UNCLE ARTHUR

I didn’t know him that well and when I did begin to be aware of him and who he was, he was well into his forties. He was tall, dark, and a quiet man and was married to Aunt Clarise, and had been ever since any of us could remember. Together they had one son, his nick name was “Tuffy.” Tuffy was not as tall as his dad, but was a strong, muscular, athlete. During World War II he was a tail gunner in one of the “Flying Fortresses.” But, he is not the one about which I wanted to talk. It was Uncle Arthur that is supposed to be the center of attention here. He was my Dad’s half brother. He was the third child of my Grandfather’s first wife. Her name was Mina Aloura and she died shortly after giving birth to Uncle Arthur. That posed only a small problem. The woman who was to become his second wife, and my Grandmother already lived in the house with them. Her name was Maud Echo. So as soon as was deemed socially acceptable, Granddad and Grandmother Ledbetter got married. Why? According to Grandmother she didn’t want anyone to raise Arthur but her. And that was the way it was.
Uncle Arthur reached the age of eighteen years shortly after World War I began. He volunteered and went off to boot camp to train for whatever roll they deemed best for him. It turned out, he was one tough cowboy. He could ride anything with hide and four legs. They set him to breaking and training horses for military use. There was not too many mechanized vehicles at that time. When the Army talked about a Calvary Division, they really meant Calvary, like in horses and mules. The Army bought the raw and even wild stock, because they would be cheaper, and it was Uncle Arthur’s job to see that they were ready for use when the superior officer called.
On one occasion, my Dad got to watch his older brother perform. Some of the stock would give up without much of a fight, but then there were some jug heads that would fight to the bitter end. Only giving up after hours of the most physical engagement you can imagine. That happened on the day Dad got to observe his brother “in action.” If my memory serves me correctly, it was a mule he was working with, a large, strong creature that stood quiet and still until his restraints were removed. He would then launch into a low altitude orbit of some of the most intense action you could ever imagine. Dad said Uncle Arthur rode that beast until blood was running out of his nose and ears, and yet he still hung on and maintained his balance on the hurricane deck, as their saddle was called. And like he thought, soon enough, the animal would give in, and Uncle Arthur could pass on another valuable creature to the one who would train him to serve our country.
My point is this, what Uncle Arthur was doing was teaching these dumb animals the true meaning of meekness. The horse or mule just a few minutes before was wild and undisciplined. Now their will was broken, and subjected to the one who would be his master. He was just as strong as before, just as fast as before, only now he had learned “meekness.” That is, the strength of the animal was brought under control so he could serve a useful, practical, and necessary roll in the military. That’s what meekness is and does for you and me. We are still just as strong, intelligent, emotional, and even just as spiritual, only now our strength is under the dominion of our dear Lord. Now we say, not my will but thine be done. Now we are useful for eternal work, we are useful for God’s work.
Don in Georgetown

TREASURE WHAT YOU HAVE!

He would be able to prove himself, finally! Granddad offered Dad a piece of bottom land on which to plant and harvest about twenty five acres of cotton. Dad had to plow it, fertilize it, chop the Johnson grass down so it wouldn’t over run the cotton, sweat out the sun, untimely rains, and even the creek flooding. Finally it all came together and the day of harvest had arrived. The cotton was tall, the leaves about the consistency of tan parchment paper, the bowls had opened, and the cotton was showing snowy white. Dad hitched the team to the wagon before daylight, got plenty of cotton sacks, and carefully slipped the scales under the seat. He wanted to make sure the weights were right, and get all the money coming to him. With the help of a few of his friends, they picked the stalks clean. You could hardly find a white spot in the field when they finished. It’s surprising how well a person can work if the money belongs to him. Anyway, when all was weighed out and expenses paid, Dad had $150 coming to him. That was somewhere around the fall of 1927 or ‘28. Believe it or not, that amounted to a years salary for a family, but this was all Dad’s. It would be a very prosperous and fun year for an eighteen year old.
Now enters Dad’s brother, my Uncle Ray. He had the Sunday afternoon off and decided to spend it with a friend down the road. They loaded up their pockets with .22 caliber bullets and carrying their old single shot rifles they headed for the barn to shoot rats. Something that would offer them fun, and provide a necessary service for the farm. Things were going well until Uncle Ray’s friend fail to practice the safety rules his father had taught him. He fired a shot, broke the .22 down, took out the spent shell, put in the new shell, and then locked it back in place while the muzzle of the rifle was pointed right at Uncle Ray. The gun fired striking him in the abdomen and lodging within a fraction of an inch of his spine. That same bullet is still in his body to this very day.
Of course, the family was devastated, they rushed him to the Dr‘s. office, which was in his home, as quickly as they could. Dr. Yeater, a veteran of World War I, and skilled in wounds of this kind, quickly stopped the bleeding and informed the family that it would be too risky to operate. Uncle Ray was kept immobilized for days until the wound began to heal. The doc looked in on him often and the cost of all of this medical attention was (you may have guessed it by now) $150. Granddad didn’t have the money for the care, he had a family of seven to support. He went to Dad and explained the situation. Although he was highly disappointed he readily agreed to use his money to pay the bills. What looked like a fun year just a few days before would now be reduced to having spending money only when he could find a job. That is, find a job that would pay him money. There was always work to do, you just didn’t get paid for it.
Whether he intended to use this as a character building situation or not is still questionable, even to this day. However, that’s the way it turned out. From that experience Dad learned to treasure what he earned and to carefully administer what he had. “You never know what’s coming to take what you’ve got away from you,” was one of my Dad’s oft repeated warnings. And that’s my point. Treasure what you have right now. You may not get to keep it for long. The more you treasure it now, the easier it is to lose it and not lose your character when its gone.
Don in Georgetown