Thanks for the Memories, Wauchula - Part 2

As we moved into our new home in town, I began to anticipate starting school.  Since Uncle Jack Holland and Uncle Sam and Aunt Genie Murphy all drove school buses, I was disappointed to live too close to school to ride the bus.  However, it was a thrill when Mama walked with me the 10 blocks to Wauchula Elementary School to register.  

The “little side,” as we called the first four grades, had swings, the “giant swing,” see-saws, and a big slide to play on, not to mention dozens of other children to play with.  The building smelled of oiled floors, chalk dust, and exciting new things to learn.  One of the first things I learned was not to cross Miss Jessie Cathcart.  She caught me chewing wax at the rehearsal for the first grade play at the City Hall and swatted my behind with a bolo paddle.  I was humiliated that day, but I came to love Miss Jessie through the years as we all did.  Although she was a disciplinarian, her many kindnesses showed us that we were loved and appreciated.

One of my favorite memories of first grade is the field trips we made.  Our teachers escorted us to the canning plant one day to see how citrus was canned and then across the street to the warehouse where the skin of the orange was chopped up and baked for cow feed.  I can almost smell the warm, sweet smell of the newly processed food.  On another day we went to see the ice plant, and yet another day we were escorted to the movie to see The Wizard of Oz.  It was pure magic.

I also discovered romance that year.  I thought Aneta Stanton was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen, and I felt my heart flutter in a way I'd never experienced.  One day I grabbed her on the playground and kissed her on the cheek.  She ran off crying and told her bigger friends in the second grade.  I won't call any names, but four or five of them pushed me down on the ground and kicked me.  When I started crying, Aneta sent her older brother Kenneth over to apologize.  I don't think she expected such swift or violent justice.

***********Part 3 Coming Soon***********

Thanks For the Memories, Wauchula Part 1

Welcome readers! Over the next few weeks I will be posting stories of when I was growing up in Hardee County Florida. Hope you enjoy them and if there are any of my readers who grew up in the area I hope you will get in touch and post comments as well. I have broken them down into 4 or 5 parts and will be posted them daily till the final one. Enjoy!

My very first memories are of a little frame house in an orange grove between Wauchula and Zolfo Springs.  Mr. Miller was our landlord, and I only remember his name because Daddy and Mama referred to him as that.  I do remember, or at least I think I do, that for the Easter just before my second birthday he brought my brother Harley a chocolate bunny and me a little glass train engine filled with jelly beans.  During that time I remember staying by myself a few days with my mother's parents in a house near the Holland kin.  It never occurred to me until recently that it was because Mama was giving birth to my next brother.

After Tommy was born in July, we moved to a brick home on Old Dixie Highway that my parents called the Marvin Bailey place.  I vividly remember our few months there as Daddy let me try to milk our cow in Mama's tin measuring cup, and he accidentally ran over the puppy that my great Uncle Earnest Holland had given me.  It was my first brush with death.

We soon moved again to Sulfur Springs where we lived for three years during the Second World War.  Daddy drove a bus to MacDill Field and brought soldiers home for Sunday dinner.  We kids played war in the street and backyards and learned about blackout curtains and rationing of beef, butter, and gasoline.

As the war neared an end, we moved back to Hardee County and lived for a short time with Uncle Jack Holland, Aunt Minnie, and Grandpa Holland.  Then we moved into a little shotgun house up the road from the Hollands while Daddy built our old rough house in town.  He had bought an old frame house in an orange grove, tore it down, and used the timber to build a home on Eighth Avenue.  I lived in that house for 13 years, the longest I've lived anywhere until this day.  The house didn't look like much, but it was made of heart pine and nailed together with square (case-hardened) nails.  It withstood several hurricanes, including Charley in 2004.

***********Part 2 coming soon************

Calling All Outsiders

Have you ever felt like an outsider—that you don't fit any category or group acceptable by the majority? Well, that's how I've been feeling lately. My son-in-law, one of the first purchasers of Molly, found it too religious. My daughter couldn't get past the racism of the characters.

A friend who read the manuscript copy of the story suggested that I seek a Christian publisher. However, I feared it would be rejected because I had used a few curse words in the early part of the book for authenticity of some of the characters. About a dozen traditional publishers had thanked me for my submission but were uninterested in pursuing publication.

So far, only one person who has read the books—Molly, Brothers, and Generations--has failed to give them a positive review. He felt that Molly was more suitable for younger readers. Perhaps it lacked that swift action, violence, or sex that he was accustomed to as an adult reader.

One reader, after reading the first chapter of Generations to her husband, said, “I'm hooked.”

Another reader said, “I couldn't wait to get to the next chapter.”

Still another reader said, “I believe it was your best book yet.”

While critiquing Generations, members of my writers' group urged me to write new material about Matthew, one of Molly's grandsons. That section turned out to be one of the best pieces of writing I had done up to that time.

If you like books that are realistic to life as we experience it but not embarrassed by faith in God, I hope you'll try the three books of the Carroll Family Saga. It is a slice of history from the 1920s the 1970s as seen through the eyes of one north Florida farm family. It recounts the racism, war, and social upheaval that marked the twentieth century. If you feel like an outsider, you might just enjoy these books.

Written by Harry Mann