Little brother,the Wideman brothers,and Lost Creek
 From time to time I've mentioned Lost Creek. That old creek just meandered in and out of my youth. Me, little brother, and the Wideman boys put in some good days on the banks of said creek. Before I get to far along maybe I need to touch on how we classified the different streams in our part of the country. We had branches which were streams small enough to all most jump across. Streams such as Lost Creek were much wider, probably twenty yards or more across. Rivers could vary between fifty yards and one mile from bank to opposite bank. During my travels, it became obvious that different locations classified their streams differently. For instance I learned that a small creek where I came from was some times called a river up north in Michigan.
 On one particular day, the Widemans along with Lowell and me went down on the creek to check on our Trotline. For those not familiar with the term, the Trotline is a down south tradition. It consists of one long heavy line with many short lines hung from it. Each short line has a fish hook on the free end. The long line is usually loosely strung across the creek with the baited short lines trailing out below it. Sort of crude but effective. Really good on Catfish and Suckers. My brother and the younger Wideman boy liked to run, holler, and just plain act crazy. This day wasn't any different. Them two was off and gone in nothing flat. Meanwhile me and James started checking the Trotline. We hadn't been at it no time when Tom, the younger Wideman,  comes a running back to where me and his bother was. He was crying and out of breath, his clothes were soaking wet. Even before he spoke a word, I knew something bad had happened. The absence of my brother sent a bolt of fear through me. Tom told us that little brother had swung out over the creek using a vine hanging from a tree limb. The vine broke and dropped Lowell into the creek, forty feet below. The tree was on top of a small bluff which accounted for the long drop.. Everybody and his brother had used that old vine to swing out over the creek. Just my luck, the old vine gave up while my brother was playing on it. Tom told us how he had gone into the water searching for my brother. When he realized he needed help he came looking for James and me. By now I was frantic. I had been charged with taking care of my brother. How could I have been so careless as to let this happen? We all "lit out" headed for the spot where it had happened. Once there we all jumped into the water searching for my brother. I knew this spot, it was deep and it was cold. Well, there was good news and there was also bad news. Good news was we didn't find his body. Bad news was that I had to go and tell my mom. It would be the hardest thing I ever had to do. Me and the Wideman boys took off to my house. All three of us were in a flat out get home fast run. It was just under a mile to my house from where we were. Turned out to be the longest trip I'd ever made in my life. Tears streaked my face. I was angry that I'd failed my brother and my parents. Even though I questioned why God allowed such a thing to happen, I prayed like never before. I just plain out run them Widemans. A feat that had never happened before nor would it ever happen again. I stumbled going up the porch steps. Dang near broke my leg. So now I was forced to hobble with a right leg that was hurting me bad. Once inside the house I started to frantically call my mom. A familiar voice informed me that mom was down the road visiting at the Lee place. There sat my brother on the living room couch . Lets face it I wouldn't hurt a hair on his head, but Lord the temptation to strangle him on the spot was almost painful. It turned out that the unexpected fall followed by the cold water was more than little brothers bowel control could handle. According to brother, it was the need for clean clothes that made him head to the house without bothering to tell anybody. The Wideman boys never said a word but then they seldom ever did. It was that kind of friendship. We'd spent too many hours together to find any humor in such an accident. Actually everyone including little brother laughed until we cried. Like I said we were "Pals". Hard to believe its been nearly 60 years since I saw either one of the Widemen boys. Don't see Lowell often enough but we keep in touch.

My hobby is recounting my childhood adventures. No doubt, that time in my life is my true comfort zone. Folks ask from time to time if I've thought about bringing my writing into the  present. Frankly at this time, I'd rather not , maybe later. I also avoid any political overtones. I'm here to reminisce, not debate.
I want to devote some space to telling my followers Thank You. I enjoy writing, the readers make it even more enjoyable. Also thanks to Douglas McEwin for his continuing support by making this blog space available.

The Hooker clan lived down the road from my uncle Buck's place. They were honest to goodness dirt farmers. They farmed over 100 acres. Most of the locals didn't do any full blown farming like in the old days. People like my uncle Buck and my uncle Jim worked regular jobs and farmed maybe 20 or so acres in their spare time.
Old man George was the patriarch of the Hooker family. He'd raised three girls and two boys on the same land and in the same house that he had grown up in. George and his wife had brought up their kids to fill their places in life as honest, hard working farmers, or in the case of the girls, good farmers wives. The Second World War changed all that. The boys, Hodge and Bobby, both went off to war and the girls, Marie, Patsy and Alice  went off to work in the industries that provided war materials for the armed forces. George and his missus had to work the land on their own.
The war finally ended. George watched as his children returned home from the war. They had all contributed in one way or the other. He was moved to cry for joy as they all sat down once more together at the dinner table. Finally an end to such a long absense. Thank you dear Lord he thought.
The Hooker kids weren't any different than several million other young folks that had weathered the war. George's kids wanted to be where the money and the excitement was. After the dust settled, only one son remained. All the rest had run off to Birmingham. They were going to work for the Pullman Rail Car Company.
Hodge was the oldest boy and the oldest child. The only one of the five to leave a spouse behind when he went to war. To complicate matters, his wife was pregnant with their first child.
George Raymond Hooker was born in the winter of 1942 while his daddy was somewhere in Europe. Grandpa George loved that kid, spoiling him rotten in no time.
Hodge was discharged and home for the Christmas of 1945. He decided he'd had enough adventures to last a life time. Him and paw and that kid was gonna stay and work this land come hell or high water. And so it would be.
George Raymond Hooker went to the Old Prospect school. My brother and I attended the same school. He rode the same school bus that we did.
My brother Lowell was George Raymonds age. They were both in the same grade and same room at school. Old Prospect was an all wood structure, housing first through ninth grade class rooms.  
George Raymond or Rayferd as he was dubbed, was  the meanest and most ornery boy in the whole student body. Well except for maybe Bobby Gene Johnson. Now old Bobby Gene Was strictly a drive you into the dirt type a guy. He didn't have the time or desire to try and bam boozle his adversery. Instead, he simply beat the daylights out of his victims. Rayferd on the other hand was a down right cunning little beast. Dirtiest fighter I ever seen, a biter and a hair puller. If he got in over his head, he'd run to the teacher just a bawling. If he didn't get his way he would roll around on the ground and stomp his feet. Sometimes he simply held his breath until he started turning blue. Sure wish someone could have arranged to get him and Bobby into it. For some reason it never happened. Neither boy had any friends. A not impossible to understand situation?
 Meanwhile back at the home place, school was out and Rayferd was showing up in our front yard every morning. Lowell and me acted like we didn't notice him being there. Pretty soon he'd start in a making strange noises. First off was the playing card and clothes pin  noise maker attached to his old Roll Fast Bicycle. I'd just turn up our old Philco radio and let radio station WVOK and disc jockey Joe Rumore drown Rayferd and and his bike noise right out. When the playing card  didn't work he'd sneak up on the front porch and start the noise making again. Ma would get upset thinking the noise was my dog. She'd warn me that not one pot had better be turned over. Oh Lord not the front porch. My only choice was to act surprised when Rayferd would magically appear outta nowhere. Mama, bless her heart, loved her plants and flowers, a fact you'd best not forget. Rayferd in his cunning way made sure that I knew that he knew about the price of breaking one of them flower pots. Rayferd always timed his entry to match our breakfast time. He was a eating machine. My old dog would howl at the back door in hopes that at least a few scraps would get to his pan. Rayferd was, in addition to the other negative labels he totted around, an absolute hog.
The month of June seemed like it lasted for only two weeks instead of four. July Fourth was less than a week off. Every one of mama's flowers were in full bloom. A trellis of Morning Glory Vines made shade for the old porch swing. Zenias, Marigolds, Snap Dragons and you name it. I loved to set on the porch at noontime and just listen to the sounds of summer. From our porch swing protected by the vines you can look across the front yard, down the red clay road, and watch the heat rising off the surface. An occasional grasshopper will rise and float across the road as the heat thermals bump him along the way. Humming Birds, June Bugs and all manner of little buzzing insects among the pretty flowers. Of course no mid-summer day would be complete without having the Cicadas start to sing.
It was the last Sunday before the Fourth of July 1952. My dad was working up north in Michigan. Me and little brother was hoping he'd come home for the holiday. We were missing him something awful. Seeing as how our old 1939 Chevy was up there with him, we was walking. There wasn't much need for the car here at home anyway. Ma was the piano player at our church, her dad was a deacon, getting there was no problem. We'd be there and on time to boot.
Probably not much need to describe how beautiful an Alabama Sunday in June can be. This particular one was no exception. Rayferd usually stayed home on Sunday. Such a blessing meant that we could enjoy breakfast with our digestive systems calm, peaceful and intact. All this and good Gospel Music coming from the old Philco. Even old dog was at peace. Laying there a sleep in a nice sunny spot, just waiting for his share of breakfast. We gathered around the table and asked the blessing. Ma always set an extra place at the table for my dad even though he was far away. 

My Grandma Luler was one of the high points in my life. The daughter of a Civil War veteran, she grew up in the wilderness of Alabama. At a place called Wolf Creek. To call Wolf Creek isolated just doesn't do the area justice. I can't recall the exact number of siblings she had. However, I do remember two of her sisters. One sister was called Della, the other was called Mertie. If I remember right, Luler was the youngest of the three girls.

I never got to really know aunt Della. Della was a recluse, preferring to keep her own counsel.

Aunt Mertie was a bootlegger plain and simple. She adhered to the philosophy that if she wasn't selling Shine someone else would. Sweet old gal, but hard as nails in her business dealings. She kept a roll of money in her brazier big enough to choke a horse. She toted a pistol big enough to kill that same  poor horse.

All three of the sisters still wore long dresses in a fashion long since gone. However, dressing that way was not uncommon in our area at that time. That time being the early 1950s.

Luler was more like Della than like Mertie. When it came to Grandmas, you'd be hard pressed to find one any better. Among her many talents she was both an excellent musician and a great story teller.

Grandma was a clean living person. Didn't drink, smoke, chew or dip, was a vegetarian to boot. Wasn't much for cussing either.

Grandma's next door neighbor was a cranky old women named Edith Bray. Edith was the neighborhood gossip. She was also an entrepreneur of sorts, selling different items that she ordered though the mail. Edith even sold Stanley products. For anyone that don't know, Stanley markets a line of household products. Those products are sold door to door.

One fine spring day Edith showed up at Lulers door with two bottles of some brown concoction. An elixir called Hadicol. According to its label it was the missing link in the field of pharmaceutical science. Curing everything from shingles to cancer, it could also remove unsightly warts.

Hadicol swept through our part of the country like wildfire. It really could make a difference in how a person felt. Wasn't long before Edith couldn't keep enough in stock to meet the demand. Don't know who made the stuff or what was in it? I can't recall seeing it on shelf of any stores. A local disc-jockey plugged it every day for a number of weeks. His actions were most likely what would later be called a "Payola" deal. The Hadicol company paid the DJ directly to mention their product. A common practice in the broadcasting industry at that time.

Grandma Luler and Edith Bray couldn't say enough good things about Hadicol. Grandma said it made her feel peaceful. The ingredients remained a mystery. Then, one day the FDA started seizing it. Didn't take them long to get it all. Nobody went to jail so I guess everything was for the best.

I've been told that Hadicol bottles sell pretty good on E-BAY. Wish I'd have saved some of the bottles when they were plentiful.

Now that my wife and I are well into our "Golden Years", we find our eating habits have changed greatly. Some of the old standbys no longer appeal to us. A great many groceries have got too expensive for our budget. We have a good pension income but recent price increases are making things rough. I really feel sorry for people with less income, Lord only knows how their getting by. Well, at any rate, present financial conditions got me to thinking about things long since gone under the bridge of time. Remember when breakfast was more than a cup of strong coffee and a Pop Tart? Dinner was far more than a Quarter Pounder, fries and a watered down Pepsi. When I was a kid we didn't have lunch at noon instead we had dinner at one o'clock and supper sometime after five o'clock. A good breakfast would set the pace for a good day. My mom would get up around 4:00am and cook breakfast. We had an old Detroit Jewel wood burning cook stove. Before she could cook she had to build a fire in the old stove. Her efforts made it possible for me to have a hot meal before I caught the school bus. Milk was not plentiful. We didn't own a cow or a refrigerator. Instead of milk I'd drink a couple of cups of sweet Red Diamond coffee. Granulated white sugar cost too much to be used in coffee. My mom let me use sorghum molasses in place of regular sugar. Using molasses or sometimes honey to replace sugar was a pretty common practice. Aw yes it was the coffee. I think that Red Diamond was the best coffee I've ever tasted. The smell of it in the morning was one life's little pleasures. I liked the way you could see the bottom of the full cup. Even when the stuff was bitter strong you could peer through the rich amber brew and see the bottom of the cup. Good coffee, good water and a good stove top percolator, how could it not turn out tasting good? . Cold weather or hot weather, Red Diamond coffee and a good farm breakfast was the only way to start the new day.

In the early 1950's my dad and his brother Bill were truck drivers. Bill owned three trucks and several trailers. My dad and a man named Winfred Webb drove two of uncle Bill's truck and trailer rigs. Bill drove the third rig. At that particular time they were hauling lumber for a man named Bill Early. Business was good, the G.I. bill was helping veterans build thousands of new homes. The demand for lumber was at a record high. However , the profit for the truckers left a lot to be desired. Most loads went to Chicago or Detroit, a one way distance of about 900 miles. Having to come back empty was an expensive proposition. My Uncle Bill was a very resourceful business man as well as a hustler of sorts. He saw that the northern cities were awash in used prewar automobiles. New cars were once more available. The owners of these older cars were buying new cars to replace them. Uncle Bill figured he could sell these used cars back in Alabama.
Each lumber trailer was about forty feet long. There was plenty of room to haul two cars on each trailer. And so it was that Bill and my dad along with Webb got into the used car business. The response to the used cars was overwhelming. The danged things sold like ice cream on a hot August day. Like everything else though, the local area market was used up in about two months. During that time the three partners had accumulated a good bank roll. Bill figured there was still money to be made with the older cars. After the partners accumulated a dozen nice pre-1940 cars they would have a sale. I don't exactly know how Bill got the word out but several out of town dealers showed up on sale day. Although the sale took place on short notice, it was an encouraging success. The sellers saw to it that there was plenty of barbecue to eat and lots of cold Falstaf beer. Last but far from least was the target shooting event. Maybe event isn't the proper description. It was all about how good a shot I was. My uncle Oscar (a.k.a Junior) would talk the buyers into betting against my skill with a .22caliber rifle. What our visitors didn't know was just how good I was with that rifle. It was simply like taking candy from a baby. After the third sale, my Uncle Bill put a stop to the target shooting. His reasoning was that a sheep could be sheared over and over but you could only skin it once. Considering my skill the event was akin to shooting fish in a barrel. Oh well it was fun while it lasted. The lumber hauling and used car business lasted a little over a year. The partners had sold 64 automobiles in fourteen months. Thanks to our dealer friends the cars were spread out over Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee and Georgia. I have no doubt that every dealer we dealt with was satisfied with how they were treated.
In the summer of 2008 I was finishing a job that my business had done for a Ford dealer in a nearby town. When I had concluded the meeting and was leaving, the customer asked if I had some extra time. He said his father wanted to ask me a question. He led me to an office located on the second floor. Before we entered the office, he warned me that his dad was 80 yrs old and not always easy to get along with. With that warning we went into the old mans office. He was a slim old fella. He had the hard look of and old hound that had tangled with to many coons. After shaking my hand the old gent said that earlier he'd heard me talking to his son. Said he'd heard my last name mentioned. He wondered if I had people in Alabama. I owned up to being from Carbon Hill Alabama. The old man smiled and said "hell man I've done business there". It turned out that he remembered my uncle and my dad. We spent the next hour just getting caught up on what had happened since the good old days. It was great.

They were four close friends who time and distance separated, but throughout life they were never farther apart than the blinking of an eye.

We are often tempted to wonder if God is real. I’m guilty at times of falling prey to such blindness. Thinking back, we are often amazed by recollections we have and how God helped us in our lives.

Just little country farm boys, we would often tempt fate in knowing and unknowing ways. We had our share of chores and farming duties to attend to, but we were also allowed time to play and explore. Tosh and the rest of the crew were always into something.

Ed and Tom were the Wideman boys; their parents rented a small farm from old Mr. Millwood. Tosh and Travis lived about a mile from the Wideman brothers, so it was inevitable that we’d all become friends. After being told about “dry creek” fishing by old man Millwood, the four boys were sold on the idea.

Dry creek fishing comes about as the result of the creeks drying up except in their deepest spots. The fish are forced to inhabit the deep places because the hot dry summer hasn’t left them much choice. This need to find water also applies to snakes, turtles, frogs, and whatever else needs water.

The four boys fished up and down Cheatom Creek pools, hoping to catch some real lunkers so they could have a fish fry. After a day of having to contend with all the other deep pool dwellers, they gave up. Snakes in particular were very bothersome. No one wanted to get snake-bit.

The oldest Wideman daughter had been bitten earlier in the year, and we all were aware of the problems she had suffered as a result. Her name was Kathleen, but we all called her Kat instead. So after much discussion Tosh, Travis, Tom, and Ed decided the snakes could have it all. The boys had dodged the snake bites, which is sort of fun but not very smart. Leave those bad reptiles alone!

Spring that year had brought tornadoes and a lot of high winds. One of the results of such weather was a lot of blown-down trees. The four boys decided they would really be useful and turn some of those fallen trees into firewood.

It was a beautiful day that the boys picked to cut some firewood. They headed into the woods with a double-bladed ax, a cross-cut saw, and an RC bottle filled with kerosene. The kerosene is used to clean pine resin off the saw blade — not a real problem because we were going to cut hardwood.

After having to wrestle the saw from bad cuts that allowed the log to collapse on the blade and pinch it, we decided this wasn’t gonna work. Travis had already figured another way to do it. His Plan B was to top the tree first and saw from top to bottom. Years later Travis would recall the plan and what followed. After the initial topping the older boys had been sawing, they had cut off two chunks of about thirty inches each. Ed and Travis decided to try to lift the trunk high enough to lay one of the earlier cut pieces under it.

Tosh and Tom as well as a little Rat Terrier named Black Boy had been of chasing some confused squirrels that most likely had been living in one of the downed oaks. The little dog chased a squirrel down into the hole made when the wind ripped the tree from the ground. Tom and Tosh were partially into the same hole trying to get the dog.

It was at that moment that the remaining piece of tree trunk and root ball decided to once again stand upright. Travis screamed at the top of his lungs for everyone to get away from the tree. In the blinking of an eye Travis mounted that oak a la Slim Pickens in the movie Dr. Strangelove. For the briefest of moments the tree hesitated – just long enough for Tom, Tosh, and Black Boy to get clear. Once that moment had passed that old tree shot upright like some ancient siege engine. I suppose it was a form of kinetic energy.

That catapult ride should have killed Travis, but not so — he broke his left thumb but was able to get up and go check on the others. Travis realized that he had been part of something very powerful. God stood up to death and won — none of my children today, not even the dog.

And so it has always been.

So many of my friends I’ll not see again, but you will all live within my heart and soul.

My great grand daughter has many of todays modern toys. They flash, they buzz. One of her teddy bears even interfaces with the home computer. The damned thing can talk and sing not to mention the animal sounds it can mimic. Despite the allure of modern day toys Allison seems more drawn to traditional toys. A ragged old sock monkey seems to suit her fancy just fine. Even with a small fleet of electric powered conveyances she prefers to have her dad pull her through the house in a plastic tub.
Allison would most likely not miss many of her toys if they were gone.
I confess that my wife and I are guilty of trying to make sure that Ally wants for nothing. Both of us tend to some times get carried away in our efforts.
Although being able to shower our children with gifts makes us feel good, I'm not sure the kid benefits from such lavish practices.
As is the norm for me I tend to try and draw a parallel between today and the past. When I was younger, kids were seldom showered with great amounts of material things. One or two special toys were pretty much it. Such an arrangement was sure to let the child exercise his or her imagination. Not a bad thing in my opinion. Another benefit was, with one toy only, was the tendency of the child to take better care of that single toy. A good trait for any child to learn.
Many times that toy survives and becomes a family heirloom of sorts. So it was with my brothers Howdy Doody puppet. The Howdy Doody show was all the rage for youngsters in 1947 or there abouts. Television was new and so was the Howdy show. My little brother was a big fan of Howdy and his side kicks. My folks found the Howdy puppet at a Sears Roebuck store in Los Angeles. The puppet and its original box resides at my mothers house in Alabama. I, being a tinkerer of sorts, wasn't able to save any of my early toys. My father often expressed the belief that even an anvil was at risk when I was around.
My point is that today we give kids more superficial items than they will ever use. As I said earlier, the kid will usually pick one favorite. Everything else just clutters up his or her room.              

As promised earlier, I have attempted to correct typo's and other similar distractions. This effort has so far caused more problems.
Bear with me.

My dads plan to reach Texarkana paned out just about right. We got there just as dusky dark was tuning to full night. The noise of the traffic woke me up. I discovered that my arrival in Texas was accompanied a bladder in emergency mode. Gotta go right now, I mean RIGHT NOW. Mama had been sure to bring along our old enamel chamber pot. "Slop Jar" to you backwoods folks. I couldn't find the dern thing. I couldn't hold out any longer so I Peed thru a crack in the tail gate. My little brother was yelling "I gonna tell mama what you did". So instead of seeing my first real Texas cowboy I end up peeing on the main drag in downtown Texarkana. I guess you could say I marked my passing. Texas I are here.

My dad stopped for gas just west of town. He told us that he and Tittle planned to drive until they needed to gas up again. They would find a spot to rest after they had gone that far. Mama brought us supper. Vieanna sausage, white loaf bread and Canada Ginger ale . I hate Ginger ale but what you gonna do. Little brother blirted out to mama about me peeing. I got scolded by my mom. My dad just sort of gave me a grin and a wink. As if to say "a mans gotta do what a mans gotta do".  Mama found that chamber pot and said I'd better use it or else. Didn't want nobody to think we were backward. Hey, I wasn't being backward, I had to pee. 

Pretty soon us and the little Ford were back on the road again. Dad had left the flap up on the tarp and I could see the Texas sky. The weather had turned  good. No clouds and the rain was gone. The night sky was full of stars as far as the eye could see. Texas is a big piece of real estate. Flat and reaching out beyond the horizon. The stars at night really are big and bright in Texas. Mom had got in back with brother and me. Wasn't long before the steady whine of the Ford sang me to sleep.

For whatever reason I lay in the back of that truck and started to dream about being back in Alabama. Mostly I dreamed about the "Runt".

I have already told about my cousin Shela. She was a colorful, bigger than life person. Shela enjoyed life, a fact you couldn't miss if you spent time around her. This segment is about Shela and her two brothers. She was born Hazel Morse, only daughter of Thomas and Flora Morse. She had one older brother named Jim and a younger brother named Tom.

The Morse family lived near my hometown of Carbon Hill. Mr. Roosevelt and the WPA was spending lots of money in the area which led to some jobs and a pretty good life style for some including the Morse family. James was a good worker and provider. He had one short coming. He was gambler. A lucky one to boot. He took care of his family and was one of the few people that my mothers dad really liked. As I said Hazel had two brothers the youngest being named Tom. He picked up the nickname of Sonny or Sonny Boy. A name that stuck with him all his life. The oldest boy was called J.T. a name he hates till this day. After seventy five very successful years he's still called J.T.

The spring of Hazel's eighth birthday would alter her life and the lives of her brothers. It would mark the beginning of a series of tragedies that would accumulate into changes that would dictated the course of the lives of Hazel and her siblings. It began with the death of her father. Any death is a terrible ordeal for the family members of the deceased. In this case it was especially bad, Hazels father was murdered because of a card game. The irony was the fact that he was killed at the McDade Cemetery instead of some smokey backroom. The killer was a sore loser that had lost his paycheck in a poker game. The local men during nice weather would play cards at a picnic area behind the church. The picnic area was used for decoration day which is a big thing in the "Bible Belt". This particular church didn't have a regular congregation. For some reason that I'm not familiar with, the church was just for the cemetery.  I don't know the exact size of the cemetery but It would be safe to say that it covered several acre's. At any rate Thomas Morse died there as the result of being shot.

The murder left a widow and three small children. With help of family and friends  Flora was able to support her  family. So the Morse family was in pretty good shape considering everything that had happened.

After about a year and a half Flora felt it was time to remarry and make hers a normal family again. She chose a man named Howard Sanlen. Howard was everything that husband Thomas hadn't been. Why Flora chose him would remain a mystery that she took to the grave. Howard was a drinker, a wife and child beater plus he liked women to much to give up his outside sporting around. As it seems to be in these types of relationships my aunt Flora loved this "Bum" no matter what he did.

It wasn't long until Flora was pregnant. Howard was a twin and it was pretty much evident that Flora would have twins. My mom was just a kid at the time but remembers most everything about the ordeal that Flora went through to carry the babies. I sometimes wonder why good women let themselves get into relationships like Flora was in. Her second husband was a no good bum. Having a baby for the bastard would change nothing. I guess she thought it would be different for her and Howard.

Keep in mind that this is all taking place in the to mid thirties. Babies were delivered at home. Most times it was a mid-wife because doctors were few and far between. Flora had born three children through natural birth. She wasn't overly concerned this time except the worry that twins might cause extra problems. Not long into the birth problems started developing. The first baby was dead because it had tangled the umbilical cord around it neck. The second baby was trying to be born but the first one had the birth canal blocked. My mom and my grand parents had come to help Flora after the babies arrived. Howard was nowhere to be found. My grand mother came out on the front porch  and whispered to my grandpa Cole to fetch old Doctor Manassco from Carbon Hill. He was back in no time. The doctor arrived just behind Cole. My mom said there were sounds of people rushing around as well as the sound of people crying out and moaning. The doctor came out after a while and took my grandpa to one side and told him that both babies and the mother had died. Cole loaded up my mom and the Morse kids and took them home with him. He left my mom with the three kids, telling her that he had to get an undertaker for Flora and the twins. 

Howard showed up all teary eyed and drunk telling everyone how much he had loved Flora and how he was going to miss her. Of course he didn't have any cash but had some owed to him. He'd pay my grandpa back soon as he could. Well Howard never got around to paying Cole or seeing to the welfare of the Morse kids. My grandparents took in the kids. My mom was just starting High school. She would be aunt and sister to them for the rest of their lives.
 
I told you early on about Shela. I'll add a bit more so you better understand her. My grand father was a strict and at times mean person. He kept them kids but he didn't do it for free.  He would exchange up keep for labor. Cole had dairy on the farm that later became my uncle Bill's place. The dairy was all manual labor back at that time. Old man Cole had forty six milk cows. He had one hired hand, my mother and the Morse kids to keep the place going. It was heavy, hard work. Hazel did not get along with Cole. By the time she turned sixteen the nation was at war and she'd had it with Cole. Hazel managed to run away and join the Womens Army Corp. It took them about six months to find that Hazel was under age. In the process of kicking her out the war ended and she wound up receiving an honorable discharge. She went to Reno and got a show girl job. The discharge put to rest the age question plus getting her a lot of respect. Took the name of Gale Albright but changed that to Shela as she moved up the list of stage dancers in Reno. That would last until she met Bob and moved to Catalina. Shela would have other adventures which I'll recount later.What became of her brothers will be told in a piece devoted to them.