I KNEW NOTHING ABOUT GIRLS, BUT I LEARNED

Having no sisters, I knew absolutely nothing about girls. By the time I was 13, I began to notice them in a different way than before.

I developed a crush on a girl named Carolyn Pearl McDaniel. She knew I had a crush on her, but she pretended she could care less about me, turning up her nose when I approached with the hang-dog look of obvious liking for her. For a time, I suffered terribly, being in hopeless love with her, but I never said anything to her; it was an arms-length unrequited romance. She was my age and went to the same church, and my advances to her were strictly with my eyes; I stared at her every chance I had. She had beautiful long wavy brown hair, brown eyes, dimples and a nice smile-for everybody but me.

My chances multiplied during Vacation Bible School. She and I were in the same class. When I sat down beside her, she would pretend being called across the room by a girlfriend, which left me staring across the room at her instead of watching the teacher. The whole class could not help but know my pitiful obsession. When we lined up for Kool-Aid, I stood behind her, hoping to be jostled enough to touch her or feel her hair, but she would step back in line a couple of places and I was too proud to follow her.

Suddenly everything changed. When I was my deepest in despair, she came up to me, to my astonishment, without saying a word, and got in line in front of me! I was dumbfounded. We didn't talk. I couldn't have told her my name. After recess, when we went back to class, she stood waiting until I picked a chair, and, wonder of all wonders, she promptly sat down beside me. I looked sideways toward her, without turning my head, to see if it was really HER, and it was. From then on we were together all the time, and after the first day, I was able to manage a few stupid words. Of course, she started talking to me like we had been sweethearts for years, and everything she said was brilliant and wonderful!



We had a game at parties called, "Spin the Bottle." Boys sat on one side of the room and girls on the other. The boy or girl who was "it" would stand in the middle and spin a Coke bottle on the floor. If a boy spun, he tried to make it stop pointing at the girl he was sweet on. If it did, she jumped up, and they got to go out of the house into the darkness and walk to the corner and back together. If they tarried more than a minute an adult would saunter down the street and casually walk them back. On the other hand, if the bottle pointed at a wallflower, they would RUSH OUT and BACK before the next spin.

A particularly painful way for a boy to show his love for a girl was to carve her initials into his wrist with a kitchen match. It became a fad, and it meant the boy was serious. An unlit kitchen match's white head was rubbed back and forth on the arm until an ugly whelp was raised. By the time that I raised the initials CPM on my outside left arm just above my wrist, my love for a girl with that many names had been severely tested. I enjoyed showing it off at church, while Carolyn Pearl pretended to be proud of it. After a few days the whelps turned into ugly scabs, and their namesake was turning her nose up at them. After the scabs came, the white scars lasted for months, long after we had broken up.

MCCOMB JR. HIGH PUPILS STRIKE

"Popeye" Lambright was older than most of his fellow students by almost 2 years. I first knew him in the McComb Jr. High School when I was in the 7th grade. He looked about 16 and was in the 8th grade, and I suppose he was shaving daily.

One Friday in the Spring of 1937, the high school let out for the day at 10 AM because they were hosting a Field Day for other high schools at the football stadium. Since most of the high school kids would not even be going to Field Day, they got the day off. This, to say the least, was not very popular in the Jr. High building next door. The teachers didn't sympathize with us in wanting the same privilege, because they knew the schedule called for a Festival Day for us later in the year. We felt WRONGED and the Jr. High students grew more and more indignant with being kept in.

There was a good deal of grumbling and dissatisfaction being expressed among us as we went downstairs for the 10:30 recess, and some near-belligerent looks and remarks directed at teachers. Our classrooms and auditorium were all on the second floor; the first floor was occupied by the system administrators. On the "dump," a huge red-clay raised playground area, we gathered in small groups discussing how we might force the school authorities to give us the rest of the day off. When the bell rang to end recess, and our not having consolidated a plan to rebel, we started back for the entrance. Head-high, being held in place by a wad of chewed green bubble gum, was a sheet of paper with words printed in large letters on it. They said, "IF YOU WANT A HOLIDAY, STAY DOWN AFTER RECESS."

Standing there eyeing us with a pleased smirk on his face, hands in his pockets, and not saying a word, was Popeye Lambright, and it didn't take a genius to know who had written the note. Well, it was just what the doctor ordered for us boys. We began encouraging each other to stay down and go on strike against the school; our Principal, Miss Woods, would be FORCED to give us the rest of the day off! About sixty boys stayed down. All the girls and some sissy boys went back upstairs.

We milled around the front steps, telling each other that we would NEVER go back, and there was NOTHING the authorities could do about it! They wouldn't DARE to drag us bodily up the stairs; we could use this method any time we wanted a day off! We made every boy promise NOT TO MOVE NO MATTER WHAT THEY SAID TO US; how could they expel ALL the boys in Jr. High School?

It didn't take long for our walkout to be noticed upstairs. Various teachers would come to the windows and look out with worried looks on their faces. Miss Woods was red0headed and had a reputation for strictness, and she tested our resolve by calling down, "You boys come up here right now!"
Well, we didn't go.

We said to each other that we were not afraid of her "whipping machine!" (It was commonly believed by the students that there was some kind of electric machine in the Principal's Office that could give whippings automatically.)
We boasted to each other that even if they did expel us, we didn't care!

After about 10 minutes we began to feel that we were winning, and we got louder and more boisterous. We chanted in unison, "WE WANT A HOLIDAY! WE WANT A HOLIDAY!" The faces that appeared at the window grew more concerned and worried. It was clear that the Faculty did not know what to do. At this point, the Superintendent of Schools, D. L. Blackwelder, stuck his head out the window, which brought a louder response from us. He didn't order us back and we had mustered up enough Dutch courage to have confidence that we wouldn't obey him anyhow. The strike had started as a prank, but its continued success was building up steam, and the situation was on the verge of violence.

Just when it appeared that victory was in our grasp, disaster fell. Miss Vera Netterville, the smallest teacher in the school, weighing about 85 pounds, and the sister of Miss Ruth Netterville, 2nd grade teacher at South McComb School, marched out of the school door. She had a no-nonsense look on her face, and she was the teacher most feared by all of us. She walked right through the mob of boys, who suddenly grew silent and stepped aside to let her pass.

"ALL RIGHT. YOU BOYS LINE UP!" she ordered. We lined up.

"WHEN YOU COME BY, GIVE ME YOUR NAME," and she took out her pad and pencil. "YOU MARCH YOURSELVES UP THOSE STAIRS AND TAKE YOUR SEATS IN THE AUDITORIUM."

One by one, we marched by Miss Vera, gave her our names, without a word. Popeye was as docile as the rest of us. The strike was over.

The last time I saw Popeye was in the Spring of 1941 when he, along with a number of our fellow students, marched by the high school from the armory to the train depot on their way to active duty. President Roosevelt had activated the National Guard for a year's duty, only it turned out to be 4 or 5 years. The war in Europe was in its third year, and Japan was becoming more and more threatening in Asia. They didn't return until 1945, because Japan bombed Pearl Harbor before their time was up and they were kept until the end of the war; that is, those who survived.

Our generation has been called "The Greatest Generation," because the chance of history had us arriving at young manhood just in time to fight in the largest war the planet has yet seen.

Bruno Johnston, like the rest of us, grew up in severe times and became one of the first of us to go to war. America owes men like Bruno Johnston.

MY BABY BROTHER DIED

My youngest brother, Ted, died for 7 minutes when he was a 1 year old baby. He was born with a heart murmur. On this occasion, Ted was ill with pneumonia and Dr. Hewitt had spent the night using poultices and what medicine he thought might keep him alive until his temperature went down. Mama told us about this later and she said his temperature was 106 1/2.

About 7:00 A.M., there were more than a dozen people gathered in the kitchen--- dad, the church pastor, neighbors and relatives, and the kids, of course. The doctor came out of the bedroom and said, "I'm sorry. The boy is dead." Immediately, the scene turned to grief, some giving comfort and others receiving it. Everyone was in the kitchen except mama. She was in the room with Ted. Dad announce, "She won't give up."

Ted had stopped breathing. The seconds were ticking away, turning into minutes. Mama had gone berserk, we thought. She ought to accept his passing and come out and grieve with us. But she wouldn't.

After a couple of minutes, she came out of the room. The crowd fell silent, looking at her. She only spoke to dad. "Get your bottle!" she ordered. The adults knew what that meant. The time was during prohibition. Liquor was illegal. Dad and many others drank anyway, keeping the bottle hidden. Even we kids knew he kept it in the barn behind the cotton seed hulls.

Without a word, he got up and hurried out to the barn bringing the bottle back. By now, 3 or 4 minutes had passed. Mama ordered, "Fix Ted a STRONG HOT TODDY!" Some of the women gasped but cut it short. They watched as dad quickly mixed the drink in a cup. Then he took the drink into the room. The doctor stood in the doorway. Mama held the baby up and began pouring the fiery liquid into the baby's mouth. Ted was already blue from the lack of oxygen. She poured so fast the liquid filled his mouth and ran over. She held him higher and slapped him on the back, then gave him more.

The doctor looked at the clock on the mantel; six minutes had passed and imperceptibly shook his head. Suddenly Ted's eyelids quivered and his lips closed. Mama stopped pouring and gave him another slap on the back. He squirted a mixture of whiskey and sugar out of his mouth and gave a weak cry. He was alive.

Never underestimate the power of a strong mother to do the impossible for her child. Mama attended church the next day, and, of course, taught Sunday School.

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.

MORE STORIES FROM THE PAST

Go back in time as Dr. Crittenden transports you via true stories of his youth through his memoirs. Be sure to find more stories from "July" by clicking the month on the right of the page. I will be posting more stories in the days to come. Some of my favorite are yet to come, so be sure to check back.

THE HERALD ANGEL 1937

Central Baptist Church had its baptistry located in the center front of the sanctuary behind the choir who sat in two rows of chairs immediately behind the pulpit. It was screened by a curtain and to enter it, you had to step in through the choir chairs. The tub was 4 feet deep and was kept dry except when there was a candidate for baptism. Steps led down to the bottom of the tub and a 12-inch shelf ran across the back wall high enough to be seen by the congregation.

The Christmas season of 1937 I was 12 years old, and Mrs. Mott, an artistic lady of the church, had planned a brief manger scene play for the last few minutes of the Sunday morning Worship Service. The usual routine was to be followed, except that Pastor Fred B. Bookter was to end his sermon at 11:50 A.M., at which time the choir was to leave the stage carrying their chairs and the play was to be presented.

The dry baptistry was to be the stable where Jesus was born, with the manger sitting on a high table in the center of the tub, so that it could be seen by the audience. The shepherds and the wise men were to approach the stage down the aisles and gaze into the baptistry at the manger where the baby Jesus was supposed to be. I was selected to be the herald angel and announce the coming of Christ. I had to be in place on the high shelf before the start of the Worship Service at 11:00 A.M. After I was in place, the curtain was closed, and I was to wait alone until time for the play to begin, at which time the curtain would be opened and I was to be a surprise!

I was almost 6 feet tall already. They covered me with a white sheet and used pipe cleaners to construct angel's wings attached to my shoulders. A shining silver crown made of tin foil from old cigarette packages adorned my brow. I was sitting on the 12 inch shelf, my fet propped on the manger table, at least 5 feet above the floor of the tub.

I took my place and after what seemed a LONG time, the service began. The choir opened with"What a Friend We Have in Jesus," and I sang along with then. A dusty hymnal lay on the shelf beside me, and I picked it up. Since I was immediately behind and only a few feet from them, my voice blended well with theirs; I really cut loose!

After the song service, Bro. Bookter began his sermon and I had some time to kill. I thumbed through the songbook reading some of my favorites, like "In the Garden," "Amazing Grace," and "The Old Rugged Cross." Then I came to "Trust and Obey," which had 7 verses in those days and I began humming Then singing...

"When we walk with the Lord, In the light of His Word, what a glory He sheds on our way! While we do His good will, He abides with us still, and with all who will trust and obey."

At first I was unaware of the effect my musical rendition was having outside my little cell, and my voice sounded very melodious to me, so when I came to the chorus, I began singing a little louder---

"T R U S T and obey, For there's no other wa-a-ay To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey."

By this time, I began to hear rustling and tittering from the congregation, and the pastor paused in his sermon to collect his thoughts. Then he began to preach louder like he did when a baby started crying.

"NOT A BURDEN W E BEAR>>>>>NOT A SORROW WE SHARE>>>>>BUT OUR TOIL HE DOTH RICHLY REPAY! NOT A GRIEF OR A LOSS----"

By the second or third verse I was getting louder, under the impression that the congregation was enjoying my music, and Bro. Bookter was using his FOGHORN voice, the one he used in preaching a revival.

"THEN IN FELLOWSHIP SWEET WE WILL SIT AT HIS FEET OR WALK BY HIS SIDE IN THE WAY..."

I could hear scratching noises behind me, but I didn't know what they were until later. Poor Mrs. Mott had run out of the church and around to the brick wall behind the baptistry and was trying to claw her way inside, or to attract my attention!

Just about the time I finished the 7th verse, complete with chorus, the pastor gave up and ended his sermon. He signaled the workers to begin the play, and, after the choir left the stage, a lady came on stage and opened the curtain. There I was in the middle of the chorus, singing, "FOR THERE'S NOOOOOOOOOO OTHER WAY TO BEEEEEEE HAPPYEEEEEE IN JEEEEESUSSSSSS..."; the light above me made my white angel outfit shine like the sun on snow. When the crowd saw me, they broke up in a roar that ended all hope of finishing the play. Mama rushed up and yanked me out of the baptistry with a pinch. Mrs. Mott gave up drama and Bro. Bookter had the Building Committee move the baptistry to the floor of the choir loft.

By the way, did I tell you I was appointed the angel part because there was no singing? I am pitch deaf and a monotone singer. Have been all my life........

GROWING UP DURING THE DEPRESSION 1937

Dr. Crittenden's sight is progressing. He is still unable to see the small print on the computer but the doctor promises he will. In God's time...

CASH

Cash was scarce in my hometown during the decade of the 1930's. My dad worked in the railroad shops when he wasn't laid off, and layoffs happened frequently, some lasting long periods. Those men who had jobs would do almost anything to keep them. As an example, my dad cut the end of his thumb off on a table saw in the mill. Since the bosses prided themselves on how many days had passed since the last accident, dad was afraid to report the injury. He put the severed piece in his pocket, went to the office and checked out, and instead of reporting to the railroad doctor and have it treated free, he went to another physician and paid for the treatment himself.

We really didn't need much cash. With our huge garden, milk cow, chickens, hogs and continual access to itinerant street vendors, we didn't need to buy many groceries. Sugar, flour, salt, coffee, and similar staples were bought at Lewis Grocery Store on 25th Street and Bill Andrews Grocery at the corner of 5th and the Avenue between and parallel to Pennsylvania and Virginia. Both stores extended us credit, with the balance owing running for years sometimes. When we had a payday, each store we owed would get $5 or $10 paid "on our bill."

My brothers and I often contested for the privilege of taking the money to the store, because the owners were invariably nice to us and had a custom imported from Louisiana called "lagniappe." While writing a receipt for the payment, the storekeeper would nod to the convenient row of candy jars in reach on the counter and say "Take one." All our creditors gave lagniappe, which means "a little something extra." I'm sure the merchants had very hard times the same as their customers, but to my recollection they were willing to sacrifice themselves in order to help people during hard times.

All boys went barefoot from March to October, even to school and church, so for us stairstep boys, the once-a-year Sears and Roebuck mail order from the catalog usually needed only two or three pairs of shoes. Our policy was "hand-me-downs" all the way, and being the middle child, I seldom got a new pair. This order always included a suit of long-handled underwear for each boy. They got laundered every Saturday, while we were being bathed in a No. 3 tub of warm water in the kitchen-the same water for all five of us---getting in one at a time. We also got overalls which were worn everywhere until high school, pants, and a few other necessities, even baby chicks. Yep, you guessed it; these things were charged, too. We had to order dressy longsleeved shirts only, because mama made a lot of our everyday shirts out of used flour sacks. The 100 pound size came in printed cotton cloth. Plastics hadn't yet been invented.

Maurice Wall operated a clothing store on Main Street, and we kept a charge account there for years. I bought my first suit there to wear to my 16 year old brother's, E.J.'s, funeral. It was mustard yellow because it was the only suit that fit me. Many times our balance would rise dangerously high, but he never cut off our credit, and I hope he was finally paid in full. He didn't give lagniappe, however, because his stock was not suitable gifts for small boys, but he gave me a man's flat straw hat once that had a small piece broken from the rim.

J.D. Frith Drug Store, at the corner of Main and Railroad Boulevard, was my personal favorite creditor for lagniappe. He would give me 3 or 4 pieces of candy, and sometimes he let me come to the back of the store and let me watch him mix medicine for capsules or tablets. Pharmacists had to make a lot of medicine to follow the doctor's prescriptions then, which were written in Latin. Many people used the druggist instead of the doctor to save the money for an office visit. Physicians charged $1 for an office visit, but there were more house calls than office visits. A house call cost $1.50 or $2.00, but the doctor would take a bushel of peas or some other produce when it was offered; he knew the parent didn't have money to pay him with.

We had no credit cards. We would have been shocked out of our wits if we had seen one. Kramertown Seed and Feed Store offered all types of farm supplies. They delivered, first by horse and wagon, later by truck. We kept a running bill there. We took our order on foot, walking the two miles there and back, because we had no telephone. Walking was our chief means of transportation.

We had a wooden ice box. The large square top half held a 50 lb. block of ice. It took about 3 days to melt, but since the iceman delivered every other day, we never ran out of ice. He drove a horse that pulled a covered wagon, on the back of which were 100 lb. blocks of ice wrapped in quilts. Some people bought 25 lb. blocks for 5 cents; some 50 lb for 15 cents and a few bought the 100 lb. for 18 cents. The iceman had to be big and strong. He had a leather apron over his back. On his first trip in, he asked the lady how much ice she wanted; then he would take his ice pick and chip the remaining ice into a shape that allowed the block to fit. Going back to the wagon, he chipped the correct-sized block loose, hooked it tightly with his tongs, swung it to his back, and took it in. The bottom half of the icebox had shelves and contained perishables. The melting ice ran down a rubber tube to a hole in the floor.

We had large round tin tokens to help in paying sales taxes. A Coca-Cola cost a nickel plus 1 token. If you had no token, you gave 6 cents and the clerk gave you 9 tokens in change. You couldn't buy anything with tokens only, but you had to have then to pay taxes on amounts as small as 5 cents. It was a mess and soon collapsed.