This is Bonnie Lee Pace, the daughter that hepled me make s "toy" dollar with paper and crayons to pay her dad for the window I broke, fighting with Wes. It wasn't my fault: He wasn't  supposed to duck!                             

This is the how-where-when I caught my first fish, a sunfish, Bluegill perch, about the size of the hand holding the  pole. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. a memorable milestone in my young life!

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Lizards, Spisers, and snakes  

A New Dance in the Land ‘o Cotton

The housing shortage was made more acute by “no pets or children” post-scripts attached to the scarce “vacancy” signs displayed  next to the doorbells of potential landlords in Wiggins , Mississippi. Persistence was required and rejection was expected, but Dad would inquire anyway. Sometimes a property owner would reconsider after meeting the family and hearing the glowing report on how well-behaved the boys were. This report was actually true for the most part, especially when we were visiting in the homes of others, and doubly true if we were visiting elderly or childless couples. On these visits, we seldom occupied a chair, but sat quietly on the floor out of reach of the other brother, in a spot designated by a parent. These visits were more dreaded than a doctor’s appointment, where the worst that could happen was a vaccination!

As was often the case, we found temporary housing while we waited out an occupancy /vacancy reversal in something more suitable. As soon as we could relocate, we did. The house, which was large and roomy, had been re-fashioned into a duplex, and we didn’t have to share kitchen or bath with any besides family. The owner was a constable or night watchman or lower level peace officer of some kind and did not require a uniform, but did wear a badge, which had a quelling effect upon any rowdiness from the Smith boys, at least most of the time! Strike “any”, “most” is more accurate, for there were exceptions. I remember one tussle that eroded into fisticuffs, and my haymaker missed my brother’s noggin, and went through a window pane. Discipline was promptly administered by dutiful parents, but restitution was left to me. I had to go to Mr. Pace and ask the dollar amount I owed him. He said a dollar would do. His daughter, who was the same age as Wes, brought her crayons and some paper and we made a greenback dollar for her dad. He accepted it in serious, business-like fashion; case closed! Well, not really; behind the 
scenes, Dad stepped in as my benefactor.

Mr. Pace had a horse that was kept in a stall in a barn-like shed, along with a wagon, on one side of the back of the property. The horse and I became good friends after he found out I was a good source of apple cores. But I had a keener interest in the wagon. Extended over the tailgate, was a length of pipe, a couple of inches in diameter,  and aimed at about the same angle as the howitzers I had seen in the newsreels. All it needed was a bright belching flame and appropriate billow of smoke; it seemed to suggest a “project”! After a foraging saunter through our kitchen, I returned to the shed with a wad of newspaper and a fistful of matches. I thoughtfully loaded the barrel and lit it. The display was pitifully anemic: the smoke was a scant, pale wisp, and no flame was visible. I decided some propulsion was in order, which I would provide by application of some huffing and puffing. I huffed and puffed into the back end of the pipe, but managed to inhale some of the acrid smoke, which was a definite mood killer. Not all good ideas of four-and-a-half year olds pan out!

The Smith and Pace families collaborated on a combined picnic/fishing trip to a local lazy river location, during which I caught my first fish, a small bluegill. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. These were exciting times; Christmas was close enough I could mark off the days without turning a calendar page. The town provided a  first class production of a Santa Clause parade, but the jolly elf was having to scrounge to find decent toys. Metal was being used in more critical production, and rubber was in short supply. But there was plenty of sawdust to compress with glue, and with a shiny coat of black paint, a cowboy pistol could be had. Looking back, I can see no difference in the quality of fun I had with those wartime compromised toys than any I got from Santa any other year. It really is the thought that counts.

How Picayune, Mississippi, acquired its name is still unknown to me. The name is derived from the name of a Spanish coin, worth a little more than a nickel, and was legal tender for a period of time in the early days of our national history. The meaning of the word is, roughly, “something small or insignificant”. The town is not insignificant in my history, for it was there that I tuned five years old. Mom had taken special effort and attention to detail when preparing my cake, using store-bought candy leaves, flowers, and candle holders, and then she set it on the piano bench in the parlor so I could admire it. Piano bench? Parlor? This sounds like a far different set of circumstances than the Red and White Cabins! It deserves some explaining so let me begin by telling where Picayune is located. Though it lies on the east side of the Mississippi River, today it is considered a part of the metropolitan district of New Orleans, Louisiana, forty miles to the south. The area has some beautiful old homes, designed and  built after “Old Southern” tradition . This was one of them.

At an altitude of 73 feet above sea level, it looks like a place where rivers come to multiply; there is water running everywhere! Here, Mississippi is separated from Louisiana by the Pearl River. Between there and Lake Pontchartrain there are two more waterways with the same name. There are so many rivers, canals, and bayous, they ran out of names and had to start using them over and over again. 

By the time we had lived there a few days, I was convinced that this was the home of more spiders, lizards, and snakes than any place I had ever seen. The house had a porch that went all the way across the front, and was raised above the ground. I could lie on my belly and extend my chin past the porch, and peer underneath and see “wild world of spiders”, and once, there was a small lizard entangled and dangling in a spider web where he had met his doom. This scenario may have had an effect on my mindset that would explain my reaction to an event a few days later. I was in the habit of walking a short distance onto the yard toward the road where my view would not be obstructed by a row of trees on the property line, and there I would watch and wait for the school bus, bringing my brother home. I had stationed myself at my usual place, and right on time the yellow and black bus came into view. Just as the bus slowed to a stop, I felt something run up my bare leg and underneath the fabric of my short-legged playsuit! Playsuits are a difficult garment to “don” and “doff”, especially for a preschooler, but in this instance, quicker than a hiccup, the learning-curve was shortened to a micro-dot! Suddenly, every nose on the bus was pressed against the glass of the nearest window to see this weird little kid doing the Watusi in his tightie-whities. It seemed the laughter from the bus lasted forever, and the driver delayed his departure until he was sure the entertainment was concluded.

If life has a way of getting even by dropping paybacks in your path, I certainly had one coming. In those days, there was always a large tea-towel in the center of the dining table covering the sugar bowl, salt and pepper shakers, a spoon holder, and sometimes condiments, a small container of sorghum or ribbon cane syrup, or jams and jellies that were not perishable, and sometimes, some portion of a cake or pie.  Note that some people confuse the tea towel with the dish rag. A tea towel is kept spotlessly clean, because it is used on freshly washed dishes and as a cover for food. 

Mom had gone to the back porch to shake the dust out of a rug, and had encountered the landlady, who tended to be a talkative sort, and they became engaged in conversation. I soon grew impatient, but I could tell by what I was hearing through the screen door, they were just getting warmed up. I peeked underneath the tea towel, and there, right next to the big mug of spoons was my favorite delicacy, a banana pudding! A serving or two had already been removed, so another spoonful would not be missed! Being careful not to noticeably distort the shape of the scooped-out portion, I got a spoon and took a sample of the pudding, and ate it on the way to the kitchen sink, where I left the spoon. I checked on the social exchange taking place on the porch and decided there was no immediate end to it, so I went back to the corner of the towel, took another spoon, scooped a choice bite of the pudding and ate it on the way to the sink where I laid the spoon neatly beside the first one. Once again I listened in on the dialog; These ladies had a lot of topics to discuss! The call of the corner of the condiment cover was having its way with me. One more spoonful before the ladies run out of current events seems entirely reasonable, one more wonderful bite, one more clink in the sink! It is not polite to interrupt adults when they are visiting; That was not an option. So, once again a transfer took place: another teaspoon from the spoon holder to the sink after a clandestine transfer of pudding from the bowl to the boy. By now, I was too far down the slippery slope. The delectable dessert was like a mysterious force in the universe, a black hole, dragging irresistibly upon anything or anybody that had lost the will fight. Whoops, Mom is coming back into the kitchen now, and there is hardly a spoon left on the table! They are all in the sink! The nice, once round pudding is now a crescent moon! If there had been more spoons, and a few more topics in the news, it may have been a total eclipse! So the lizard versus leg incident was probably a justifiable way to bring me back to a proper state of humility.

The old "Give a man a fish" versus "Teach a man to fish" principle, being borne out right before our eyes; start 'em young, and when they are old, well, see for yourself ! (Lake Antero, South Platte River headwaters, South Park region, west of Pike's Peak, near Fairplay, Colorado.)

I love your early-childhood memories, Ron! Please keep 'em coming!

What a great story....just loved it!!!!!