DEAR MOM AND DAD

DEAR MOM AND DAD,

My hands are small,

I don't mean to spill my milk,

My legs are short.

Please slow down so I can keep up.

When I touch something bright and pretty,

Please don't slap my hands.

Please look at me when I talk to you.

I need to know you're listening.

Let me make mistakes without feeling stupid.

My feelings are tender.

Please d0n't expect the bed I make or

the picture I draw to be perfect.

L0ve me for trying.

Remember I am a child, not a little adult

Sometimes I don't understand what you say.

Please love me just for being me.

Not just for the things I can do.

I love you. You're all I have.

ME

Provided by Jerry Stovall, (Louisiana Children's Trust Fund)

U. S. ARMY 1945-1948

I was drafted to serve in the Army for the duration of the war

plus 6 months.  This was June 4, 1945 - I had finished High School one week earlier.

After the initial induction procedures (physical and mental exams) I was sent to Basic Infantry Training at Camp Fannin, Texas - near Tyler.  This lasted from July through November.  The 5 mile hikes were the most demanding and close-order drill was a daily routine.  My earlier experience with my marching band at El Dorado High School was very helpful during this training period.

We had an old grizzled drill instructor who always screamed at us.  He tried to make us hate him.  In order to prepare us for our physical exams he would tell the following story:  "You will all line up buck-naked where each of you will get the "double-whammy shot".  This will cure any disease known to mankind.  The medic will use his forked needle!  Each point is bent like a fish hook.  They go in easy, but he will have to stand on your neck to pull it out with both hands".  (not really).

Occasionally we would get a weekend pass.  Camp Fannin was not too far from my hometown, so I would hitch-hike or go by bus to see Mama sometime.  Once on my return, I happened to be asleep when the bus arrived back at Camp.  The bus driver failed to wake me up and when I did wake up we were about 50 miles past the camp, and I was late returning to my outfit.

For punishment the old First Sergeant confined me to quarters and also required me to water the grass during a driving rainstorm with only a 5 gallon bucket.  I was never A. W. O. L.  after that.

After finishing basic training I reported to Camp Pickett, Virginia for overseas assignment.  After arrival there, my company commander just happened to need someone with typing 

 ability for his company clerk.  I had learned this typing skill in high school so I was selected to stay at this camp for 6 months and never had to go overseas.

One day in April, 1946  the most amazing incident occurred out of the clear blue sky when I received orders to report to Louisiana State University to teach R. O. T. C.  I immediately called my mother to tell her the good news.  I was so excited at this opportunity that I could only cry into the long-distance telephone for several minutes before telling her the good news.  At this time, my brother Wren was playing football at L. S. U., so I could hardly wait to report to Baton Rouge.

ONE MOTORCYCLE RIDE

I must have been about 15 years old when I heard the distinctive sound of a huge motorcycle come roaring up to the side of our house in El Dorado, Arkansas. The driver stopped his big red machine facing the closed entrance to a large corrugated tin garage next door. The driver was an older friend of ours who wanted to show off his new motorcycle.

After saying hello, I followed him out to examine the big "hawg" more closely. It was a brand new Harley-Davidson, huge and shiny! The more I admired the enormous motorcycle, the more I wanted to take a ride on it. Finally I talked my friend into allowing me to just sit on it. Naturally I wanted to start it just to hear it go: 'VAROOOOOM, VAROOOOM".

Sure enough my friend offered me the key and said, "OK, go ahead and start it". He stood way back from me. I turned the switch on and gave it a big kick with my right leg to start it. In a split second it sounded like a huge cannon had exploded as this huge projectile sailed completely through the closed door of the garage at full-speed with a loud crash with me holding on for dear life!

In the blink of an eye I discovered that I had landed upside down underneath a big truck that was parked in the garage. The motor continued to run full speed, with the back wheel going faster and faster all the time.

Somehow I was able to find the ignition switch to turn the confounded thing off and amazingly I lived to tell the tale, without a scratch. The garage had a huge hole where the motorcycle and I had gone completely through it.

That was the last time I ever got on any motorcycle.

OLD SMOKEY

When I was in High School during WW II our oldest brother Malcolm was in the Army.  He had come home on furlough at the time.  He had always loved horse racing at nearby Hot Springs, Arkansas.  My mother suggested that he take me and her to see the races that weekend.  I was barely old enough to get into the racetrack.

We drove to Hot Springs, checked into the Jack Tar Motel and went to the races the next day.  It was a beautiful day and the place was filled with spectators.  For us it was like a vacation.  Betting on a horse was out of the question for mama and me since money was so scarce for us.  We were happy just to see the horses run.

About the sixth race of the day, my mother looked at the program and read about each horse running in that race.  She came upon a name that interested her for some strange reason.  The horse was named "Old Smokey".  Indeed he did look very old to me and most of the others in the stands.  His odds of winning were 50 to 1.

She slowly found $2.00 in her purse (the minimum bet).  She tapped Malcolm on the shoulder and told him to take this and bet it on Old Smokey (to win).  With great doubts on his face he went to the window and came back with her ticket on this horse.

Just like in the story books, Old Smokey stumbled out of the gate dead last.  As the race continued he started to gain on all the other horses on the track.  Unbelievably he went into the lead and finished in first place ahead of all the other horses.  He had won the race and we were ecstatic with joy while most of the other people in the stands were very disappointed.  This was when Malcolm told mother and me that he had secretly bet $5.00 on the same horse, to win!

OLD SALTY

While still in elementary school,  my brother Wren and I loved to go swimming on Saturdays.  The nearest "spa" was about 5 miles out in the country.  It was nothing more than a small stream of salty water formed by the numerous oil wells that were always pumping nearby.  It was located deep in the woods past the railroad tracks south of El Dorado.

Wren, Dale Gray, Terral Smith and I would start walking barefoot through the hot sands of South Arkansas, cross the tracks and follow a "dim" little footpath through the woods to "Old Salty".  This was long before integration and many times we would discover the pool to occupied by members of the "other" race.  Somehow, we would persuade them to leave Old Salty until we had finished swimming.  This was not always easy to do.

We would leave all our clothes on the bank while we enjoyed the cool muddy salt water to our heart's content.  This was called, "Skinny-dipping"..

Once after we had finished our swim we started looking for our clothes in the bushes where we had left them.  No clothes could be found!  We searched and searched and finally one of the black kids came out of the big clump of bushes with our clothes, just laughing at the trick he had played on us.

On later visits to Old Salty we would wait till that group finished their swim before we went in...

VISITING RELATIVES IN THE COUNTRY

Occasionally while growing up, we would visit my mother's sister and her family in a country home and farm about 50 miles from our home in El Dorado. This farm visit was a great adventure for me. Their only source of water was a deep well with a long rope and a bucket. Heat for cooking and keeping the house warm was provided by a wood stove and fireplace. Light was provided by kerosene lamps.

Their farm was about 40 acres planted with cotton and corn primarily. There were many chickens and hogs, plus 2 mules for plowing and 2 cows for milking. The outside "privy" was a "2-holer" with newspaper - a completely new experience for this city-boy!  All my cousins and their family seemed very content with their living conditions.

I was very fortunate in many ways to be raised in a town with running water, electric lights, and natural gas for heating and cooking. My country relatives must have thought we were rich

MY FIRST JOB

At about 11 years of age, I got my first job delivering daily newspapers in our home town. I would deliver about 80 morning papers each day. The first week, I earned sixty-five cents. I was very proud of this and could not wait to give this large sum to my mother.

My older brother, Wren, also had a paper route larger than mine. Once each year the local newspaper published an "oil edition". This was a large publication inserted into each of the Sunday papers (which was already large). Before Wren had delivered his papers this particular morning, he came back home in tears. The load of papers was simply too heavy for him to carry as he walked on his paper route.

Our mother saw his problem and immediately got dressed and shared the load with him on foot until all his 100 papers were delivered. My route had fewer customers so I didn't need any help.