This was copied, but oh so true...

My class reunion's coming
And I don't know, what a state,
My weight and chins have doubled
since the year of '58.

I look into the mirror and---
Good grief! How can this be?
Gray hair, false teeth, thick glasses---
It's my parent's face I see!

But I head out to the party.
No sense moping, I decide
I'll just have to grin and bear it.
(But I'm dying deep inside).

Then I walk into the banquet hall
And stop.  There's some mistake.
Not a single classmate do I find.
Did I confuse the date?

Still, the faces seem familiar,
As each one I keenly stare at...
Then I realize I'm looking at---Good Grief!
My classmates' parents!

MR. BARFIELD
By Tommy Elkins

Mr. Barfield was a kindly man
Who lived across the street
With his sweet wife and son Eugene
As nice as you could meet.

He owned the Western Auto Store
On the south side of the Square
No matter what one wanted
You usually found it there.

Screws, bolts, nuts and washers
With bicycle seats and tires
TVs, radios and red wagons
Wrenches, hammers and pliers.

We had lived in “Big Hot’s” apartment
Located on Fairground Street
It was called a duplex back then
Small, but it met all our needs.

Then Bebo came with diapers
A washing machine was bought
But, the Ellards said it was noisy
Other quarters had to be sought.

So to a house that Pop Elkin built
We moved when it was finished
Across the street from the Barfields
Where we owned and not rented.

I was twelve when we moved 
And came to know Mr. Barfield better
Daddy even signed for me to buy
A mower on Western Auto credit.

But, it was not the power type
With a gasoline engine and blade
No, it was the old reel push mower
That I took home that summer day.

I cut twelve yards that summer
Sweating and pushing so meekly
To pay Mr. Barfield what I owed
Giving him one dollar weekly.

Until Twelve dollars I paid in all
And felt I had earned each cent
I vowed next summer I’d trade it
A Wizard power-mower my intent.

Through it all Mr. Barfield would smile
As I took in my dollar each week
I think he really appreciated
Someone responsible and meek.

When Christmas was coming that year
I happened to be in his place
“Tommy,” he said, “would you like a job
Working during the Christmas break?”

Of course I said yes and started
Working up in the storage attic
Assembling toys of all types,
Bicycles, tricycles, I went at it.

Parents would buy them “on time”
It was called “putting on lay-away”
Then they’d give a time to pick up
And we had them ready that day.

The toys mostly came in boxes
With parts and full instructions
So I would follow what was written
Until assembled per directions.

To get them down from the attic
There was a hole cut in the floor
With a rope and pulley above it
We lowered them into the store.

So began a career of working for
Mr. Barfield, my neighbor and friend
Any jobs he felt needed doing
He would smile and I would begin.

From cleaning to assembling to delivering
Even sales circulars to all the town
I think I eventually went to 
Every house that could be found.

So, Mr. Barfield was my friend
But, more than that he became
A teacher who taught respectful hard work
And to compete in life’s little games

THE BOOGIE WOOGIE BOY
By Tommy Elkins 

When I was in the ninth grade
About fifteen years old
I went to the new school
In the town of Kosciusko.

The building was new and shinny
High school came with status
We required the Junior Highs
Be respectful to all of us.

Assembly was held in the gym
Where we played basketball
The Senior High on one side
The Junior Highs by the wall.

One day we had an assembly
That didn’t last too long
As it was over so quickly
The principal proposed a song.

Now, this came as a surprise
What in the world could it be?
We weren’t known for singing
For hollering, perhaps, maybe!

Then a piano was rolled out
On one end of the gym floor
And my classmate, James Edwards
Came walking thru the door.

What could this possibly mean?
He can’t play the piano!
I’ve known that boy for years!
He’d do better being a soprano!

James sat down on the bench
All six feet tall of him
Stretched out his arms and started
Tickling the ivories before him.

World War Two had ended
About ten years before
But, the music of the war years
To us was still holding forth.

James began to play like mad
With rhythm and with poise
His fingers flew over the keys
“boogie-woogie” was the noise!

We all sat in stunned silence
As he played the first few bars
Then the whole gym exploded
As we stomped and applauded.

We shouted and demanded
That he begin over again
Teachers joining in the moment
We all laughed and grinned!

None knew James had it in him
This musical gift and talent
To play that “Boogie-Woogie”
It almost seemed like magic.

The moral is don’t be surprised
If someone unlikely comes forth
With things not fitting their image
And with pleasure begin to cavort.

Some are quiet and subdued
Yet, carry ruckus fun inside
Allow each to have that spirit
Even if you are surprised.

I don’t know what ever happened
To James, what was his end
But, to me he will always be
The “boogie woogie” fiend.

MY GREAT CRIME
By Tommy Elkins

Summertime in Mississippi
Can be hot, humid and boring
Especially if you are a boy
And tired of simple exploring.

In the early nineteen fifties
The most fun to be had
Was an air conditioned movie
When temperatures got bad.

The only problem facing us
For a Saturday afternoon visit
Was the price of admission
Ten cents, the cost of a ticket!

And so two buddies of mine
With my helpful scheming
Set out to find a subtle way
To sneak a movie screening.

The Pix Theater on the Square
Was typical in most ways
Refreshment stand with eats, drinks
And cool air on hot, hot days.

The single aisle sloped to the screen
With dim lights on the side
Restrooms were beside the screen
Which stood almost tree high!

Exit doors by the restrooms
Opened only from inside
And this is what we noticed
As we planned our “Great Crime”.

One would buy a ticket and enter,
And wait for the movie to begin
Then, he would go to the restroom
And let the other two sneak in.

It sounded oh, so simple
It was the perfect crime
We would never be caught
And two would save a dime!

So the plan was carried out
I was one of two outside
We stood beside the exit door
Whiling away the time.

Suddenly the door opened wide
We jumped into the cool air
It was so dark we could not see
It was two o’clock out there.

We waited for our eyes to adjust
Then got down on the floor
We crawled under the folded seats
Halfway to the entrance door.

Soon enough our heads popped up
And as we twisted around
A flashlight clicked in my face
And I heard a throaty sound.

“Ok, boys, come with me!”
The movie manager said.
My eyes opened wide as panic came
And cold sweat began to spread.

He took us to his office
And told us to sit down
As he picked up his telephone
Then began to call around.

The Pix Theater happened to be
Next door to the Littleton Store
This was where my mom worked
I knew he knew her for sure.

My daddy soon came to get me
But he did not say a word
The look on his face told it all
He was very, very disturbed.

Then he said to the manager
“I think he owes you a dime!”
I reached into my pockets
Hoping ten cents to find.

I did and gave it to him and
Slowly walked out of the movie
Thinking I would get a spanking
Or scolding or rebuke surely.

When in the car it was so quiet
I wanted him to say something
Then he did, through clinched jaws
He said “never again, sonny!”

You see in our boyish naivety
We forgot two major facts
At two o’clock the sunshine is bright
While the movie is totally black!

The other fact more important
That stays with me today
It is wrong to steal from others
Even great crime does not pay!

THE ELECTRIC CHAIR
By Tommy Elkins

 
When one is young and impressionable
Things can catch your attention
You experience mostly good things
But a few cause stark retention.

One such event took place for me
When I was about age ten
It happened one Saturday afternoon
As I was on my bike riding.

I rode my bike around the square
Enjoying my boyhood freedom
Then I rode down by the jail
Fighting lazy summer boredom.

As I rode I spotted a crowd
People standing and talking
They mostly were out in the street
As a flatbed truck was parking.

“What’s going on?” I asked a man
Who was standing at the edge
He was solemn and emotionless
And at first did not even budge.

Then slowly he began to respond
Without even moving his eyes
From the back of the truck before us
As if he were hypnotized.

“That thing there on that truck”
He slowly got the words out
“That thing you see on the back there.
That’s what this is all about!”

“What is it?” I asked so innocently
“It looks like an old wooden chair!”
He slowly turned and looked at me
And spoke with a solemn air.

“That chair you see is not just a chair.
Notice the arms and leather straps.
That thing on the back about head high
That metal, rounded cap”.

“That thing is called an electric chair.
It can cause electrocution.
When a man is convicted and put in it,
It’s called an execution!”

The hair on my neck stood straight up
My eyes got bigger and bigger
Then he said, “They got it here
To kill that murdering N----r.”

That word still causes me to cringe
Whenever I hear it or remember
Back then it was used an awful lot
By those angry, scared or superior.

Now as I think back to that day
A boy sitting on his bicycle
I am left with cold, vivid images
That my mind tries to recycle.

Who was the man? What was the crime?
Was he really the guilty party?
Was he in fact electrocuted?
Where had the whole thing started?

In boyish curiosity I had stared
At the truck and the strange chair
It never entered my mind to ask
Was the justice done truly fair?

All I know is a memory etched
Into a young boy’s mind and soul
Of a flat bed truck and a chair
And vivid comments softly told.

Today I would ask questions I think
I would attempt to be involved
Even if the crime that was done
Was thoroughly, completely solved.

I believe in capital punishment
But, I also believe all of us sin
So we must be ever so careful
Before bring any life to its end.

We also must be aware of fear
That can breed and nurture hate
It is so easy for any to judge
When prejudice colores the fate.

Was there really an execution?
In all honesty I don’t know
They could have been just showing it
To get boys like me to go slow!

The climate back then was harsh
And most attitudes were rigid
It could have been true what he said
As we stood there so priviledged.

Man can lose the right to life
All humans can be that vicious
But may I ever value all life
And see it as so precious.

Oh, God, help me to grow strong
And have a heart of love
May my attitudes change and mellow
As I follow your lead from above.

THE OLD COUNTRY CHURCH
by Renny Breazeale
Written in 1960

As the old man walked down that dusty road to that old country church on that beautiful Sunday day
His thoughts went back about 50 years to how he and all of his friends  had walked that same dusty way
And there was a lot of things that the Lord would hear this old man say
Just as soon as he could get inside that old country church and kneel down and pray
 
But as the old man reached the church yard his eyes scanned near and far
Then tears dampened his eyes cause there was not one wagon or one single car 
And this is the place where there had been all day singings and dinner on the ground
But now there was no choir in that old country church to make a joyful sound
 
It seems as if they had all moved away, maybe they had all gone to town
And now all that was left was an empty old country church that progress had slowly torn down
Then the old man opened the church door and he gently walked inside
Right there, at that very alter, 50 years ago, he met Christ and took his one and only bride
 
Then the old man knelt by a bench on that beautiful Sunday day
And this is what the Lord heard that old man pray....
He said dear lord, you know when I was maybe 9 or 10
Church was a place to go lord and not a just a place that I had once been
 
It was a place where your wonderful love and fellowship flows
And not just a place to go on Sunday to show off our pretty new fancy clothes
And in the summertime lord our services would face an unbearable heat
And in the wintertime lord the cracks in the walls wouldn't keep out the snow or the sleet
 
But we didn't worry about the heat or cold
Cause we had an old fashioned preacher man that told us about the pearly gates and those beautiful streets of gold
You know lord sometimes I wish I could find that old fashioned church and find that old fashioned preacher man
One that would shout and reach out and run down the isle lord and take our hand and lead us on to the promise land
 
But where can I find that church where your wonderful love and fellowship still flows
And that preacher's not afraid to step on mine and he's not afraid to step on anybody's toes
I got to go now lord and get out of this old country church and go out there and tell everybody about your wonderful spiritual love
Cause someday lord I want everybody to enter those pearly gates and walk those beautiful streets above
 
AMEN

 

SOAP OPERA LIVES
by Renny Breazeale
Written in the Mid 1980's

 
I saw you there on the society page
In your low cut gown with a man twice your age
He was standing beside you with a smile on his face
But when the Dark Shadows fall I'll be taking his place
 
Like a lovers triangle on the Days Of Our Lives
I'll Search For Tomorrow with My Guiding Light
Not caring As The World Turns if it's wrong or right
We've got One Life To Live in our soap opera lives
 
You married for money and position in life
You have a good reputation as an upstanding wife
But tonight's Another World and you'll be by my side
Cause you're Young And Restless at the Edge Of Night.
 
Like a lovers triangle on the Days Of Our Lives
While Searching For Tomorrow with My Guiding Light
Not caring As The World Turns if it's wrong or right
We've got One Life To Live in our soap opera lives
 
Not caring As The World Turns if it's wrong or right
We've got one life to live in our soap opera lives

THE RACE
by Tommy Elkins
 

My daddy liked to tell the story
He’d smile and want me to know
The fun he sometime had at work
Especially when work was slow.

Daddy was paid for jobs he did
Clocking on and off each one
When none was found they stood around
And liked to have some fun.

It was the dead of winter he’d say
In fact six inches of snow
When he and Mr. Sweatt started talking
About the one most slow.

Daddy had run a lot as a boy
Out on the Navajo reservation
Once he ran home from town
Cross-country with no hesitation.

But fast was not enough that day
It seemed both wanted to brag
Of being fast without a doubt
But also being tough as a stag.

Arguments went, boasts were made
Till words were not sufficient
The inevitable dare crossed their lips
As to the one most proficient.

Snow still fell as they joked and jawed
Then the challenge, what to wear?
Both agreed that all each would need
Was their boxer underwear!

Strip they did on that cold, cold day
No shirts, no shoes, no trousers
Out in the street snow six inches deep
Each sure he would be the faster.

From the shop they ran due west
Crossing the railroad track
Down to the Pet Milk processing plant
Then turn and raced right back.

Two grown men on a snowy day
Racing down a deserted street
Only because each wanted to show
That he was the one most fleet.

I always grinned at the very thought
Of running along half naked
My little boy’s eyes opened wide,
Then looked at dad and waited.

“Who won?” I’d ask each time he told
The story of the snow day race
He would smile and give a wink
“Now who’s usually in first place?

THE FOLK OF KOSCIUSKO
by Tommy Elkins
 

Kosciusko was a small town            
If my memory serves me well
There were about 8000 folk
Who had chosen there to dwell.

As I grew up it was wonderful
No person of me thought ill
I rode my bike around the square
And down by the old cotton mill.

Sometime mama worked at a store
On the corner of the square
It was called a “dry goods” store
The Webbs did business there.

Banks were also on the square with
Vick’s café, Hammond Hardware
Leonard’s had mens’ and ladies’ clothes
All you might choose to wear.

Boyd’s Drug Store was on the corner
Then Rosemond’s Barber and Beauty
Roscoe was the barber in front
Lucille in the back created beauty.

The Pix Theater was next to the store
Where mama worked sometime
It was my favorite place to stop
Especially for a Saturday unwind.

The courthouse in the middle of the square
Was made of red brick and imposing
The lawn all around was where we played
As our Boy Scout meetings were closing.

As I grew up it dawned on me
There were really three populations
Living with me in that little town
That still holds so many emotions.

The first group I called “my people”
We worked, played and worshipped
As if one family and really one faith
And none of the others existed.

We belonged to the Presbyterian Church
Though we were not the biggest
Confidently in our hearts we knew
We were before all the godliest!

The Baptist Church was the largest
Their numbers could not be equaled
The joke we all told was there were
More Baptist in town than people!

The Methodist too had a presence
And an advantage or’ the latter
Country churches for miles around
Had been started by “circuit riders”.

Episcopal, Catholic, Church of Christ
Were put on the cultural fringe
We marginalized them so, though
The thought today makes me cringe.

These were the folk who ran the town
Who worked so hard to keep order
Here I felt both calm and secure
While doing all that I ought to.

The second group I came to know
As I went to the school on the hill
Folk who worked, lived and played
Close to the old cotton mill.

Rough, calloused and not afraid
Or, so they all seemed to me
Whenever I met them on any road
My choice was to let them be.

Did I feel better or above them?
Deep in my heart I don’t think so
Separate, different without a doubt
These folk I simply didn’t know.

Poor but hard working in every way
Even called “white trash” I imagine
Now I know they struggled and hurt
Just like us with deep, deep passion.

Group three you could probably guess
We now call “African-Americans”
Then we called them many other things
Depending on one’s fears or emotions.

At best “Blacks”, at worst “N___r”
“Darkies” when feeling benevolent
I shudder to think what they thought
Seeing our confident contentment.

Now I know their only uniqueness
Was being the group “most different”
The eye was all one needed to know
The difference in skin pigment.

When difference is there it all begins
Next fear can easily come hissing
Difference plus fear brings chill to the air
Only one more ingredient is missing.

The third is the match to start the fire
Striking with scarcely a warning
The “power to do” whatever one pleases
Begins the emotional storming.

Difference was there in my little town
As was fear they might harm us
But, we had the power of true control
And so kept both groups from us.

How could such groups live so closely
Yet actually each be so distant?
Perhaps because of what we saw
As God-ordained placement.

The Christian is not to hate anyone
And I really believe I did not
But we also are to love one another
This appears the key I forgot.

I always thought the opposite of love      
Was “hate” to put it simply
As I grow older it seems I’m learning
Perhaps this answer is empty.

Now I think the opposite of love
Is deep, care-less indifference
If I don’t love it doesn’t matter
You are not in my existence.

These three groups will live on and on
If love does not guide the pattern
The color of skin, education and things
To God do not even matter.

Indifference is the opposite of love
Don’t take comfort in having no hate
Rather shudder and wonder if you feel
No concern for the others’ fate.

We struggle and try our best to learn
As we go through this life alone
The struggle will be so much easier
When indifference has all gone.

MEMORIES
©2001 Jo Evans

I remember moonlight and roses
Firelight and blissful sighs
Golden meadows, sheltered lovers
Breezes sweetly, gently blow.

All these things my heart encloses
Thoughts of you will always rise
True love waits and soon discovers
Golden memories both will know.

GEORGIA CALLED ME
by Jo Evans 2002

It’s a peaceful misty morning 
In these lovely Georgia hills
In the trees the birds are singing
I hear music in their trills

This home of mine is new to me
I want to learn and see it all
I heard echoes for a long time
Of its haunting siren call

I heard the voices of the spirits
Bidding come, I need you here
So I’ve come to find my future
And to search for answers clear

These hills of Georgia call me
Say, now you’ve found the way
And the answer beckons sweetly
I am finally home to stay.