His Wonders to Perform: Mama, Daddy, and My Cousin Robert Battle

By Dessie Williams

His Wonders to Perform tells the story of my parents, Anna and Willie Horne and my cousin Robert Louis Battle,current artistic director of America's Cultural Ambassador to the World, The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. But even more important than my cousin's ascension to the top of the international dance world is the story of how God kept faith with our family and led us along our tumultuous way to places of rest and quiet where we came to know that "God" really does "move in mysterious ways his wonders to perform".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524591625

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His Wonders

to PERFORM

MAMA, DADDY, AND MY COUSIN ROBERT

BATTLE

DESSIE WILLIAMS

Copyright © 2017 by Dessie Williams.

ISBN:                     Softcover                     978-1-5245-9163-2

                               eBook                           978-1-5245-9162-5

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/16/2017

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Thanks And Appreciation

Apologia

Who They Were

Mama And Daddy

Old Town

Tallahassee

Miami

A Way Which Seemeth Right

A Love To Remember

Regrets

Biographical Sketch

Home Again

Notations

Bread Upon The Waters

Angels In My Life

Reflections

Down Memory Lane

Thanatopsis

Past And Present

Memories

THANKS AND APPRECIATION

TO MY NEPHEW RAYQWAN PETERSON FOR TEACHING ME HOW TO USE THE COMPUTER

TO MY FELLOW CHURCH MEMBER DANIELLE BURNES FOR RENDERING TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE IN THE ABSENCE OF RAYQWAN PETERSON

TO MY SISTER BERNICE HORNE EDGECOMBE TELSAINT FOR HER CONSTANT REMINDERS THAT I SHOULD COMPLETE THIS PROJECT

TO MY LIFE-LONG FRIEND RYCHARD SAMUEL COOK II1 WHO ALWAYS ENCOURAGED ME TO BE THE BEST OF WHO I AM.

TO MY CHILDREN ROSEMARIE WILLIAMS CROCKER, LYNNEL BERNARD JORDAN AND ROBERT LOUIS BATTLE FOR BELIEVING THAT MY STORY WAS WORTH THE TELLING

TO MY NEPHEW DAVID WARREN TURNER WHO ALWAYS REMEMBERED TO ASK ABOUT THE BOOK

. . . . . . . . DESSIE WILLIAMS MIAMI, FLORIDA, JULY, 2014

APOLOGIA

In attempting to re-trace, after seventy-nine years, people and places remembered from my childhood, some names and geographic locations may not be entirely accurate; the substance of the narrative, however is, was and remains true.

WHO THEY WERE

Born in 1898, Mama went to the third grade in Nassau County’s colored school, while Daddy, born and bred in the Jacksonville of 1903, could boast, in later years, of having made it to sixth grade. Whatever their educational shortcomings, they were two individuals who persevered in a world that tagged them second class. They did what they could with what they were given, and they confronted the vagaries of their lives with humility and determination. In time, they met, married, and produced my brother Willie Horne (Jack) Jr., my sister Bernice, and me. To us they passed on the best home and family values of which they were capable. They were not unflawed, but they possessed a joy of life and a strong belief in the providence of God and they possessed traits that led them to create a stable life. Only the God they trusted could have provided the necessary clime for the growth and nourishment of a future artistic director of America’s Cultural Ambassador to the World, The Alvin Ailey American Dance Theatre. Their names were Anna and Willie Horne, but to Jack, Bernice and me they were Mama and Daddy and we loved them.

MAMA AND DADDY

I used to think of Mama and Daddy as the big people who took us walking on the wooden boardwalk by the Rayonier water pipeline. It ran through some of Fernandina’s swamps, and despite being partially surrounded by the town dump, the grounds were mucky and good for growing things. Poking through the piles of discarded dolls usually missing an eye or a leg, used teddy bears, or other toy castoffs was always a lot of fun for Bernice, Jack, and me.

Wildcats and snakes go to the dump, too, Mama would tell us. They go lookin’ fuh stuff to eat."

The day we saw the big rattlesnake curled up sleeping under the boardwalk was the time I found out Daddy could be brave even when he was scared. As soon as Mama spied the sleeping snake, she wanted Daddy to kill it. Daddy didn’t want to.

Anna, Daddy said in vain, he won’ bother us if we don’ bother him" ! But Mama wouldn’t stop, telling Daddy how it was bad luck to see a snake and not kill him, until Daddy, looking kind of ashy, and holding the hoe we brought scampered down off the boardwalk, and made a few half—hearted strikes through the damp grass, hoping the sharp edge of the hoe would cut off the snake’s head. The hoe worked. Daddy climbed back onto the boardwalk and we walked on to mama’s garden. Among other fruits and vegetables she was growing watermelons.

Whenever one of the melons got really big, Mama would thump it to see if it was ripe. If it was, we’d take it home and Mama, sprinkling salt over hers, would eat an entire half. Daddy wasn’t particular about watermelons. He hardly ever ate a piece, and when he did, would always say It’s alright, but far as I’m concerned, dey could stop makin’ it!

Another time Daddy was scared and brave was the day when he was working for the State on Little Talbott Island with a white a white man named Mr. Geor.ge.

Mr. George usually acted nice to Daddy, so Daddy was real hurt when they had a friendly argument about the best way to cut down a big oak tree and Mr. George called him nigger. Stung to the quick, Daddy forgot himself and told Mr. George, You can’ talk to me lak dat, Mr. George, Ah’m a man! Daddy’s words made Mr. George’s face turn red. He jumped into the state jeep and tried to run Daddy down. Daddy had to keep ducking behind some of the huge white sand dunes that dotted the island woods. Daddy kept running for his life until Mr. George calmed down and gave up on trying to run him over. A few days later, Mr. George came by our house in Franklin Town and told Daddy he was sorry he lost his temper and would he please come back to work because he needed him on the job.

Daddy was smart. He could build things, overhaul car motors, and do figurin’ in his head. He could also read people. Once, at the end of my freshman year at Florida A&M University in Tallahassee, he drove by himself from Fernandina to pick me up. On the way back home, our car gave out of gas just as it was getting dark. It was a long way from where we were to a filling station, so Daddy and I just sat in the car with the hood raised hoping somebody would come along and see we were in distress. We were sitting there for what seemed like hours when a colored man stopped to help us. The stranger offered to drive to a gas station several miles down the road, get some gas in a can and bring it back to us. The man suggested Daddy wait in the car and I could ride to the gas station with him.

Daddy was no dummy and he could tell the man was a little too anxious to have me go with him to the station, so he made out to the man I was too scared to go without him; all the while signaling me that riding alone with the man to the gas station was not the thing to do. Finally, seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere trying to get me to ride with him, the man accepted Daddy’s offer to pay him for getting the gas. He also offered us the privilege of spending the rest of the night in his house which was, he said, just down the road. Daddy accepted the offer on the condition that he and I wouldn’t be separated, so Daddy and I stayed in the same room sleeping each sleeping with one eye open because we didn’t trust the friendly stranger.

Most of the time I liked Daddy, but sometimes he would do stuff I couldn’t stand.

Like the time I saw him touching Mama’s cousin Georgia on her backside. When I told Mama about it, she said all that meant was that Daddy was just being a fresh old niggah! He made Mama jealous, a lot. After some of their arguments, he stayed out all night.

Mama didn’t sit home waiting for him to come back. She would take me and an open switch blade and we’d walk until we’d run up on Daddy’s car parked somewhere. Then Mama would take her knife and slash all four of Daddy’s tires.

One time he stayed out all night and Mama and I found him at the blind man’s place, Mr. Mason Price. He sold moonshine and it was a hang out for a lot of loose women. Hearing Daddy’s voice coming from one of the rooms, Mama kicked the door to room open and ordered Daddy out. He didn’t argue. Ignoring the fat woman sitting on the edge of the little cot in the room, he put his shoes on gathered up his stuff from the top of the dresser, and the three of us left together. Mama was looking mean and mad and Daddy looked ashamed as he tried not to act like he was glad about going home.

I used to hear Mama and Daddy talking about Saturday night frolics in the quarters. Mama, I asked one day, thinking the name referred to money, what’s the quarters?

The quarters, Mama answered, "the quarters was a bunch o’ Iii houses the bosses give the v.1orkers an’ they families to live in. The houses was all in rows, an’ was all alak wid a kitchen, two good-sized rooms, an’ a front stoop. The man, his wife, an’ chillums, ate, dressed, slept, everything in those two rooms. The quarters were named after the bosses. There were Goffin Quarters, Jackson Quarters, an’ Yulee Quarters", she said, the last referring to the Junction where Highway 17 comes out of Jacksonville. A left turn takes you to Callahan, right to Fernandina, and straight ahead for the Florida-Georgia State line.

The people working’ in the quarters, Mama told me, "came from everywhere.

Some came from other states like Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi. Others hailed from closer areas like Jacksonville, St. Augustine, Ocala; and some, Mama said came from right here in Nassau County like me!

So what was the frolics? I asked. Well, times was hard, Mama explained, an’ everybody had to pay fifteen dollars a week o’ else the bosses would put you out, so people took turns havin’ the frolics to get help wid they rent. Whoever was havin’ the frolic would sell stuff… . fifty cent shots o’ red liquor, half-a-pint of moonshine for a dollah, fried fish sandwiches, fried swimps, an’ bottles of Schlitz or Jax beer. They kep’ em cold by puttin’ ’em in a number two wash tub full’o ice. Wasn’t no work on Sundays so everybody could have a good time Saturday night, eatin’, dancin’ an’ drinkin’ likka. If somebody could play the guitar whoever was havin the frolic would ax ’em to come by and play something. I was at the Yulee frolic the night Willie came. He had tole the man he came with he could play the guitar, but he couldn’t play nothing but Coon Shine Baby an’ make one or two good chords on the guitar! Willie had come from Jacksonville looking’ for work, an’ he got on at the sawmill in Yulee’. Ah was playin ‘CC Rider when ah noticed this tall, skinny, dark-skinned niggah watching’ me, so ah put down the guitar, walked over to him an’ axed him why he was watching’ me. He said since he got to the sawmill he hadn’t seen a woman as good-looking as me. Then the two ‘o us got to talking’ an’ that was it!"

Was I born in the Quarters, Mama, and Jack too? I asked. Mama exploded, no gal! After we married, me an’ Willie didn’t stay in the quarters but three months ’cause they was layin’ off mens at the sawmill when ah tole Willie ah was carryin’ Jack, he moved us to Jacksonville to stay wid his cousin Selise on Van Buren Street. We stayed ’til Jack was born, but Willie couldn’t fin’ no work in Jacksonville, so we finally moved back ovah to Fern’ dina."

"So I