My tenth summer I was sent off to Belle Glade, Florida to live with an uncle who worked the sugar cane factories and fished the canals. I think mom kind of knew or at least suspected what had transpired the previous summer with my female kin. My uncle, Boye, was straight and the only thing I really learned from him was how to drink and how to fish, mostly the former. He was good at both, in fact, when he wasn't working, he was either off pouring it in or in sleeping it off or fishing. I sometime think that he would have drank anything that wasn't thick enough to chew. It was that summer that I experienced my first "all weekend" drunk and encountered the walking catfish of South Florida. We had gotten so snookered that we were sleeping it off on a dike between the canals. There was a full moon and I awoke with a headache and a bunch of one or two pound monsters moving from one canal to the other and my skinny little body being only a minor inconvenience. I think an adult waking with a hangover and staring at a creature centered on his chest and two inches from his face, spines piercing the flesh, would have probably given up drinking, for a while anyway. I wasn't that smart; besides I had just started a habit that would last more than thirty years. I often wished that he had had more time to teach me about fishing, but working and drinking seemed to be primary at that time in his life. It would be the next summer that I learned the most about fishing.

     I'll get to my eleventh summer in just a moment, but to jump ahead, my twelfth summer was after dad had come home from the war and we were stationed at Fort Hood, Texas. I ran away and spent much of the summer working in a house of ill repute down between Beaumont and Texas City, Texas. My thirteenth summer was pretty hobbled, but I did get away to a fishing village in San Quintin, Mexico for almost three weeks before being caught. Good thing I was found because dad had gotten orders to Europe. The next two summers involved gypsies and ended with a melanous young creature who eventually became too possessive and then when it came time for me to run off and join the only-romantic-in-the-movies French Foreign Legion, she decided that, firstly she couldn't live without me, then with better judgement, that she could, but that I probably shouldn't. I have an impressive knife scar that she gave me as a reward for laughing and telling her there was no way she could stop me from leaving!

     Back to the eleventh summer, the first one in which I ran away. This was also the most special summer I remember and it has some of the dearest memories. I hopped a train in Florala, Alabama, jumping off the ice plant building to the top of a box car because the yard bulls were rousting the hobos who were already on the train. It had come from Opp, Alabama and was headed west, next stop Crestview, Florida. A hobo had told me that it didn't go any further than Texas, but when he learned that I wanted to go to California, he told me that I would have no trouble catching another train that would get me there.

     I had carried the essentials, almost ten dollars I had saved, a hunting knife my grandfather had given me, a worn copy of Jack London's Call of the Wild, some hoe cake and jerky and of course a good supply of tobacco. It was these three cans of P.A. that might have cost me my life if I hadn't jump from the moving train. It could have cost me my life anyway. I was riding in an empty car with another hobo, somewhere in Mississippi when he produced a knife and explained that all he wanted was my tobacco and my dad's old army field jacket and any thing I had in my pockets. When I left the train, I tried to do it like they did in the serials that were shown before the movies each week. I don't know what John Wayne, Roy Rogers and Johnny Mack Brown had that I didn't, but when I hit the gravel I started rolling and breaking into little pieces. At least, it felt like I was slowly breaking every bone in my body. I remember, as I tumbled in what seemed to me slow motion, consciously making an effort to control my headlong sprawling and leave the gravel for the grass I could see to the side as I tumbled. I did and immediately hit a small tree, which probably was a very proud tree as it didn't seem to want to move. I lay there, very hurt, very scared, face down, mouth full of dirt and grass, unable to open my eyes. Even with my eyes shut, I could see the red and I knew that if I could open my eyes, I would see that the red was blood. I knew in my mind that I was dying and I knew that it wasn't right and then I heard a voice. It was a kid's voice and it seemed distant. I thought that if it would only come closer, I could understand what it was saying. It did and I heard the kid asking me if I was alright. I think I replied that no, I wasn't alright, I was probably dead. The kid stopped talking and I thought he had left and then he did, saying something about coming back with his father. I slipped into unconsciousness.

     It was the next day before I was to see and talk with my savior. His name was Morris Milton, but I was to call this "colored" kid "Fishbone" for some reason which was never explained to me. I use the word colored instead of black because at the time that is what we call the Afro-American. That is also how Fishbone referred to himself at the time. He was a year older than I and was crippled. He wore metal and leather braces on both legs. He introduced me to his family as they came by to see the "white boy" who had fallen to earth just outside of the "colored folks quarters" called Elysium near Sunflower, Mississippi. Calliope was his mother. That's what Lando Milton, Fishbone's dad, called her. The kids just called her mom and I learned to do the same when she said that "Miss Calliope" was just too big a mouthful for a "young'n" to have to chew on. I remember that she used to say "Glory be!" over and over and over when I would make some remark not normally associated with children, white or black. Lando Milton, was a war veteran and hero. He was home because he had been wounded and won a bunch of medals and was medically retired. I came to know that he was more than just a war hero. He was, considering his circumstances, one of the smartest men I ever knew. At the time, as he bathed my cut and bruised body and applied an amalgam that he had fixed from herbs and common household substances such as grease, crushed peppers, salt and God knows what, I thought that he might be the meanest man alive!

     Fishbone was his oldest son and had a number of siblings, I think there were nine in all, most younger. Two interested me more than the others. One was the oldest, his sister who appeared to be of mixed parentage. Her name was Tawny (as was her complexion), she was sixteen and she was my first crush. She ignored me, almost as if I didn't even exist. To me few things in life are as tempting as a woman who, knowing she intrigues me, ignores me. I think this all started with Tawny. The other was another sister, Buketa, who was fourteen, looked as old or older than Tawny and was like the rest of the family, very dark-skinned. One brother who I liked because he laughed a lot, was a seven or eight year old named Juba.

     I guess I was lucky because I had not been raised to be a bigot. I did have some misconceptions which were dispelled as I spent my summer with these wonderful folks. I learned that they were not otiose, indolent or lazy. Lando Milton had money coming in, but he still worked, trapping muskrats and farming. He also insisted that his children get an education and when he thought the "colored school" was not doing enough, he proceeded to teach them himself.

     He must have been amused at the newest member of his household. He was also shocked more than once. There was the time when we had been out picking and resetting the traps and it had taken longer than usual because he had to teach me (at my insistence) everything he knew about the muskrat trade. On the way home we stopped at a "Blind Tiger". He explained that this was a gin mill (actually an old shack) where booze was sold without a license. He told me to stay outside, but I insisted and he let me go in and when I insisted on having a drink with him, he said okay. I think he was going to teach me a lesson. I'd been weaned on La Conga 151 (a hundred and fifty-one proof rum) and a shot of gin didn't even faze me. After the third, he said that we had better go before I had to carry him home.

     He had been to Europe and he had traveled about the United States and he knew a lot about the world and he had definite plans for his children. They included getting an education and having a work ethic and doing "right in the eyes of the Lord", an ideal that he lived as well as preached. He explained that most white folks weren't as dumb or as mean as they seemed. They were just misguided. He had books and while he said my Jack London was okay, he showed me medical books, Shakespeare, and others, which I don't remember, but they must have been special, because he said they were. What he did was leave me with was a desire to learn and a knowledge that reading was not the only way, but that it was one of the best ways to do so. He used terms like "Pons asinorum" when talking about problems that most people had. He said no problem was too great if you believed in yourself and trusted in the Lord. Before I left I gave Fishbone my hunting knife and when his father heard that I had, he gave me a watch that he had brought back from France with the inscription "memento mori" on the back. He told me to read and learn what it meant and I did, but it was years later. It means "remember that you must die".

     Even then I could recognize how much a loving father he was. Sometimes after picking the traps or working the field, he'd be so tired, he'd be dragging when he came in, but he always had time for the children. He would play with them before supper, especially Fishbone, and after the evening meal, he would help them study or read to them. Then he would pray with them before going to bed. He could tell great stories and it was during one of these that I decided I was in love with Tawny. There was only one problem...Buketa.

     The other kids were in the front room and Buketa and I were sitting in rockers on the porch. I had been listening to the crickets chirp, and picking from the evening air the combined smell of honeysuckle and burning leaves. I listened as he told a story..., "He was called Moshi, which is Swahili for smoke, ‘cause he would be there one minute and poof!...gone the next! Kifo was his enemy and his name means death and Kifo was out to steal Buketa, the pretty one...." I had been watching Tawny through the window. She was ignoring me and Buketa suddenly scooted her chair over next to mine. I looked at her. She had a large pouty mouth with full lips, high cheekbones, large brown eyes and black hair. Her white teeth with little sharp canines sparkled in the combination of moonlight and lamp light as she laughed. "What a curious boy you are." she commented as she let a hand wander. I suddenly became aware that there was something else that could come between boys and girls besides the love I felt for Tawny. Lust. Later that night in the barn, she taught me what I later learned is called "French kissing'. Buketa was a playful child- woman. She insisted on showing off her new "step-ins" and we both learned a great deal that night.

     The next morning I awoke to the smell of sizzling bacon and with a sense of having grown up a whole bunch. I was almost afraid to face Lando Milton, but I decided I had to sooner or later. He was already gone to the fields when I entered the kitchen. I started to say something to "mom' but she told me, "You shouldn't try to lie, boy, your mouth just ain't built for it". I shut up. Why do moms always seem to know? I ignored Buketa who kept smiling and when Fishbone told me he knew where we could "kutch" a good mess of fish, I jumped at the opportunity. That night, I was waiting in the barn when Buketa came looking for me.

     While this learning experience was going on, I was also learning a myriad of other things. I learned a little about farming, a lot about trapping, a lot about fishing, and a whole bunch of words or expressions that I hadn't heard before. "Grinnin' like a mule in a briar patch", "Grinnin' like a ‘possum in a ‘simmon tree", "peckerwood", "pizzle brain", "pisant", "agitated as a June bug in May", "Busy as a tick in a tar bucket", "Dribs and drabs", "white weasel", and "gallinipper" are just a few that have stuck with me. I stayed away from the Blind Tiger because a man got knifed there just after my first and last visit, but a neighbor would bring Lando a couple of mason jars of muscadine w ine every few days and he seemed to like drinking with me, even if I was a kid. He gave me the recipe for making the wine, which is made from grapes that are thick-skinned, purple and have a strong, musky flavor. The family had a big mean one-eyed dog and I don't remember if he even had a name, but I hated him because he was Tawny's protector and he didn't like me. One Sunday, we went to a revival, where we ate catfish and hush puppies and I got in a fight. The preacher broke it up and told us to go inside. His cousin, James Cleveland Owens, Jesse to friends was down from Chicago. I met the man, wasn't impressed, didn't know who he was, and could kick my butt now for being so stupid. I didn't say I was the smartest kid in the world. He mentioned being from Danville, Alabama and even said that he knew where Lakewood, Florida was. He and Lando both had kinfolk living in a nearby community called Flowersview. Meant nothing to me at the time. If I had only knew....

     The revival lasted all day and as we were leaving, I got dared to walk through the cemetery and cut through the swamp. It was sort of a no-longer-a-child ritual that the kids had. I decided against it and Tawny called me a coward. I did the same to her and she said that she wasn't a child and that she would do it and be home long before the rest of us. She set out, and we started home and then I decided to join her. When I got back to the cemetery, I could just see her at the edge, near the swamp. I yelled and ran toward her and upon spotting me, she screamed and ducked into the brush. I chased her through the bushes at the swamps' edge, moving in and out of the bullises. I lost her, then heard singing. I crept forward and found her in a clearing, traipsing about and pulling leaves from the bushes, then throwing them in the air. I tackled her and held her body down with mine. She had a clean, musky scent that excited me. She begged me not to do anything (not that I could have, her being a good five or six inches taller than me and probably stronger) and when I complied, she explained that she liked me but that she had the "jim- jams", which I took to mean she was nervous. I told her I sure hope they weren't catching and she laughed, then I told her that I wouldn't do anything and I just lay there holding her and learned something new. You didn't have to have sex with someone just because you love them. We talked and it was getting dark and she had worked up enough nerve to let me kiss her when she suddenly screamed and pushed me away. I looked toward where she pointed and saw a blue-white light coming from the edge of the swamp. She screamed "Ghost!" and jumped up and I followed suit. I was brave, but no fool. I wasn't going to mess with any ghost. We ran and ran and collapsed at the back of the house and were just about to get back to where we'd left off when the family arrived.

     When I told them what had happened, the part about the ghost, everybody agreed that we were lucky to be alive...except Lando. He pulled me to the side and said that I was going to have to learn that there was not such thing as a ghost, that what I had seen was a "spunkie", a light caused by the combustion of marsh gas. I said okay, though I didn't believe a word of it. I couldn't figure out how such a smart man didn't know about ghost.

     Tawny and I spent the next three days together when we could get alone and we even kissed, but that was the extent of out carrying-on. I look back and marvel at the idea that I could get past the lust part and actually understand that she needed holding more than she needed sex. I grew up a lot that summer, but summer's come to an end, and one day the law came in from Sunflower. Seems that someone at the church had reported that a white boy was living with a black family. They put me inside a train this time and Grandpa picked me up in DeFuniak Springs, Florida at the depot.

     The summer ended, but the friendship didn't. When Lando died, what was left of the family moved to Flowersview and most made it to adulthood. One result of Lando's drive to educate his family is evident in that Dr. Morris Milton went to medical school and now practices in Florida periodically spends time with his old patients up in Paxton, Florida. Buketa married and all her children started college. The rest of the story of Tawny is a very special one, but that happened at another time and another place.

     I learned about farming, fishing and trapping, I learned about sex and I learned about love, and the difference between them, I learned about work ethics and family and about people. I learned that if my pleasure causes no hurt to man, beast or Mother Nature, and if for me the temptation is so real that I can taste it, then the pleasure it offers must be worth any risk.

     When I was young, I thought that the world always lay across state lines, country borders, over mountains and in the richly green fields beyond the rivers and across the oceans. Now that I have been there, I realize that the world actually lies within each of us. I do however believe that I would not have realized the second if I had not realized my dreams of adventure in the former. I had learned things before that year, and in many ways I have learned much more since then, but without a doubt my eleventh was the best and most rewarding summer I ever had.

© 1996 Charles S. Holley

Once, against all gods, I prevailed. Now, the heat is on and I pray...Please, Jesus, save me from your followers.