroom. It is much easier to compete in business when one is confident that he has capabilities. (Instructor’s comment: True.)

Any experiences that may have been instrumental in shaping my individual personality (positive or negative) are rather difficult for me to recognize. Actually, I fail to see any other experience more important than