Bett: The Long Journey

By Betty Green

Bett is a story of the triumphs of young black baby boomers bravery in the South to push forward during the fifties, sixties, and seventies. Bett is by no means meant to make the grandchildren of African Americans frown on their past or to make the grandchildren of white Americans feel guilty. The goal is to show our youth how a people with very little to work with overcame in spite of it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504968201

Betty Green

Betty Ingram Green was born in Drew, Mississippi, and grew up on a large Southern farm near Swan Lake, Mississippi. Betty attended the then segregated West District High School in Sumner, Mississippi. After desegregation, Betty, along with other black students, continued their education at West Tallahatchie High School in Webb, Mississippi. After moving to Indianapolis, Indiana, Betty continued her education at IUPUI and Indiana Business College. At IUPUI, Betty’s major was education with a minor in social studies. She used her degree in business administration in the day-to-day operations of their family-owned restaurant, Dune’s Ribs, where she and her husband, Tommie (Dog) operated. Betty is not new to the field of writing. She has written several religious poems and short stories. Along with spending time with her family, teaching the word of God, working in her garden and yard, and mentoring teenage girls, writing found its way in the midst of her passions as well.

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2015 Betty Green. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/14/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6819-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-6820-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015920635

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

References

Hall of Fame

Bett is a story of the bravery to push forward and of the triumphs of young, black baby boomers in the South during the fifties, sixties, and seventies. Bett is by no means meant to make the grandchildren of African Americans frown on their past or to make the grandchildren of white Americans feel guilty. The goal is to show our youth how a people with very little to work with overcame in spite of it.

Thanks to my husband, Rev. Tommie Green. Because of his achievements in football, track and field, and basketball, he knew the value of perseverance and hard work. Therefore, he was able to encourage me to push forward with my writing.

Special thanks to my brave son, Marion County Deputy Sheriff Terrence D. Green, for his insight and wisdom. And very special thanks to my wide-eyed grandson Terrence D. Green Jr., who continuously asked, Are you done yet? There are no words to express the kindness and appreciation extended by my family and friends for the good times and the unity we felt when times were not so great.

To the memories of my beloved mama, daddy, granddaddy, and brother Hen, who all made life interesting and rewarding.

Chapter 1

We must hurry! It’s almost time. Not that way! If my memory serves me right, the room is this way! Miss Willie Mae, a stranger to no woman in our area, uttered those words as she and two other women made their way to Mama’s room.

The three women had asked for directions from farmers on the front road and had traveled the dirt road down to our home once again.

They live in one of those big houses down on the front. Across the road from the big house is a road full of holes. Those holes were made by tractors or other vehicles traveling when the road was muddy. You take that dirt road past Hal’s house and the Monroes’, leading to the back bayou. Now do you remember? Watch out for those dogs when you get to the Monroes’ house if for some reason you decide not to take your car down the road! That dirt road may be muddy, and your car can get stuck in the mud. You go across that small creek, and the house is on the right. There is good fishing grounds back there, too. Old man Nels has a couple of fishing boats back there. He can often be found riding those grandchildren of his out on the bayou. This was just one of the statements folks often made of Granddaddy, our home, and its location.

On the front was where the white folks lived. It was an advantage for most farmers to live down on the front. The farmhands always knew more of the whereabouts and actions of the boss man and his family. Those farmers knew just about the times the old country store would open and close. When the boss man and his family bought new clothes and shoes, they would box their old ones for the big giveaway. The families on the front had first choice of the clothing. Bud would then load the leftover used items on the back of his pickup truck. He would make his journey down the road, allowing the many different families to pick out the clothing items and shoes they felt their families could use.

It was rather odd to find four different entrances to a home down on the front, but our home was equipped with four. Families living on the farm during the early years sometimes shared the double housing unit. The house had two bedrooms and two kitchens, with a door in the middle that separated the units. We were very fortunate to have the big brown house all to ourselves. My brothers and I sometimes found it creepy to have all that empty space.

Our house sat upon a hill, where we enjoyed beautiful, tall green trees that swayed back and forth on windy days. Beautiful green grass surrounded the house during summer months, available for the many farm animals to come and eat. It was not out of the ordinary to see cows and a few hogs freely walking about.

Winter months, the older children ran and slid down the steep hill on the brown and withered grass. Extra caution was taken not to run too fast, in fear of falling down the hill and rolling into the bayou when the water was up.

The air was cool with freshness just waiting to be breathed, and we enjoyed the clear blue sky. We always took the narrow path in front of our house to the bayou. Granddaddy had cleared and made the path some years ago. How he loved the great outdoors! No time was wasted as he enjoyed his favorite hobbies of boating and fishing. Granddaddy had passed his love of the outdoor life on to us children, and we valued the gift of God’s creations as well.

Those somewhat strange-looking black women were three of the local midwives of the South. Miss Willie Mae, a lady who most had grown accustomed to, was the head midwife and was always around at the site of a new arrival. She rushed about like a mighty warrior, always appearing anxious about something. Her outspoken personality caused folks to think twice before approaching her. She wore a black scarf tied around her head with a big knot tied in the front. She was a tall woman, and today she was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt with matching black pants.

Kay was of average size, wore men’s blue trousers, and had on a blue long-sleeved shirt. Kay’s boots were similar to army boots, and the black hat on her head had several small holes in it.

Those are woodpecker holes, Granddaddy said. And that’s a man’s hat at that. He would laugh as he teased Kay about that hat.

Women always teased Granddaddy about being a woman’s man.

One thing we can always say about Nels is that he always knows what to say to the ladies, Kay said, laughing.

We always laughed at the different names women on the farm had given Granddaddy. Those names often matched what the women felt when Granddaddy was in their presence.

The name Pie, given by one of the women, caused us to laugh the most. Granddaddy would look over at Mama, and the two would laugh out loud.

Miss Thompson was the last of the midwives to pass me. She stopped, looked over at me, and smiled. The other two midwives hadn’t noticed me at all, as I was sitting in the corner alone.

Miss Thompson’s skirt was dirty around the edges. Granddaddy said Miss Thompson’s dress dragged the floor because she was so short. She is kind of on the heavy side, but no matter. She is still a very pretty woman and should be treated so, he continued.

Miss Thompson’s arms reminded me of the arms of Popeye the sailor: short and muscular. She wore a smile that seemed to cover her entire face. One could not help but love her.

A day will come when a lady will come into this house carrying a big, black bag. In that bag will be a baby boy or a baby girl! Mama had informed me.

Will it be my baby too? I had eagerly asked Mama.

Yes, it will be your baby too. Mama sighed, looking up at Daddy and smiling.

That day was at hand! The lady with the black bag was here, alive and well. Mama hadn’t mentioned the fact that the lady would be scary-looking.

Go on inside the house! Daddy demanded of my younger brothers.

He had returned to the house with Little Lonnie, Hen, and James. Little Lonnie was the oldest of the boys. He spent most of his time with our grandma in the hills. He was here for only a short visit. He mostly visited during the summer and on special occasions.

Hen was the second-oldest of the boys. He was often teased about being Granddaddy’s favorite. The fact that he could get favors and money out of Granddaddy when no one else could may have caused people to come to that conclusion. Talk was that Hen got his way because he looked so much like Daddy and acted like Granddaddy.

Granddaddy would hold on to a dollar until that eagle grinned, and his slightly miserly behavior did not stop Hen from walking in his footsteps. Granddaddy taught us the value of saving money, but at the time, Hen was the only one who seemed to take Granddaddy to heart.

James was Mama’s baby. Therefore, he was kind of my baby too. He was short and fat, with a head of curly black hair. It gave me much pleasure to just comb and braid his hair, which touched his shoulders.

Daddy did not like the idea of James wearing braids and proceeded to cut them off. Boys should not go around with long braids on their heads. So I cut them off, he said, looking at me and Mama, waiting for a response.

Don’t say anything! Mama leaned over and whispered to me. Mama knew how much I loved those long braids on James’s head.

Amen! Granddaddy had said, smiling as he exited through the door. Daddy had been happy to hear for a change that Granddaddy agreed with him.

Even though James’s braids were now gone, his long, fat jaws continued to cause him pain. The older ladies just loved to pull and kiss on them. All the fussing and carrying on by relatives and friends irritated baby James, especially his red, sore jaws.

As James grew older, for the most part, he shied away from any trouble and was always a very quiet child. He learned to just sit and watch the rest of us act a fool.

Didn’t you hear what I said? Go on into the house! Daddy scolded the boys.

Daddy’s patience with the boys was short—and even shorter with me. The anticipation of the new baby’s arrival had its wear and tear on him.

Daddy, I yelled, that lady is here with the new baby!

Bett, go back into the middle room and stay there! Daddy demanded.

Since I was a girl, I was not allowed to accompany the men and boys on most trips. A girl child had to stay close to the womenfolk. Those were the rules and opinions most of the old folks held. But they were not the rules of Granddaddy.

You better not go into your mama’s room, and you better not peek in that hole in the door, do you hear me? Daddy threatened me.

I didn’t respond. At this point anger had set in.

That long, brown, ugly, old closed door leading into Mama’s room had a hole in it. It looked as if at some point a doorknob should have been there. It really was not even a big hole. A person could easily bend down on one knee and be able to see most of what was going on in the bedroom.

Again curiosity got the best of me.

Looking around for any sign of human activity, then noticing no one else present, it was easy for me to kneel down on both knees and proceed to peek into the rough-looking dark hole.

Bett, what are you doing at that door? Daddy yelled.

How did he tip up on me like that? I hadn’t heard a thing.

As a small child, my mind still was working ninety miles per hour, searching for an explanation. Without a shadow of a doubt, a whipping was in the making, and I knew it.

My nickel fell down here, Daddy. I said, shaking like a leaf on a tree.

Crawling around on the floor as if I was looking for the nickel was an act to pull the wool over Daddy’s eyes. Of course, my act did not work.

Then, I will help you find it! Daddy replied.

Daddy was taking his belt out of the loops from his pants. We children knew exactly what that meant and would immediately attempt to make our exit.

You better not run! he warned.

Stopping and looking back at Daddy and then attempting to cry was another tactic that did not work for me that day either.

If you hit me hard, I am gonna tell Key! I yelled, pointing my finger at Daddy. I ain’t playing with you, Lonnie!

Key was Daddy’s older brother from the hills. He had come to live with us for a spell to help bring the crops in and to assist in the hog killing. The two of us were like two peas in a pod. He would always bring me Hershey’s candy bars from the old country store down on the front. Although Key brought me candy, he warned me often about overeating sweets.

Too many sweets can give you worms and make your stomach hurt, Key would say. Key knew care for me would be demanding on his part if I got sick.

He taught me a life-long lesson about being stingy.

You are a stingy one, and that’s not good, Key informed me one day. "If you don’t share, don’t expect others to share with