Randy Godwin and 1951 South Carolina - A True Short Story

Randy Godwin and 1951 South Carolina.


Have you read Randy’s great story?

It's superb, and it reminded me of a true story of my own experience in the Deep South, so long ago, although my story is…well, you’ll see.

Dad was a high steel ironworker, and it was a job that required lots of moving around, so I saw quite a bit of the U.S. in my early days. One such job was on the Savannah River’s South Carolina side, and was called, appropriately enough, “The Savannah River Project." It was later renamed "The Savannah River Nuclear Bomb Plant," and even later, “The Savannah River Site."

Dad bought two acres in the piney woods and pulled in what was then a huge house trailer for us to live in. We put in a well and a septic system, and the power company brought in electricity. For a nine-year-old boy it was Heaven, because I had a dog and the job of killing the hundreds of rattlesnakes that threatened my mom and sisters. I was the only boy and liked it that way because I got special considerations.

Our home location was just across the Savannah River from Randy’s story location, and my experience in the segregated South was similar in many ways. Every facet of life had a white and a colored separation, and for an Iowa boy, it was shocking to have full-grown, black adults step off the sidewalk to allow a little white twerp like me to pass. In fact, it was downright embarrassing, but a protest from either black or white was dangerous, because the Klan was everywhere, and like the Taliban of today, any misstep could earn angry retaliation. I once caught hell from a white stranger for drinking out of a 'colored' fountain.

One summer evening, my cousins, sisters, and I were playing outside while the adults were inside talking, because kids in those days were not allowed to bother the adults, nor did we want to. We were playing hide-and-go-seek when we heard a strange, wailing cry from down in the swamp.

Our acreage was on high ground, but just a half a mile away and down a long hill was a big swamp with alligators, snakes, and quicksand. It was fed by a slow stream of milky green water, and was divided by the new blacktop road where we met the school bus. Dad and I had gone down there once, but the leeches, mosquitoes, and rotting stench drove us back after venturing in just a few hundred feet.

The hide-and-seek game stopped, and we all came out of hiding, staring in dread through the blackness at the invisible swamp we all knew was there. Then it came again, a thin, quavering and terrifying call that sounded like someone in desperate peril calling for help with his last bit of strength. We all ran for the trailer to get the adults.

For a long time there was silence, and my mother, father, Uncle Dick, and Aunt Jean were looking at us kids with accusing eyes when the same bone-chilling cry came from down in the swamp. My mother and aunt simultaneously put their hands over their mouths in female horror, and my mother gasped, “It’s the damned Klan, and they have some poor negro down there!”

That startled all of us kids, because we had never before heard my mother swear. Then my dad said, “To hell with the damn Klan! I’m going down there!”

Wow! Two revelations in one night, because we had also never heard him swear either, although I had my suspicions after often hearing him mutter incoherently while working on our car. I, and my cousin Frank were both fluent in expletives, of course, but we were careful never to reveal our expertise.

My dad and Uncle Dick armed themselves with double barreled shotguns, while my mother and Aunt Jean piled blankets in the trunk, which seemed odd in one hundred degree heat and one hundred percent humidity, but I knew better than to question their wisdom.

To our utter astonishment, the shoulders of the blacktop road were covered with cars because the plaintive cry had been heard by lots of anxious people. Armed men, women with blankets, and fortunate little boys who were allowed to ride along, cluttered the roadside. Girls of course, were not permitted, lest they see something that would forever ruin their delicate sensitivities. Most of the men were Dad's fellow iron workers who also lived in the area. They were a clannish bunch, and most were from the upper Midwest, where there was no segregation. They all knew it was the damned Klan.

As Dad and Uncle Dick switched on flashlights and prepared to enter the horrors of the nighttime swamp, there was a big commotion on the side of the road and we all rushed to look. A pair of muddy ironworkers were supporting an equally muddy old black man, as they climbed up the shoulder. Dad and Uncle Dick rushed down to help them, and they all gathered in a circle around the stricken man. The old man was known to all of us as a local farmer who sold delicious watermelons out of his ancient truck. We had no idea what he had done to get himself into such trouble, but he was well liked by all. The anger was growing.

We went back to the car with the womenfolk and waited for a long time. Then the cars started slowly leaving one by one, but we were still there. At last, Dad and Uncle Dick got in the front seat and just sat there in silence. Then one of them snorted and they both broke down in helpless fits of laughter. When mom asked what was so funny, they looked at each other and cracked up again, slapping each other on the shoulder and gasping for breath. At last, they subsided and Dad spoke.

“He wasn’t in any trouble at all. It turns out that he was just dead drunk and decided to spend the night down there because he was too drunk to walk.”

Mom spoke up. “So why was he was calling for help?”

Dad and Uncle Dick started laughing again. “It turns out that he wasn’t calling for help at all. He was just calling for his old coon hound!”

...

When the old man sobered up, he was mortified at all the trouble he's caused, and he was also a little scared that there might be some Klan retaliation, but the iron workers had a great story to tell, so they assured him that all was well. Then they found out that he made great barbecue, and he started doing a brisk business out of his truck. I wish I could remember his name, but it's lost to history. His grandson and I played together some. That was permitted.

That was all a long time ago, and Mom and Dad have passed on, but the memory is fresh in my mind. I still own those two acres, but the swamp has been drained and, like the KKK, it's no longer dangerous.

More by this Author


Comments 83 comments

pstraubie48 profile image

pstraubie48 3 years ago from sunny Florida

Well, I am glad that he was JUST drunk. Sad to say that but it was a much better resolution to this tale than I had expected. I grew up in the South and in our town there was only one black family who lived on the outskirts of town in a shack that could not really be called a house. It had such huge spaces between the boards that were strung together to make the make shift building that insects and heat abounded in the summer and cold did so in the winter.

This was so interesting...from beginning to end.

Voted up

Sending Angels to you and yours. :) ps


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi pstraubie48 ,

He was a real entrepreneur, and I think he brewed his own John Barleycorn.


Old Poolman profile image

Old Poolman 3 years ago from Rural Arizona

This was a great tale, I really enjoyed the read. Let's see more of these tales from the young WillStarr.


Randy Godwin profile image

Randy Godwin 3 years ago from Southern Georgia

Wow Will, you had me dreading to read the end of this one as my imagination was running wild during the tale. I too have seen old black men--or of any other age and gender also-- step off of the sidewalks when any white folks approached them.

I somehow knew this was wrong at a very early age, but tragically, there were very few citizens in the small local towns who felt the same way I did. I'm so glad things have changed enough down here so the klan is almost unheard of these days. But as we all realize, we still have a long way to go in these parts as far as equality for all is concerned.

I really enjoyed your true story as it ended better than I'd hoped. And thanks again for linking my fictional tale to this true one. Yours adds a certain amount of dignity to my efforts.

Randy


Angela Blair profile image

Angela Blair 3 years ago from Central Texas

What a great tale, Will -- it's so great to hear stories about "the good old days" -- like when kids played outside and wanted to! I'm looking forward to some more of your childhood memories as it sounds like you had a good one! Best/Sis


diogenes profile image

diogenes 3 years ago from UK and Mexico

I spent a few years in the States and always regret not getting residency when it was offered to me. Once you live in the US, nothing else lives up to it.

Great story...hope the mutt showed up. You dad and his mates had balls being prepared to front the Klan back then.

Prepare for your loyal flock of commentators!

Bob


Ghaelach 3 years ago

Morning Will.

Great childhood memories Will. Sounds like you had a bit of Tom Sawyer childhood with travelling around so much.

Great story and great memories.

LOL Ghaelach


Patriot Quest profile image

Patriot Quest 3 years ago from America

Great story! fun reading! thanks


CMerritt profile image

CMerritt 3 years ago from Pendleton, Indiana

I agree with Mike, lets hear MORE about the "Life of WillStarr"!

It amazes me to think that it REALLY wasn't THAT long ago, when the Klan was a force to be reckon with...and just how much has changed over the last fifty years.


dahoglund profile image

dahoglund 3 years ago from Wisconsin Rapids

Living most of my life in the midwest I've been somewhat sheltered from such experiences. There are some generational differences even so. I've noticed black people who are younger than me are generally comfortable in a mixed group whereas those older than me are very cautious of what they say. Your experience is instructive.


breakfastpop profile image

breakfastpop 3 years ago

I loved this feel good story of a time when all outcomes weren't quite so harmless. Up and awesome.


mckbirdbks profile image

mckbirdbks 3 years ago from Emerald Wells, Just off the crossroads,Texas

Hello Will. This story has so many facets and told through the eyes of a young boy made it all the more potent.


Nan Mynatt 3 years ago

Will, your story sounds too good to be true, just like the civil rights from good ole Martin Luther King, Jr. It was a long time ago. Segregation was alive and in place. I don't remember anything about the south at a young age. However the KKK is still alive up north and operating out of Indiana in particular. It took a long time for slaves to be free. Jobs are important for any real progress, and for any other nationality. The Mexicans are now demanding the same rights. Being a former teacher I wrote a book and gave away 100 copies, I really wrote the history of Black Americans. We did not have any text in our schools. I was told that there wasn't time to teach the history, due to other histrory that had to be taught. I published the history of my city on another web site for the local people to keep up with the past.

This was a way of life in the south. I didn't find it to be true in Jackson. MS and Atlanta, GA when I returned some 16 years ago. They seemed to have grown and adjusted to African Americans. The real facts were that blacks took care of white children, so they already had a close relationship with them. And that helped them to adjust. Thanks for the insight, I marked you up!


Patriette profile image

Patriette 3 years ago from Las Vegas, NV

I loved this, Will... and ditto mckbirdbks! Your past is as fascinating as is your present.


PegCole17 profile image

PegCole17 3 years ago from Dallas, Texas

You had me going with this one Will. As a child of the south I was very familiar with all that you described here and remember this as well:

"Girls of course, were not permitted, lest they see something that would forever ruin their delicate sensitivities."

We were always called inside when the chain gang would come along doing work for that same reason.


Becky Katz profile image

Becky Katz 3 years ago from Hereford, AZ

Very interesting story. It caught my interest, especially after reading Randy's story the other day. I was very relieved when you got to the part where they brought him out and then laughed when you explained what really happened. You got the emotions very clear.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Mike!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Randy,

A a boy from Iowa, I had no idea what the Deep South was like in those days. It was a strange mixture of great beauty and institutionalized ugliness.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Angela,

As kids in those days, we would no more interrupt adults talking than we would slap our mother.

A friend and I hit a man's car with a rock, and he promptly pulled over and gave us both a spanking over his knee. When my dad heard about it, I got another one. A kid in those days could expect that from any handy adult.

Today, all kids are protected little angels and God help the adult that spanks them, including mom and dad!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Bob.

Yeah, the dog showed up later, as they always do.

Dad was tough as nails, and as our small town mayor, he was also the law. He once arrested an armed burglar, with nothing but a billy club and sheer nerve. He was only 5' 6", but seemed much bigger.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Ghaelach!

We moved out of necessity plus Dad was a curious man, so we visited everything within a 300 mile radius of wherever we were. The only states I nave not visited are the New England states and Alaska. That will be remedied.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Patriot!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Chris,

I have to remind myself that most of the adults from that era are now gone, and the kids I knew are all old folks today.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Don,

Those of us who witnessed that era, both black and white, are now a disappearing generation.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Pop,

I never saw my dad laugh so hard, but I suppose part of it was relief, because they thought they might end up in a pitched battle with the KKK.

I would have given odds on the iron workers, though. The KKK would have been no match for them, since most of the KKK slugs were not tough, hard working men. They were the dregs of society..


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi mike, and I consider that to be high praise!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Nan,

Slavery was officially over in the 1800's, but it was still alive and well in the form of sharecropping and segregation until Dr. King showed all of us a better way. However, even that was still not enough, because the new segregation is the inner city plantation, where so many suffer a life without hope.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Patriette!

We all have an interesting past when we start dredging up old memories!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Peg,

My sisters used to hide their faces in Mom's skirts to avoid seeing the cruder things in life, but I was all eyes and ears!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

That night was a favorite family story, and when Mom and Dad were still alive, it was a sure way to bring a smile to their faces.


G-Ma Johnson 3 years ago

Wow...It hard for me to believe this really happened in our country, I mean I read about it , but to actually be there and live around/in these situations is hard for me to fathom...

I guess I was raised a very fortunate, sheltered girl. As a child I remember the Sailors, Marines and Soldiers and victory gardens.. I was raised in the north west...

Loved this story, very exciting and makes me want to get back to my writings about my years ago...Voted up and across the board...:O) God Bless...:O) Hugs G-Ma


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, G-Ma!


drbj profile image

drbj 3 years ago from south Florida

This is so well-written and engrossing, Will, that I have a suggestion. After you publish your tales of the old West, please write and publish your memories of the old South. You ARE a writer, my friend. Voted Up of course.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

I just saw this drbj, and thank you so much!


Fossillady profile image

Fossillady 3 years ago from Saugatuck Michigan

Great story Will, I was on the edge of my seat, but I'm glad it turned out to be funny in the end cause I was ready to get real damn angry at another racial atrocity! Kathi


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Kathi!


vocalcoach profile image

vocalcoach 3 years ago from Nashville Tn.

There will never again be a time like this. We are fortunate to have spent childhood during these years. It was a time of innocence ... a time to be grateful for family and country.

Such a commanding story - skillfully written. Up and all buttons graciously noted + sharing.

Hugs~


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Audrey!


Dexter Yarbrough profile image

Dexter Yarbrough 3 years ago from United States

A great, great short story, Will! Thanks for sharing it. Awesome.


wayne barrett profile image

wayne barrett 3 years ago from Clearwater Florida

Real life is enough of an embellishment to make a tale worth telling. I really enjoyed this one. Keep up the great work.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Dex!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Wayne!


James A Watkins profile image

James A Watkins 3 years ago from Chicago

I love this little story. What a gift you have in telling it and others. A regular old raconteur, my friend. All the good buttons.

James :D


carolina muscle profile image

carolina muscle 3 years ago from Charlotte, North Carolina

A lot can be forgiven if a man can make good barbecue. :-D

Great post!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, James!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Chris!

There's nothing better than a Carolina pulled pork sandwich!


cam8510 profile image

cam8510 3 years ago from Columbus, Georgia until the end of November 2016.

Great story Will. My Great Grandparents were klan members, so somehow my parents and I came out pretty well in terms of our perceptions of people of other races. My Grandmother did have some racial prejudices though. It's a better world we live in now. It isn't perfect and there is still work to do, but it is better than those days. Thanks for writing this story. And yes, Randy had a great one too.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Cam!


Ghost32 3 years ago

Will, I surely don't have one to match that--but at around that time, open racism was very much alive and functioning in rural western Montana.

When I was growing up on the ranch 6 miles west of the little town of Drummond, there were more businesses in place than there are now. One was the barber shop, no longer in existence, where Dad and I got our haircuts when we needed them.

I recall one incident that took place in that shop when I was 10 years of age, which would have most likely been in 1952 (since I didn't turn 11 till November and don't remember snow).

Dad had left me at the barber shop to wait my turn in the chair, heading on down to one of his favorite haunts--Swede's Bar or maybe the Turf. There was one adult in the chair, two waiting ahead of me, plus the barber. So, 4 grown men and one fairly small boy.

But I was NEVER one to be seen and not heard. Oh, I heard the rule often enough; I just had a powerful tendency to ignore it when the notion took me. And that night, there was no option.

The chit-chat topic among the men turned to race. Every one of those four men was highly, openly, and righteously prejudiced against the black man...and before you could whistle Dixie, I was literally standing up out of my chair, calling them on their attitudes and standing my ground.

Now, I doubt I made any converts that night, nor did a one of them pause to think that maybe the little Baker whippersnapper might have a point. That would have been beyond comprehension, for those grown folks to do that. But neither did they back me down from my position.

I don't remember them pushing TOO hard--for which I gave credit to my stellar powers of persuasion. Most likely, the real reason for their discretion was knowing that my old man, five- six (like yours) and 215 pounds of hardcore ornery WWII Navy vet with a known temper and a mental discharge from the service, could walk back in at any time. But even so, those few minutes in a lit barbershop facing a darkened small town street, I locked a fair amount of twisted steel into my own spine for all time to come.

There are more related stories, of course...but this IS your Hub, not mine.

Voted Up and Absolutey All the Way Across.


GrammaMEP profile image

GrammaMEP 3 years ago

About time you wrote that story. You old it like I remember it. Only I never knew who the guy was. He always had great watermelon. Makes me hungry just thinking about it.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thanks, Fred. I'm just a tad older than you so we remember the same stuff. It was a difficult time for those of us who saw no reason to cause good people all that despair.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

GrammaMEP is actually my much older sister (OK...18 months) who was one of the kids playing hide and seek that night, and she was the first to hear the eerie call from the swamp. She lives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.


Randy Godwin profile image

Randy Godwin 3 years ago from Southern Georgia

I often wondered if there were many people who felt the same way, Will. Especially down here in this neck of the woods. There were, though. It just wasn't popular to broadcast one's feelings very often or you'd get a dead cat thrown through your window one night. lol!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

That's just the way it was. Even churches were segregated, which was a blatant hypocrisy.


Randy Godwin profile image

Randy Godwin 3 years ago from Southern Georgia

Many still are down here, Will. In a manner of speaking.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

People also self-segregate. An office building near my neighborhood was recently converted into one of those mega-churches, and the congregation is almost exclusively black.


bravewarrior profile image

bravewarrior 3 years ago from Central Florida

You sure know how to spin a tale, Will. You had me riveted from word one! I want more!

The fact that you follow Randy makes me even more eager to follow you. He's a great writer. And so are you!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, bravewarrior!

When we lived in South Carolina, we used to go see my grandfather, who was retired and lived in Dunnellon, Fla. He took us boys to Cedar Key so we could fish off the wharf.


Cousin G 3 years ago

Bits and pieces of this story brought back family memories. Are you coming back for the reunion this year? Don't know the date...but the location is Cedar Falls. G


Patriot Quest profile image

Patriot Quest 3 years ago from America

I got to thinking on your story and had to come back and read it again! I just bought 5 acres near an old creek and can't wait for warmer weather to go do some exploring, I always had a fascination for walking creek beds...........


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi, Cousin G! (Gary or Gloria?)

We might come back...it depends on my mother-in-law's health. Let me know the date, please.

Bill


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Wow, Patriot Quest ! Sounds like a super place for a cabin!


Storytellersrus profile image

Storytellersrus 3 years ago from Stepping past clutter

Great story, Will! I am liking reality more than fiction these days. As the old saying goes, it is stranger. And the detail is so fresh-- and funny, i.e., "I, and my cousin Frank, were both fluent in expletives, of course, but we were careful never to reveal our expertise." Love it!!! And love knowing this about you.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 3 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Barb!

The South Carolina woodland was a boy's paradise, and it remains one of my best memories, despite its 'To kill a Mockingbird' undercurrent.


ahorseback profile image

ahorseback 2 years ago

Will , nice story ! Life sure is interesting in the south , no ? The clan ! Its amazing that they could Still be around , at least the mentality of it ! Love this memory !


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

This was in the early 50's Ed, and I think most of the KKK are now gone. Thanks for reading!


Phyllis Doyle profile image

Phyllis Doyle 2 years ago from High desert of Nevada.

Will, I just came across this hub and so glad I did -- what a tense and chilling story that turned out with a surprising twist that you are famous for. I love it ! Seems like you had a pretty exciting and good childhood with some very interesting memories.


moonlake profile image

moonlake 2 years ago from America

Great funny story and I'm glad it was funny and not what your parents thought it was. Your story brought me back to my childhood. When my parents had company we weren't allowed around the grown ups we headed outside to play hide and go seek. Voted up and shared.


Marie Flint profile image

Marie Flint 2 years ago from Jacksonville, FL

A well told, personable story.

I'm sorry to say my parents were biased, even though we lived in the North. Dad especially was so; he claimed he wouldn't serve in the same company as a black (during WWII). When two men of color drove into our driveway asking if there were 'any coon in these parts,' my dad answered, "I'm looking at two right now." He also told them to step out of their car, if they wanted to talk to him (our family dog, a German Shepherd, had her fir standing on end and was growling).

"I'm scared of that dog," the man answered and, realizing he wasn't going to get any help for coon hunting, drove away with his partner.

My mother was a bit better because she ran a beer tavern and sometimes a black man from the nearby Air Force base would come for a drink. Her position was, "Their money was as good as anyone else's." I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have invited anyone of color to dinner, though.

I didn't understand their biases, nor did I understand the plight of the Afro-Americans of the south. Ours was a very homogenous community of second or third generation of English, Finnish, Germanic, and Polish descendants.

I didn't personally feel any friction with the black race until I went to college at Michigan State University when one young black lady stood up in our Social Science class, a university requirement, and scolded the professor for not having curriculum that suited her needs. (My thinking was if you don't like the class, take something else--maybe another professor.)

While I loved sharing knowledge with all races, I tended to shrug off subtle advances by very dark-skinned persons. (I wasn't too social at college overall, as I kept to my studies.)

I loved the ease in which you told this story. I felt as I was sitting right next to you as you were telling it. I could almost see this muddy guy explaining to his rescuer that he was just calling for his hound dog. That part of the story is funny--what a character!

The story has historical significance, too. Some black folks, especially in the South, don't realize the support they have had among the white folk. This story helps give that perspective. Thank you for writing it.

Voted Awesome. --Blessings!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you Phyllis!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you Moonlake!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Marie!

I don't know if it's possible for the races to ever be completely comfortable with one another. As individuals, we become fast friends all the time, but as races, we still tend to seek out our 'own kind', and end up with self-segregated neighborhoods. Maybe that's instinctive. Who knows?


LadyFiddler profile image

LadyFiddler 2 years ago from Somewhere in the West

Ah Willstarr you had me thinking who could be so cruel to put this man down in this swamp. I was glad at the villagers involvement to help this man out though ..... lol. Hmmm he's crazy a swamp of all places he could have drowned i guessed he would have gotten sober if that had happened.

Thanks for sharing and i hope you don't use those expletives anymore huh!

A mighty fine day to you Billy sir :)


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, OhMe!


OhMe profile image

OhMe 2 years ago from Pendleton, SC

You sure are a great story teller and I held onto every single word. Thanks for sharing this very vivid memory.


DJ Anderson 2 years ago

Will, I don't know how we have not crossed paths before. This one pulled me in because I am a big Randy Godwin fan. The first story I

read was his story about Savannah, and I lived in Savannah for seven years. Many big changes in my life took place in that city, a long time ago. Used to go back regularly, but those times have passed, as well.

I was born and raised in the deep south, but thankfully, my parents

were different than most. They never spoke disparagingly about people

of different color. My dad had much Native American in him so his

view differed on a great many things.

I look forward to reading more of your works as they have come highly recommended.

I rarely post on HP. Have been deeply involved in writing a novel.

Enjoyed this write. Thankfully, much change has come to the south

in the last few decades.

My best to you,

DJ.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Well then, thanks for taking the time to read it, DJ and best wishes on your novel!


mary615 profile image

mary615 2 years ago from Florida

I was born in the mountains of North Carolina, but grew up in the hills of South Carolina during this time in history. My mind was racing ahead of the story, and I could only imagine what was going to happen to the old black man!

I'm glad I was so wrong. Great story, I enjoyed the read.

Voted UP, etc. and shared.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Hi Mary! Looks like we have some history in common. This took place in Aiken County, not far from the small town of Williston.


DreamerMeg profile image

DreamerMeg 2 years ago from Northern Ireland

Great story, really enjoyed that, as I do all of yours!


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 2 years ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Meg!


old albion profile image

old albion 23 months ago from Lancashire. England.

Hi Will. A really first class hub. Great story and content, thank goodness things have changed for the better.

voted up and following.

Graham.


WillStarr profile image

WillStarr 23 months ago from Phoenix, Arizona Author

Thank you, Graham!

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