FROM 5 BROTHERS TO 4

On a cold December night in 1937, my oldest brother E. J. was killed in a rare bicycle-car collision. He was 16 years old, and once again I heard those awful words, "The good die young." Since I am the only one of us left alive today, 72 years later, I guess I know what people think of me.

But E. J. really WAS good. He was dark-haired, blue-eyed and handsome. He was dependable, honest, and protective of his younger brothers. When I say we fought each other, I don't mean E. J. fought me; I was surely fighting hard, but he was just playing with me.

One time E. J., Milton, and I were picking cotton at Great Uncle Frank Easley's house on the Fernwood Rd. Mama sent our lunch down by Don. There was a quart of iced tea to be split three ways and Milton and I scuffled over it. E. J. intervened and divided the tea fairly, but I wasn't satisfied. I jumped on E. J. then, but instead of fighting, he just held me off. That made me try to get to him harder than ever. He took me by the arms and swung me around and around until I begged him to put me down. All the fight had been "swung" out of me.

When I was learning to swim at Wardlaw's and began to drown, it was
E. J. who saw me going down for the third time and jumped in and saved me.

E. J. was a good worker and had several jobs. His employers liked him. He delivered papers for the Enterprise (There were two newspapers-the Enterprise and the Journal) for several years. His last job was working for Mr. Lonnie Frazier, riding his bus from McComb to Woodville and back every day, assisting with luggage, mail, and delivering the paper to homes on the route.

Mr. Frazier operated an 18 passenger bus, leaving McComb every day at 4:00 PM, and returning at 10:00 that night. The bus was like a very long car with five doors to a side. It had a luggage rack on top. He went west on Hwy. 24 (now Park Drive) to Liberty, Gloster, and Centreville. E. J. would sit in the front seat with him, folding newspapers and throwing them out the window into the yards of subscribers.

At that time Hwy. 24 was gravel. Charles Emmett (my cousin and best friend) and I traveled by thumb and foot up and down it to various places so many times that every inch of it was familiar to us. We went out Hwy. 24 to Carroll's Creek (1 1/2 miles), Lake Percy Quin (7 miles), Hart's swimming hole (7 miles) and the East Fork of the Amite River (18 miles). On some occasions, we would be walking along the road when the bus with E. J. on board would pass us. Once he threw a folded newspaper out to us. We picked it up, unfolded it, and glanced over it, then left it on the side of the road 4 miles from town. The next morning E. J. asked me if we had gotten the movie tickets. I asked, "What movie tickets?"
"The two tickets that were inside the newspaper I threw to you and Charles Emmett yesterday."

I had to admit we hadn't seen them, and he was disgusted. As soon as we got out of school that day, Charles Emmett and I hotfooted it out the highway to the spot where we had discarded the newspaper. We found the tickets, which were somewhat faded by going through the dewfall and being dried by the sun. E. J. had written on the front page, "I hope you boys can use these." he seldom went to the movies himself because of his work.

E. J. would ride his bicycle to school in the morning, and over to the Five Points Service Station after school. At the symbolic center of downtown five streets came together. One was the head of Main Street; U. S. 51 Highway (named Broadway) passed going north and south; Third Street meets Main there; and Delaware Avenue begins there. Called Five Points, there was a service station there with an upstairs garage in which Mr. Frazier kept his bus. After completing the bus run, E. J. would ride his bicycle home.

On the evening of December 10, 1937, E. J. rode downhill on Third Street, passing City Hall and the Fire Department, and ran head-on into the front passenger side of a car in the act of crossing Third to a restaurant on its west side.

We were awakened by our neighbors who had a telephone. Mama and dad went down to the hospital. Later in the night, Aunt Wilena Boyd, turned the light on where the boys were sleeping. She asked, "Do you boys know what has happened?"

"I know," I replied quickly, "E.J. has been hurt in an accident."

"No, Billy. E. J. is dead," she answered gently.

I put my head under the quilt and cried.