Rabbit Road

By Derek Perkins

Pleasant Hill Baptist Church was the center of life and culture for a few hardworking and tough minded African American families in the Mississippi backwoods. Grandma Brillie with her brood of gun-toting sons were at church every Sunday as she paraded down the isle of the old wooden church. Right outside, the Perkins boys were gambling and selling moonshine to sinners and saints alike. Follow these families onto the back roads, into the juke joints, and revivals as they try to carve out a living in a time where just walking on the sidewalk next to someone White could get you thrown in jail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781098074579

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Rabbit Road

Derek Perkins

ISBN 978-1-0980-7456-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-0980-7457-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Derek Perkins and Paige Higgins

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Revival

Chapter 2

Gambling

Chapter 3

Firewater

Chapter 4

The Law

Chapter 5

Soul Food

Chapter 6

Baseball

Chapter 7

Memphis

Chapter 8

Grandma Brillie

Chapter 9

Clyde's Car

Chapter 10

Dinner at the Deans' House

Chapter 11

Haints n' Haunts

Chapter 12

I Shall Not Be Moved

Chapter 13

Work at the Williams

Chapter 14

Fishing

Chapter 15

Rabbit Road

Chapter 16

Click!

Chapter 17

Hebron

Chapter 18

The Beating

Chapter 19

Friday Evening at the Perkins'

Chapter 20

At Harper's Inn

Chapter 21

The Fight

Chapter 22

The Morning After

Chapter 23

Uncle Goodie

Chapter 24

Cotton

Chapter 25

At the Movies

Chapter 26

Standoff

Chapter 27

The War Hero

Chapter 28

Guns

Chapter 29

Payback

Chapter 30

Johnny Memphis

Chapter 31

Ruby Jay's

Chapter 32

Vinnie

Chapter 33

Leaving

Chapter 34

Stuttering

Chapter 35

Nerves

Chapter 36

Mis-si-ssip-pi!

Chapter 37

Travel

Chapter 38

Yuma, Arizona

Chapter 39

Cuda

Origins

Family Tree

Photos

The Perkins Family

About the Author

To my mother, Vera Mae Perkins, the matriarch of the Perkins family. She laughed and enjoyed listening as I read her this book, and it really encouraged my soul. She helped to add and perfect many details of this tale, and Rabbit Road would not have been as good without her.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to Charles Edwards, Rosie Lee's son; Uncle Goodie and his son, Tote; Grandma Brillie, who spanned the generations and told us stories; and late cousin Tommy Barnes, the family historian. Robert and Steve Jackson told me stories while we were neighbors in Pasadena, California. Thank you, Jimmy Perkins, for giving us courage and making us respect our heritage. Thank you, Uncle Bud Perkins, for letting us sit on your porch on Almond Avenue in Monrovia, California, and while you told us stories until you grew old and moved home to Jackson, Mississippi. My great-uncle Bud died holding my sister Elizabeth's hand in my momma and daddy's house. Thank you, Teet, for loving us, feeding us, and putting up with us eight Perkins children.

There are many other stories and legends from the backwoods of Mississippi. The Walkers, Dampeers, Buckleys, Newsomes, Snells, Berrys, Thompsons, Smiths, Pounds, McCulluns, and Hardys are still all noble families in and around Jefferson Davis County in Mississippi.

And a special thanks to my daughter, Paige, for putting Rabbit Road together, editing, reediting, and helping me to bring it to life; and to my sisters and brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews. We all kinfolk to the end. For real, yawl!

Phillip & Derek with Mark Walker outside Grandma Brillie's store

Chapter 1

Revival

The church was the only place the entire Colored community could gather without being accused of instigation, and on this twenty-eighth day of June in 1947, the revival at North Pleasant Hill Missionary Baptist Church was in full swing. Every Baptist church choir in the area had come to sing, so not everyone could fit in the church at the same time. When their church's choir sang, those fellow church members filed in to listen and the other visitors filed out to make space. In the overflowed crowd others also gathered—the men who'd only come to bring their wives and mothers to the revival, those who had come for the picnic and baseball game, and those who gathered to take advantage of the crowd.

Outside, early crops had been picked and late crops were ripening in the fields. The sun was beating down and the sky was as blue as ever, although it rained almost every day around three in the afternoon. The wild plums were as sweet as sugar and falling off the trees. It was just as crowded outside the church as it was inside. There, people were either following the shade or keeping as still as possible, trying not to sweat.

Bill and Bud Perkins moved as little as they could while they ran their dice game, calling people to them by boasting loudly about their gambling skills—not that they needed to do much to gather a crowd. Everyone knew the Perkins were the best bootleggers in the county, and that was enough to draw customers and onlookers.

It wasn't long after they arrived that they were surrounded by all the non-churchgoing men (and some churchgoing men too), who were happy to drink, smoke, dip snuff, chew tobacco, and play a little dice while they waited for the revival to end.

The choir was singing so powerfully that it overshadowed the noise of the dice game and let Bill and Bud mutter to each other unnoticed.

I ain't never goin' to be soft like my daddy, Bud vowed. Making moonshine for no corn cracker.

Bill gritted his teeth as he recalled their past, and the conversation began to draw a few listeners.

That same so-called Christian son of a bitch acted like he was doing us a favor when he was touching our momma. I-be-damn if I give in to a corncracker. We was teenagers when we vowed together, enough is enough. We ain't doing shit, but what we wants to do. F the law and they so-called rules and regulations, Bill growled.

Inside the packed church, the women sat on one side and the men on the other, all dressed in their Sunday's best. Paper fans beat the air but delivered no relief from the oppressive heat. Women's makeup ran down their faces. Baking soda worked overtime to de-stink the underarm sweat. The light stench of mildew from the old church overlaid with talcum powder provided the background smell for the crowded event.

Grandma Brillie Williams took out her chewing tobacco as she entered church late, her big extended family following behind her. Her daughter Ozzie, who they called Sister, held her right arm. Behind them were four young girls. First, two of her granddaughters followed close. Vera Mae, sixteen years of age and, in her thinking, ready for marriage, was holding her baby sister Luevenia's hand. They were the daughters of Grandma Brillie's oldest daughter, Teddy. Next came two grandnieces. Doris and Lou Anna walked in with arms locked, wearing white gloves. Their dad was Grandma Brillie's nephew, Levi, but they lived with Grandma. Other family was already in the church, saving a space for Brillie close to the front, so that's where she and the girls headed.

The Williams boys made up the back of the group.

Now, it was common knowledge that the Williams boys went for bad. For sure, one or two of them had guns with them as they filled in the back row on the men's side. They were serious-minded men, and nobody messed with them, neither Colored nor White. Most of them were churchgoers upon the demand of their mother, but if push came to shove, any one of them would shoot you dead.

As Grandma Brillie's son Goodie crossed the church threshold, he swallowed the juice of his Bull of the Woods tobacco. His eyes rolled back in his head as he stuffed what remained under his tongue. He made his way to the back near the window with a clear view of their family truck and sat next to Ole Mr. Berry, who owned a juke joint in the backwoods.

Grandma Brillie's oldest son, Deacon L.L. Williams, Crowfoot as they called him, was a budding preacher. He walked all the way up and sat near the pulpit with the other deacons.

Like most of the people in those backwoods, the Williams were tough, hardworking people. Eleven in all lived in one small house, including Vera Mae's big brother, Grady C. Young, who was seventeen. Lou Anna was a talkative fourteen-year-old; Doris was eleven. Sister was in her twenties.

Before the revival choir stopped singing, Rev. Snell stood up. Every word he spoke echoed inside the small wooden-floored church. He started slowly. Speaking every word with precision, he built his case as if he was in a court of law.

We. Are. God's. People. Amen?

Amen! the people responded.

And we know. The difference. Between the truth. And a lie! Amen!

Amen!

We come here to praise the Laud! Amen?

Amen!

Why yawl come here?

To praise the Lord! they answered.

Amen!

Amen!

"Jesus said, ‘My house. Shall be. A house. Of prayer!'"

Amen!

But you have turned it into a den of iniquity! Rev. Snell said that last word slowly, pronouncing each syllable: i-ni-qui-ty.

Amen! they rejoined.

We got to keep that devil out! Ta! The preacher repeated Ta, Ah, or Ha, at the end of each sentence to keep the rhythm. We can't let that devil be among us. Ah! We know the difference between the truth and a lie! Ha! He sang the message with a call-and-response style straight out of West Africa.

Amen! the people said.

We come here to praise the Laud! Da! he sang.

Amen! they sang back.

Why'd we come here? Ah! Whyyyyy? Ha!

To praise the Lord! the crowd shouted.

Let's praise the Laud! Da!

Yes! the crowd sang back.

Ha! To do what? Ta!

To praise the Lord! they shouted.

The crowd's rhythmic foot tapping kept the pace as the message went along. They were worked up into a frenzy of Amens and Preach its!

Then the pastor started back at the top, We are God's people, ah! We know the difference from the truth and a lie! Ha! We come here to praise the Laud! Da! Ha! Why you come here? Ha!

To praise the Lord! the people shouted.

Rev. Snell accepted this response as if he had discovered a new idea or had answered a thousand-dollar question. Some of the men put their hands over their mouths, women shielded their eyes with their hands, and others smiled because they knew Rev. Snell was showing off. The pastor danced to the rhythm of the foot tapping and the echoes of the Amens and Preach it, brothers!

He picked up his Bible and slammed it to the floor. I am standing on the Word of God! Da! He put his foot on the Bible. This is God's Word, da! And I am standing on it! Ha! He pointed at the book on the floor and ran in a circle around it. I know the difference! Ah! Between the truth, ah, and a lie! Ha!

A woman screamed and fell out on the floor. She went into convulsions, so the ushers ran to fan her and fix her so she would not hit her head. Her body twitched; it seemed serious. The ushers signaled for more help, and the preacher preached on.

There she go again, Lou Anna whispered to Doris and Vera Mae.

They had seen her fall out before, but this time, they held their noses and fanned the air aggressively. They laughed and leaned against each other, swaying back and forth. Laughter erupted among the young folks in that section of the church as the smell of rotten eggs permeated the place of worship.

Chapter 2

Gambling

Meanwhile, outside the church, Flora sashayed through the trees near the game of crap shooting, her spicy perfume arriving before she and her kids did.

Welcome back, Clyde Perkins. How long you been home from the war?

A couple of months, Clyde responded, the humid air causing him to choke on her loud perfume.

One of Flora's small sons asked, Where did they shoot you at?

Clyde hunched his shoulders and said in a military fashion, It's nothing, sir.

Did it hurt? another child chimed in.

Clyde shrugged his shoulders again, nodding his head, Yes, sir. Yes, sir.

Come on, boy. Flora pulled his ear and marched the kids toward the church. You know you ain't supposed to ask no questions like that.

John 2-P Perkins and his best friend and first cousin, Jimmy Perkins, ran up to John's big brother, Clyde.

What did she say? John pestered, hoping to get a bit of gossip.

Clyde dismissed them. Nothing! Go back up to that church window so you can hear something.

They disappeared into the crowd, following the dissipating smell of Flora's perfume. For a while, they could hear one of the choirs from inside the church and their Uncle Cuda Wilks playing the same music but singing different words.

Cuda drew his own crowd of onlookers as he sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck, plucking his guitar right along with the church folk. He could play like a work of art. Cuda would hum, It's talking to you. Listen, can't you hear the words this guitar is saying? It's a language!

He glanced at the church and shook his head saying to the onlookers, Some folk think this is an instrument of the devil.

Bill Perkins sat outside holding a deck of cards, hoping to entice someone to play Georgia Skins, but his coughing fits and the growled curse words that followed weren't too inviting.

Down the hill and closer to the cornfield, the dice game was on. Bill's younger brother, Bud, crouched with one knee on his handkerchief, throwing his dice onto the dried, Mississippi clay dirt.

Come to me, Momma! Uh! His fingers snapped as the dice hit the dirt.

"I need some mo' cornbread!" Snap! "This for my dinner tonight!"

Snap!

Bud had already sweat through the band of his brimmed hat and his blue-black skin was shiny.

Next? He stashed his winnings in his inside vest pocket and the gun in his shoulder strap glinted. He urged, Put your money down. Dem dollars right there. Shooting for nothing shiny, nothing that clinks, no coins, just cash dollars. Coins weigh me down. I need paper money!

Cousin Joe Willie Davis laughed. Damn you, Bud, let's shoot dice! You gonna talk or play?

Bud shook his dice and rolled. Come to Daddy.

He spit out his wad of Blood Hound chewing tobacco. Dar it is! Eight! Who next? Who next?

Bill had no takers for cards, so he wandered over just in time to watch Bud rake the pile of money into his hand. He wanted to grin, but the suckers didn't like it when he did that, so he took a gulp from his mason jar silently. Their firewater was smoother than most, but some days it still went down hard.

Another sucker came forward and put his money on the ground. Bud matched the money, threw the dice, and snapped his fingers. Seven! Who next, or yawl scared?

Bill laughed, which made him cough again. When he recovered, he added his patter to his brother's. "Aw shit! These church boys skurred! Ain't that why yawl work so you can have some fun, spend money, and play? Come on, have some fun!"

Steve Jackson and his younger brother, Robert, stood there with money in hand.

Bud was in the middle of trying to secretly change the dice when he noticed Robert looking a little too closely at his fingers. It was no surprise when Robert leaned over to whisper to Steve, and then they announced, Something's wrong. We workin' so hard for our money, and we ain't going to give no mo' of it away to you, Perkins. We come here today to play baseball.

Robert grabbed Steve by the shirt and walked him over to Goodie Williams. Goodie had escaped the revival and was leaning against their flatbed Ford truck, his tobacco plug making his jaw protrude. Teddy, his green-eyed, light-skinned older sister, who was also Vera Mae's mother, stood nearby watching the action and fanning flies.

Goodie had a false grin on his face that did not move; he had a smiling stare that looked past everyone, right into thin air.

Robert and Steve whispered to him. Without acknowledging them, he reached into his pocket and handed them a fresh pair of dice. They stalked back toward the dice game.

Robert threw down his two silver coins in front of Bud. Dat's two dollars right there!

We'll shoot you for two silver dollars, but use these here, Steve said, holding out a pair of dice. I heard about you, Perkins boys.

What you sayin', boy? Something wrong with my dice? Bud scoffed. Give me them damn dice! I will use them.

He held the dice up to the sun, looking for evidence they'd been drilled and patched. They ain't loaded, is they?

Bud made a show of walking over to Willie Davis's bluish black 1941 Chevy and threw the dice on its hood.

Willie Davis was one of Bud's road dogs who sometimes worked schemes with him. Willie stood at his open car door throughout the whole thing, showing his gold teeth.

The dice didn't magnetically attract to the negatively charged ground of the car hood, so Bud knew they weren't loaded. He knew how to test them 'cause he always kept a loaded set handy himself.

More folks came forward to make bets. They were more confident after Bud couldn't use his own dice. AV Buckley put money in, but his brother Black'un stood alongside him, both hands on his hips, with fists balled up. Black'un's skin was blacker than his jet-black hair. He was built stocky and liked to pick fights with people, so everyone had to watch out for signs he was itching to use those fists. Bud knew Black'un wouldn't fight at the church grounds, so he was not fazed.

Do we need to talk about the rules, boys? Bud talked slowly to degrade the Jackson brothers. Now see, if I throw both dice and they come up as snake eyes, I lose. If I roll a seven or eleven on the first roll, I win. So the strategy is…roll the dice once—

Damn it, Bud, AV said. Everybody know, if you don't hit seven, eleven, or snake eyes, you roll until you get the first number you rolled or lose by hitting seven. We know the rules!

Black'un came in closer to add more pressure.

Come to me, baby. Bud rolled a nine with the snap of his fingers. Anybody else want in?

Bud threw the dice again, but before they stopped rolling, Steve raked his hand over them.

Bud adjusted his hat and picked up the dice. We gonna play or what? What kind of rules you playing with, boy?

I can rake the dice if they still rolling! Steve said. Everybody knows that.

The men around the game nodded their heads in agreement.

Bud's voice got louder and sweat rolled down his forehead. Huh! He threw the dice. Nine!

But the dice showed a one and a two.

People put more money down, betting that he would not hit nine.

Huh! Bud matched each of their money with a snap.

The singing and shouting from the church seemed to get louder, so the sinners outside had to get louder too.

Five, huh! Snap!

Six, huh! Snap!

Five, huh! Snap! Snap! Nine!

"Where my money!