Blog

by Jerome Pearson

June 2010

It all went down back in the summer of 74.  That was the summer where George McCrae topped the soul charts with “Rock Your Baby”, followed by Hues Corporation’s “Don’t Rock the Boat”, followed by William Devaughn’s “Be Thankful for what you got”, a melody so sweet and so smooth that it even made the tobacco rows seem short, and the normally unbearable hot and blazing Sun seem like a mere beach umbrella.  

Although the summer began with Isleys’ “Summer Breeze” and The Dell’s “I wish it were me you love”, by July, the city of “Miami” was “all the rage”, as George McCrae was eating up the Soul charts. The summer continued with perhaps the most beautiful of them all “Gladys” (“Make yours a happy Home”) which was combined on her “Claudine” album with hits like “ON and ON”. 

That’s right; the summer in which Richard Nixon resigned the Presidency was the most soulful summer ever.   Pick a year, and you are not likely to find one more soulful than 74.   If the years 1970-74 were the height of soul, then, the year 1974 was its acme.

But our story takes place in Davis Station, SC and we didn’t care anything about Nixon or Watergate.  I remember this little girl who heard that the president was being impeached.  She said, “Well, I hope they cut him up, put em in a Jar”. 

It began on an unbearable hot and sultry Friday in late June of 74.  We received permission from the Boss man to knock-off at noon so we could have the annual fish-fry. 

I went home and took a bath but only ate a sandwich for my lunch.  I was saving my self for those fried breams and that catfish stew and steamed rice.  I don’t care too much for the carp fish, but I would occasionally taste a very small piece, at the most.  There was something about how one side of carp fish would be very dark and one side white.  However, both breams and catfish were white through and through. We all contributed ten dollars which was enough to cover all of the fish, bread, rice, beer, and the corn liquor. 

Bono and Albert were going to do all the cooking cause they good at it.  Big George always allows us to cook in the tree shade behind his juke joint because he knows that would help fill up his club later on Friday night. 

It felt good in that tub with that cool water washing away all of the accumulated dirt and grime from the fields. It always feels good to get that tar off your hands after you been cropping tobacco.  I smoked a cool as I soaked in the soapy water.  I could hear the chickens cackling all across the yard.  My mother was outside hanging clothes to dry that she had washed earlier that day.  In those days, you didn’t need no dryer, just hang the clothes on the line and let the sun go to work.  Course though, you had to remember to take the clothes in the house before the rain comes.

I stayed in that tub for about 45 minutes before getting out and drying my self.  I put on a yellow short sleeve silk shirt with a big collar and a pair of green bell-bottoms pants, and brown platform shoes.  I walked down to Big Georges club at around 2:30. The first person I saw was Leroy.  He didn’t even look like he’d gone home to take bath and change clothes.  We used to tease Leroy about never taking a bath. He was drinking a colt 45 malt liquor, so I ordered one.  Big George had fat ass Nathaniel working behind the bar.  Everybody knew Nate was a sissy, but we never teased him much.

I asked Leroy, “them fellahs ain’t get back with that fish yet?”  “Nope, but it don’t take long to cook it once they get it here.  Well the catfish takes the longest because of the stew.  But they’ll have everything ready fore five.”  That was a couple more hours and I was getting a bit hungry.  I walked over to the Horton’s store and ordered a slice of boloney and a box of crackers.  You don’t want that naked Colt 45 on your stomach in that heat.  When I got to old man Horton’s store, he was steady sneezing and wiping his nose with his shirt sleeve.  We knew he was nasty, but I was hungry.  He and his old wife did not even wear gloves when they cut meat for you. I used to watch all of those brown spots on they hand, hoping that they didn’t touch my meat. We thought it was cancer, and I didn’t want no cancer on my boloney.

On my way back, I met Mabel walking towards me in a short skirt.  She knew it was Friday and that most of the men had money and that was when she made most of her money.  She has been known to take as many as ten guys a night, charging them ten dollars a piece.  But I wasn’t about to give her none of my money today.  She said to me, “Hi baby, where you think you going?”  I told her that I was headed back to Big Georges and that I was waiting for the fish-fry.  “You sho you don’t want to spend none of that money, honey?  You know Big George got rooms up in there.”  “Not today”, I replied and kept walking in the direction of Big Georges.  She aint’ never getting none of my hard-earned money.

When I got back, Leroy was still sitting on a stool drinking his colt.  A few minutes later I saw Bono’s car pulled up with Albert sitting in the front seat.  I immediately got up and went around back.  “About time!  I thought y’all wasn’t ever coming back.”  “Well, we had to find that corn liquor before we got that fish, and they didn’t come off that water with the fresh catfish until about 2:30.  You, come on around here and start skinning these catfish!”

I grabbed a knife and pair of pliers and took the bucket of catfish over to a vacant table.  Most of the catfish were still alive so you had to make sure you didn’t get stuck by that fin because there is nothing more painful.  I grabbed the fish by the mouth with the pliers and quickly inserted the knife into her stomach.  I made about a six-inch incision and began taking out the guts and throwing them in a trash bag.  I then took the pliers and pulled the skin off them.  Meanwhile, Bono and Albert had started a fire and sat a black wash pot filled with water on it; that’s where we would cook the catfish.

Every now and then the clouds would come out and threaten rain but then the Sun would come back; they played hide and seek like that for the rest of the afternoon.  Before long Eddie and Little Man showed up.  Little-man had a pint of Grand Canadian sealed whisky that he must have gotten from the town of Manning because there were no liquor stores in Davis Station in those days, only the illegal corn. Little-man was a short muscular dude known to be the toughest man around.  One time I seen ’em grabbed a live snake by the tail and beat it to death on a hot asphalt highway; he would whip the snake against the road like he was cracking a whip.  “Let’s get this show on the road”, Little-Man cried out as he took another swig of the Grand Canadian whisky.  “I’m drinking sealed whisky!  Eddie was his partner and he was big, strong, and blacker than black berries.  “Start cleaning those carps and breams over there before y’all get too drunk”, Albert yelled towards them.

Meanwhile, I continued skinning the catfish, careful not get any blood and guts on my clothes.  I just got these pants off lay-away, and I didn’t won’t to take them to the cleaners this soon.  Plus, you have to drive all the way to Manning to even find a cleaner.   My momma always says we don’t need to take them to the cleaners in the first place if we learn how to iron properly.  But I didn’t want no iron on my polyester, cause fore you know it, you be having holes.    I have a second pair of polyester that I also had on lay-away, but I am saving them for the Fourth.   That’s when all of those pretty girls be coming from up the road from places like B-More and Jersey.  Some of um be coming from New York and Miami, but most of um be from B-More and Jersey.  And Jersey has the finest girls around.  B-More had some fine ones too, but they need to get all of that faked gold outta they mouth before they could compete with Jersey.  But when they come down here, I tries to look my best.  The only bad thing is that they think that we “country” and talk funny.    But they don’t mind spending our money though.  They try pretend that the boys “up the road” are better, but from what I hear, most of um be in jail half time.  They be talking all of that mash, but when time for them leave to go back “up the road”, they be crying, all like they in love, because they know there ain’t no loving like country loving, and you can believe that!  Who sing that song about, “ain’t no love in the heart of the city, ain’t no love in the heart of town?”  That’s right, Bobby Blue Bland!  These northern girls don’t care if you are even married, cause they just figure because they from “up the road”, wives will just have to take a back seat while they down here.    But some of the Country wives come up on them by surprise, and then they be singing, “ain’t no ‘licking’, like a country ‘licking’, and you ain’t gon be taking my man, from this side of town”!  I have seen a whole family jump a woman who was sitting in the car with their daddy.   She thought she was cool until they dragged her behind outta that car.  And all their daddy did was taking off in his car.  He left his woman behind because he knew he had his coming later.

While I was cleaning the fish, Bono started cutting up onions and getting that hot sauce, fatback, black pepper, and salt ready.   We don’t have to put on the rice yet because that’ll cook quicker than that stew, and we don’t want it ready too early.   Before long we was adding that cat fish to that hot water and all them spices, and ain’t nothing like some good ole stewed catfish.  Some people put potatoes in theirs, but we don’t.  Cars be driving past looking at us, and I know they just want to come over and try to get some of this fish, but they didn’t contribute, and aint nothing free. 

We try to have the fish-fry the week fore the fourth, because that be barbeque time.  And when I say barbeque, I’m talking about a pig and not no chicken.  I hear some people be saying they are barbequing chicken.  Well, around here, barbeque means pig; everything else must be something else.  You ask a man for some barbeque, he don’t ask whether you want chicken or hot-dog, cause down here he knows what you want.   But the week before the fourth is our fish-fry time, and when you be serving catfish with all of that black pepper, and those gnats be flying around, and sometimes they fall in your plate, and then you can’t tell the black pepper from the gnats.  If it’s hot, that means it is pepper, but if it’s sweet, then you know you just bite into a gnat, but it makes no difference cause seasoning is seasoning.

Fore long we was scooping up that rice and scooping that catfish stew on top of it.  That with some light bread is all you need.  Now days people be eating salad fore they meals, but we didn’t care nothing bout no salad.  Why you wanna mess up a meal with some kind of salad when the real thing sitting right in front of you.  I don’t know who been crazy enough to think of something stupid like that.  And then some people be claiming that salad is all they eat, but them be the one who ain’t never had no catfish stew. All they need is one spoon of that catfish stew, and then that’ll teach them from “sucking eggs”, and you can b’lieve that.  I think they be trying ta fool somebody.  But we know the real deal in the big DS.  You bring some kind of salad round here that ain’t macaroni or potato, then you might just get shot, or at least, stobbed.

After we finished eating, there were always these challenges and what not.  Leroy had him a new can of Colt 45.  He said to Little Man that he was gon set the can on the ground and count to 3, and if little man grabs it fore him, then he could have it.  So, Leroy, sets his can on the ground, and counted, 1, 2, 3, and they both was reaching for the beer but Little Man being fast as a cat swooped it up first, and next thing you know they in a tussle because Leroy was feeling embarrassed and plus  he done   realize that his beer was gone, so he turned it into a fight because he was trying to tackle Little Man; but fore you know it, Little Man picked Leroy up off his feet and body slammed him on the ground.  Now wasn’t that some BS?  You get your behind Kicked and lose your beer at the same time just because you was dumb enough to challenge another dude.  Leroy was also embarrassed because Little Man was much smaller than him, but you would never know it by what just happened.  So now he had to try to save face. 

Fore you know it Leroy done went to the trunk of his car and grabs a metal crow-bar that is used to change tires. He looked at us from the trunk of his car and realizes that he done mess up because we all knew he made the challenge and lost and now he trying to turn it into something bigger than it was, rather than just taking his whipping like a grown man should.  I could even see some tears in his eyes.  He was looking like “what did I just get my self into?”  Five minutes ago, he was just buying his self a new can of beer, and now had no beer to go along with an unnecessary A-whipping.  It don’t get no lower than that, but that’s how it be in the big DS sometimes.

Finally, Leroy decides to come back over and rejoin us, even though he was embarrassed.  Little Man had done gulp down that free beer and was on to other things.  Little Man has been in so many fights in his days that he don’t even think twice about what happen.  I always thought that if Little Man had ever continued his schooling past the third grade, he probably would have been a good running back in high school football cause he was so quick on his feet and strong as a bull.  He did everything on instinct, just like an animal.  He done beat up many men who underestimated him.  He was driving tractors by the time he was in the 2^nd grade and helps his daddy on this White man’s farm.  His daddy and mother didn’t set a good example cause they be out in the street every weekend drinking and fighting whoever crossed them the wrong way.  By the time Little Man was 12, he left home for some place in North Carolina working on farms up there.     He been back in the big DS in the last several years and rumor has it that he killed three people fore he headed back home, one of them who had the nerves to not pay him his five dollars back on time.

We continue drinking, eating, and horsing around for a couple of hours.  Later this White girl name Colleen comes around cause she likes to hang out at Big George Juke joint.  She don’t live too far from Davis Station and all of her life she be acking like she Black.  I think she’s sweet on me but she keeps saying I’m too young.  I keep telling her I got plenty of experience though.   She just gives me that seductive smile and turns away.  She the only white girl we know that even be speaking to Black people on equal terms.  She knows everybody’s name, and even strings tobacco like the rest of the Black women.  Whenever a car with White peoples drives past and sees her talking to Black people, I know they be wondering why she was stooping so low but she be having a good time.  If she be driving her car and sees a Black person walking down the street, she would stop and give them a ride.  We all like her as a person cause she was kind hearted.  She say she only like Black music, so that why she be hanging out at the Black establishments.   She even likes catfish stew, and the fellas don’t mind sharing some with her cause they think they might get a little favor in return later on, but I don’t think nothing ever happened.  She can be a tease, getting our hopes higher than they should be.

So that was why the next morning, when my mom wakes me up saying that the Police was outside, and they wanted to talk to me, I was not so surprised.  Colleen was such a good girl and things should not have turn out the way they did for her.    They asked me what I knew about Little Man and I told them all I knew, including some alleged rape he was bragging about a few months ago.    They said to me that Colleen was found dead in the back seat of her car in a wooded area not too far from Big George Juke joint.   It appeared that she had been raped first.   I told them I had seen her at the club for a while, but I didn’t know what time she left.  I told them I left around 11 and came home to my bed.

Little Man was arrested but he kept saying he didn’t have anything do with it.   The all White Jury convicted him anyway, mainly because of his own rap sheet and all of the other allegations.   He was given a life sentence but wound up only serving 20 years before he got out.  When he got out, He seemed to be a changed man and had become so religious, carrying his Bible everywhere and always going to church.  Every time I see him, I always feel sorry for him.  He was never given a chance from the time he was born.  Whenever I see him, I can’t seem to look him in the eye though. 

Over the years many things have change.   Big George Juke joint is standing but is only a shell of its former self.  Leroy moved to Miami and was killed in a car accident.  People don’t know where Albert is.   Bono still hangs around.

I graduated from High School and then enlisted in the Army.  I Spent 30 years in the Army and finally retired back in 2005 as a Master Sergeant.  I was married to a German woman, but we divorced after 15 years and she wound up taking our two kids back to Germany with her.   I never got married again because women always cause problems, and sometimes I would just rather be myself.   Now that I have retired, I have returned to Davis Station

When my German wife was about to leave, I didn’t try to stop her.  I kind of understood.   She said she couldn’t deal with those nightmares I keep having, when I kept waking up night after night, screaming, and saying:

“‘I’m sorry Colleen, I didn’t mean to do it; it was only an accident!”

MSG. John Franklin Smith (Retired)

June 2010

By Jerome Pearson

June 2015

The movie titled “The Thing from another World” is a 1951 American black-and-white science fiction/horror film.  The story concerns a U.S. Air Force crew and scientists who travel to the North Pole to examine an aircraft crash located near a scientific outpost.  Once there, they discovered a flying saucer and an extraterrestrial pilot whom they bring back to the lab, frozen in a block of ice, for further study. It’s not long before it was learned that the THING from another world was a super-intelligent man with the ability to both regenerate lost limbs and reproduce through spreading seeds—thaws out and begins to wreak havoc.  They are then forced to defend themselves against this thing when it is accidentally revived. 

The “Thing from another World” became unstoppable alien bent on world domination.  The movie “presents a world that is caught in the unsteady balance between ‘Us and Them’—that is to say, between the normal people and the people who are a little too brainy for their own good”.  The movie was released in 1951 during the Cold War period, which was certainly a scary time throughout the world.  However, it was only a movie!

Twenty years later in fall of 1971, another scary creature was discovered, and was appropriately (perhaps coincidentally), called “THE THING”. Only this time, “THE THING” was not found in the artic by mad scientists but was rather found in roaming various communities within Clarendon County, South Carolina to include, Summerton, St. Paul, Davis Station, and Davis Cross Roads.

For several months, starting in the fall of 1971 and ending somewhere around the spring 1972, THE THING haunted and terrorized our community as we received no help from the Federal Government.  As a matter of fact, even the news agencies showed no interest in our predicament.  Each day when I got home from school, I made sure to watch the evening news from start to finish. But there was never a mention of “THE THING”!   

Our military was in its 8th year of what was appearing to be an unending war in Vietnam!  Our President at the time was only concerned about a potential 2^nd term in office; he and his henchmen were too busy breaking into the Watergate building trying to ensure a 2^nd term and could care less about what was happening in our tiny community. I felt as if we were being abandoned by our own Government!

 Of course, we did not have CNN back then; we probably could have used Anderson Cooper and Don Lemon camped out in our town for months “breaking news” all over the place!  They could probably have interviewed a local Pastor who preached one Sunday that “my baby seen The Thing! And I know it’s a sign from God being communicated from the mouth of a babe that the world is finally coming to an end”.

More specifically, in our community THE THING was an unidentified scary creature that began roaming the local areas and killing everything in its way. Although the Thing was supposedly some wild and super animal that was seen by multiple witnesses, there was never a consensus on its exact identity.  When asked what THE THING looked like, witnesses would give varying and often conflicting descriptions. An adult night-school class had seen a reflection of the THING in one of the school’s newly installed stained-glass windows one very cold night; the Thing, they said, looked like some type of mountain-lion.  Following one weekend, I arrived at School and was informed by a classmate that his grandfather had seen THE THING the previous Saturday jumping across interstate highway I-95 with a mule in its mouth. 

Preachers began preaching about the end of time and saying that the arrival of THE THING was only a confirmation that the “End of Times” was immediately upon us.   THE THING had powers that we had never seen in other creatures.  These powers were so super and unusual that the entire story exuded an air of fantasy. People were reporting that some of their chickens, pigs, cattle and in some cases, dogs were being killed off.  The assumption was that it had to be THE THING killing all these animals, and that given the chance; it would kill humans as well. 

Throughout this time THE THING was spotted in multiple locations and in multiple forms.  I recall seeing what I thought was THE THING crossing highway near Davis Cross road as the School bus traveled from Summerton to Spring Hill one day.  My heart almost dropped, but when I looked around, no one else seemed to notice.  So, each day as the bus neared that area, I would become panicky.  During the nighttime, no matter how sleepy I became, I made sure that I went to bed only when my siblings were already in the bed room.  I was afraid that THE THING was always waiting for my entry; he would be out to get me because I had seen him previously from the school bus window.  

One Monday morning, I was informed that the high school cafeteria had been broken into over the weekend and food was taken.  Some folks claimed that they saw THE THING exiting a broken window earlier that Sunday morning; other folks claimed that it was only an elementary school student name Norris Dubois.

One man in Davis Station, whose wife had just given birth to a very unattractive baby boy, began accusing her of being unfaithful; THE THING, he said, was the likely culprit.  However, he failed to realize that his 3 older children would never be mistaken for a member of the “Jackson” family either!

During high school football games that fall, local guys who would normally try to get into the game for free by crossing through the local graveyard and jumping a ditch, now because of THE THING, had to enter through the normal gate like everyone else. Cars would be coming through the paying-gate with 2 passengers in the front seat, 3 in the back seat, and four un-paying passengers in the trunk.

Our School was surrounded by a fence and was the only school I ever attended that had one.  The male teachers were mostly responsible for patrolling the area, but they were often distracted by other things.  The School was overseen by a bull-dog of a principal named “Choice”.  There were two teachers with the name “Wilson”; one big and one was small, both appeared frightened; a teacher named “Miller” who was pre-occupied with doing the “camel walk” or slapping around a spoiled student who he could not stand; another teacher who taught history and wore a big white cowboy hat, but really specialized in writing love letters to some of the 8^th grade female students;  a very tall teacher named “Pompey”, who taught math with food stuck in his mouth; and relatively young  teacher name “Pack”; well perhaps we should not say what he was up to!

THE THING haunted us during the fall and winter of that year but finally disappeared during the spring!  In the blink of any eye, the thing had disappeared and was never seen nor spoken of again.

When I reflect on this story today, I realize that although THE THING was supposedly seen by multiple witnesses, in multiple locations, and in multiple forms during that year, there was still no absolute proof of its existence. 

But for those of us who had seen it, he was as real as anything we had ever encountered and will remain a frightening part of our delightfully dubious memories.

Wait! Did I just hear something?

Grraaaaauuuu!

Jerome Pearson

by Jerome Pearson

August 2012

Flying into Charleston, SC is always fun.  The airport is small, as are most airports in South Carolina, which makes it easy to grab luggage and car and get on the road very soon after de-barking the plane.  Once exiting the airport you will probably be getting onto I- 26 and head east or west, but may first want to have lunch and do some shopping at the Tangiers Outlet Mall prior to entering the Freeway or perhaps even go into the city of Charleston to experience some historical treasures.

On Friday morning, 3 August 2012, I flew from Newark, NJ into Charleston for my High School Bi-Annual Reunion.  This was my second time flying to SC in the last several months.  My wife and I flew into Columbia in May for our nieces’ wedding.  However, this time I was traveling alone, and chose to fly into Charleston, which is apparently the only airport that has direct flights to and from Newark.

After arriving at the airport, I picked-up my rental car which on this day would be a white 2013 Chrysler 300.  Being an Executive Emeralds Club member with National Car Rental, I can reserve a lower-class car but would be given my choice up to the Luxury Class and not pay extra.  I have obtained this status because I travel so often, and National Rental Car is one of my company’s preferred vendors.  A Chrysler 300 is much better than a Ford Fusion or Nissan Altima certainly. When you pull off the lot you can now imagine that you are in that commercial with the 300 being accentuated by the Jay-Z remake of Bobby Blue Bland’s 70s classic “Ain’t no Love in the Heart of the City.” That just must be the hippest car commercial in the last several years.  It is so soulful and so 70’s. 

 I decided to stop briefly at the mall but chose not to have lunch.  There are nice eating places in and around the mall, including Chick-Fil-A, a place I have lunched at in the past.  However, I was not going there on this day with all the controversy, and I am not sure if I will be going there again.  Although not gay myself, I do support gay rights, as I do for all human beings, and I find the company’s president decision to openly demean the lives and morals of many innocent people insulting and mean spirited.  I frankly don’t care what his views are, but to espouse an unsolicited negative commentary regarding lives and morality of others was certainly politically motivated, and perhaps even hateful, and he does not deserve my money.  The chicken is not all that good anyway! 

I did, however, go into Eddie Bauer at the Mall and pick up a couple of T-Shirts.  Although there are nicer stores such as Ralph Lauren and Brooks Brothers, I was only looking for T-Shirts, so Eddie Bauer fitted the bill.

As I was leaving the Mall, I texted our classmate, Sharon Oliver, about the class meeting/brunch we were having on Saturday morning at 11.  I wanted to know if any classmates were also getting together on Friday, but Sharon indicated that only Saturday was planned. She indicated that she, Bertha Mellerson, and Debra Stukes were slaving in the kitchen just as we were texting. I was looking forward to seeing Sharon as I was other classmates, many of whom I had not seen in many years. 

During a birthday cruise in NYC for Leonia Gipson’s 50^th birthday back in 2008 (oh I am telling her age!) there were discussions about one of our classmates being a novelist.  I was not aware of this, but being a lover of books myself, I found Sharon’s email on Amazon and I reached out to her, and we have been in communication since then.  She gets on me all the time about not attempting to publish my own writings, and I always come up with some creative excuse for why I have been so remiss, or lazy, perhaps.  My job does require some writing as well, but it is mostly of the technical and scientific nature.   However, I will say that after writing a 20 page technical report regarding my assessment of a company’s quality systems and adherence to regulatory requirements, I gain some sense of therapy when I am able to morph into a state of “stream of consciousness” and write more creatively.

After leaving the mall, I got onto I- 26 west and headed in the direction of Columbia. Suddenly it began to storm, and the rain was coming down so hard I thought for a moment I might have to pull over.  I could barely see the car ahead of me.  However, the rain was hard, but brief, and before long the sun had come out again.  It was almost noon, so I attempted to call my cousin, Suzy (Gwendolyn James) in Davis Station to invite her to lunch.  However, the call would not go through. 

Shortly, I was exiting I-26 for I-95 and headed North in the direction of Florence. I remained on 95 for about 40 minutes or so, and then exited onto highway 301 in Manning.  I decided to drive to Davis Station and perhaps surprise Suzy at her house.  When I got to her house, there were no cars in the yard, which was an indication that she was not home.  After ringing the doorbell and confirming that no one was home, I headed in the direction of the “Swamp” with plans of having lunch at the “Jones” restaurant, which is something I tend to do at least once when I am in the area.  The owner of the restaurant is the father of my cousin James.  I ordered a fried whiting fish sandwich with French fries, and sweet tea.  I now find whiting better than breams because there are hardly any bones.  With a little bit of hot sauce on the whiting I was soon in pig’s heaven.  Even the light bread tastes good with such configuration.

After eating my lunch, I headed to the Hampton Inn, which is located off exit 119 in Manning.  I think the Hampton is the best of the hotels in the area, and one of my nieces is one of the managers.  After going to my room and unpacking, I decided to take a nap.  I had been up since 5 AM in the morning so a nap was certainly in order. 

I slept for an hour or so and decided to call my sister, Carlethia, who was in Atlanta for her husband’s family reunion. 

I then called Bobby and Sherial to let them know I was in town and to see if they would be going to the “meet and greet”, which is the part of the School Reunion that would occur on that Friday evening.  They were headed to Columbia on this evening, however, so we agreed to meet for Breakfast on Saturday Morning.  After agreeing to meet at 8 a.m. for breakfast, Sherial later texted me and suggested 9, since they returned later than planned.

I drove over to the local Wal-Mart to get some supplies such as water, soda, snacks (peaches), and other supplies.  I spend a lot time in hotels these days, but you can only bring so much on an airplane.  I don’t like those little tiny bars of soap that hotels provide, so when possible, I always buy a large bar, even if I wind up leaving it at the hotel when I leave. They are only 99 cents anyway and well worth the convenience.

After returning to the hotel, I decided that perhaps I should have a little dinner prior to going to the “meet and greet” because you never know what to expect at those events.  I walked over to Shoney’s because at least you could probably select the buffet which should provide more of variety of offerings.  There was a seafood buffet special on this day for only $9.99.

I returned to the hotel to prepare for the “meet and greet” which was to be held at the new St. Paul Elementary school.  I had assumed that the new St. Paul Elementary School would be near the old school.  I called Clarence to see if he would be attending but there was no answer to his phone.  I got onto 95 south and headed to exit 108, which is highway 102 leading to Summerton.  I decided to go by Clarence’s home anyway, just in case if his phone number had changed.  For some reason, Clarence has had many number changes over the last several years.  When I got to his home, although there was a car in the yard, it appeared that no one was home. I rang the doorbell but did not hear an immediate response, so I went back to my car.  As I was opening the door of my car, I heard Clarence’s voice.  

Clarence was planning to attend the “meet and greet” as well, so we decided to ride together.  As it turned out, it was a good thing that I did go by Clarence’s home, because my assumption about the new St. Paul Elementary school is near the old one was incorrect.  As a matter of fact, the new school is no longer in St. Paul at all, but is located on the same premises as the relatively new high school which, itself, is located on the outskirts of Summerton proper. 

At the “meet and greet”, you can register for Friday and/or Saturday event and pay the fee if you hadn’t already.  I had already paid via pay-pal and had my little computerized receipt in hand.  I tend to do almost everything I can on-line these days.

The “meet and greet” had a relatively small crowd, but it was still fun.  You get to talk to more people and share more stories than you would at the banquet.  Some of my relatives from the James’ side of my family were there, to include my very dear cousin, Evandy and her husband, Clarence.  Evandy is from the class of 73, and is a retired Philadelphia Police Officer/Detective, but she looks as youthful as a recent college graduate.

The food at the “meet and greet” this night was very good, perhaps better than what we would later have at the banquet.  I always enjoy talking to the “Ragin” family, who on this night included Darlene, Willette, and Maizie.   They enjoy me telling my little stories – I have many- and Darlene becomes so gleeful when I tell her about the time I first met her when she was in the 6^th and I was in the 8^th grade:  While in the 8^th grade, one day my friends and I had walked over to Scott’s Branch from the middle school to practice band, and as we were waiting in the Gymnasium, we saw this cute little girl with a ponytail shooting basketball for Mr. Spann.  She was actually pretty good.  She came over and introduced herself to me, perhaps because I was the one with the biggest afro, and little girls just loved cute boys with afros back then. Well, in any case, although I thought she was so cute, I was just too shy to talk to any girl back then, so I did not pursue it.  When I told Darlene this story back at the 2008 reunion, she said that it was one of the nicest things that anyone had ever said to her, especially because I remembered it in so much detail.  She knew I was telling the truth because she had stopped playing basketball, and she was so pleased to know that I remembered that she was pretty good. I also tell them story of when we first saw their sister Manzie, and how we were so impressed with Melvin Carter because we saw him talking to her.  We thought she was a teacher with her Angela Davis afro and sexy glasses, and we were like “only Melvin Carter could pull “that”!

I also enjoyed talking to Norman Billie’s sister, Ruby Pinnex, who would serve as Mistress of Ceremonies, and her daughter, who was trying to tell us that she was from the class of 75 with a straight face when she is actually from the class of 85.  Their family and my family have little moonshine history in common, and the stories are just wonderful.  When I was a kid, I would hide from my family’s connection to Moonshine, but nowadays, I truly relish the experience.

I was also able to talk to James Conyers, who was accompanied by his mother and his wife.  James and I graduated from the Morgan State University at the same time, and people always thought we were brothers.  I talked briefly with Furman Georgia, who is someone I had not seen in a very long time, and his sister-in-law (my long-time neighbor) Diane Doughty Georgia, also from the class of 75.  Diane’s mother, Ruth and my mother, Ethel Mae, were very good friends, so Diane will always be special to me.  She is the High School Guidance Counselor and serves on the City Council, whose dimples are just as cute as they were when she was 6 years old. I was able to speak briefly with Mrs. Adgers, who was a teacher at Spring Hill Elementary while I was there, and her daughter Naomi, who apparently does not remember that we were once neighbors and that she was a friend of my older sister before I started school. 

The next morning, I was at Shoney’s at 9 as I awaited Bobby and Sherial, Javon, and Audrey.  However, when Bobby left the house, he said Sherial was still asleep.  My wife and I are God Parents to their son, Javon, and we always want to know how he is doing in school, and his preparations for college.  I asked him if he had taken the SAT, but I had forgotten that he was just a rising junior and not a senior.  We wanted to ensure that he was planning to take the SAT much in advance, so that it would allow enough time for a re-take if it is ever deemed necessary.  These days, kids have so many more options and luxuries than we did 35 years ago.  While in High School they get to visit several colleges, which would provide a sense of what a college campus life is like.  I think that I had visited only one college prior to enrolling as a freshman, and that was when I accompanied my friend Clarence to Columbia one Saturday morning in 1974 to pick-up his sister, Thomasine, from Allen University.  I had not even seen the school I would be enrolling as a freshman until the day before registration, which resulted in a rather crude and rude awakening. 

After breakfast, I returned to my room in order to get ready for our class meeting, which was going to be held at the Scott’s Branch Elementary cafeteria.  When I got to my room, it was being cleaned by a former schoolmate, Theresa Oliver who was one grade ahead me but who I had known since I started the first grade.  There were two Theresa Oliver’s in our high school; one was dark complexion and one light.  This was the light complexion Theresa who went to Spring Hill Elementary while I was there.  She is such a sweet person, and we recognized each other immediately and I gave her big hug.  I am always a little self conscious when I see former schoolmates doing jobs that I am sure they would rather not be doing, but they do it with a great smile, nonetheless.  I always want them to know that I in no way will ever think less of them, and I certainly don’t feel superior to them in anyway. I make every effort to speak to them and let them know that I am still the same Jerome they knew many years ago, and my respect for them is truly based on my understanding of their inner qualities rather than any kind of economic status.

At around 11 on this Saturday Morning, I finally left the hotel and headed towards the class meeting.  When I drove up the street near Scott’s Branch Elementary, I pulled over and parked behind a Black Acura.   I saw two people standing near the entrance to the cafeteria that turned out be Sharon Oliver and Ronald Nelson.  I recognized Sharon immediately since she hasn’t changed much since high school; she even seems as if she is almost the same size almost 35 years later. The other person happened to be my long-time friend and neighbor Ronald Nelson. I was so surprised to see Ronald since I had not seen him since Miami hosted the event back in 1998, and I wasn’t sure if he was even aware of the School Reunion, and certainly not the class meeting.  Once arriving in the cafeteria, I was so happy to see many classmates I had not seen in many years.  I was so pleasantly surprised to see Arnett, although I forwarded her emails regarding the meeting as well as the reunion itself.  Arnett, Bertha Mellerson, and Betty McFadden are ladies I have known since the first grade.  And when I pulled in behind that black Acura a few moments earlier, I had that rather sneaky suspicion, and perhaps hope, that it would belong to Arnett; it was just my intuition that was later proven to be correct.  I have emailed Arnett over the past several years, but had not heard her voice since 1996, so it was so wonderful seeing her and others in all their glorious and physical presence. 

Although the crowd at our school meeting was small, I think we were genuinely like family, and it was as wonderful as a family reunion, and truly showed why our class of 1976 is one of the more memorable classes to have ever come through our high school.    I think we are all so pleased at the successes of others, and we genuinely grieve the suffering and struggles of those who may not have been quite as fortunate. 

Our meeting was in the Cafeteria and my first impression was just how small it seemed.  I was trying to envision how it was possible for such a small facility to accommodate all the high School and Elementary school students back in the day.  Our class alone was nearly 200 students, so how could that be? I would say, however, that it did not seem small to me back then, but it certainly does now! To be frank, it seems that everything seems smaller these days.  Even the distance from location to location seems shorter.  I used to think that it would take nearly 2 hours to drive from the airport in Charleston to my home in Davis Station, but now it is not much more than an hour, if that, especially with my “heavy foot.” 

Anyways we had our meeting and began planning for own class 40^th reunion which will happen in the next several years.  (I just can’t believe it’s been nearly 40 years).  We mixed our meeting with little fun stories from our past and present which included such things as  Arnett reminiscing about the fear she had of one of our elementary classmates (I was afraid of her too,) whose name I will not mention; Debra reminiscing about once as a kid she was , inadvertently, chasing some lady with a butcher knife; and Earl Wilson talking about the challenges of coming up in the Wilson’s house-hold as a kid with brothers who could probably be used in a few of those episodes of “Scared Straight.”  

After the meeting, we bided each other good-by and went our separate ways, knowing that some of us would also be getting together for the School Reunion Banquet that was scheduled for later Saturday evening.  However, I do think that we have built a platform from which to launch our class website which would be used as a tool for communication, planning, enhancing camaraderie, and hopefully positively affecting the overall quality of life of fellow classmates.

The School Reunion Banquet was held in the New St. Paul School Gymnasium.  Many of the tables were reserved even though there were enough seats for everyone.  Reserving a table would ensure that you are able to sit at table with family and friends, if you so desired, but it did cause some bit of discomfort for those who did not reserve a table like me.  Of course, I always show up early, so despite not having reserved a table I am usually able to sit almost where I want to.  However, most people were amenable to allowing others to sit at their tables because very often a table that could seat 8 people was only reserved for 4. All in all, I think everyone was comfortably seated in the end and we spent much of the time walking around and taking pictures in any event.

The event was certainly enjoyable, and the food was acceptable, even if the food at the “meet and greet” was just a little bit better.  I was happy to be seated with an old friend, Patricia Pringle, who is the Clarendon County Auditor.  Patricia, Clarence and I worked together one summer, and she has been our dear friend ever since.  We worked together at the feed-a-child program in Rimini during the summer of 1977.  Clarence and I would drive together, so one day towards the end of work, I was sitting inside Patricia’s 1965 burgundy Chevy Impala talking to her and her sister, when Patricia took off with me in the back seat of the car.  She drove all the way to her house, which caused Clarence to have to come to her house to pick me up.  As we were driving, I kept saying to her “where are you taking me, where are you taking me”, and she was just laughing and driving with me looking out of the back window to see if Clarence was following.  She is, however, such a lovely person, and a much-cherished friend.

Pictures were being taken by Sammy Levy who has turnout to be an excellent photographer.  When we were kids, I never knew that Sammy had an interest in photography, but he and his family have built quite an impressive business and my guess is that he was doing well on that night.  There were group pictures, class pictures, family pictures, etc!  Whatever sort of picture you wanted, Sammy could provide it, and the pictures were available within a short time in the specific size requested. 

There was one family picture that sparked my curiosity, however.  I noticed that my former neighbors, the Nelsons, taking a family picture.  In that picture I saw Ronald & wife, Ronald’s mother, Ruth, his sisters, Cassie and Iris.

There was no guest speaker on this night but there was a guest singer, who is from the class of 75, and someone who also was in elementary school with me.  I did not recognize her at first, partly because her name is now Dr. Evelyn Murray Drayton, and I was not aware of her married name.  Also, I did not know that she sang, and did not know that she was a writer who has written five books, mostly with a religious theme to include her story about how she had to fight off witchcraft in church.  I only recognized who she was when she came to our table.  I did buy one of her books “Beyond our Scars” which she was apparently selling from her purse on this evening.

The next day according to the reunion itinerary, it indicates “Worship Services (Church of your choice)”.  They always include Sunday on the itinerary, even though the events are over on Saturday. 

I was debating whether I would be going to the Church of my choice or any church whatsoever.  But I realize that if I wanted to see family members who I had not seen, then I needed to head over to New Light.  New Light is the church I was raised in and the church that I saw every day for many years since we lived so close.  Also, I was Sunday school teacher there from the time I was 12 years old and was teaching the senior class when I was only 15 until I went away to college.  Each time I visit, I am always asked to introduce myself, as if everyone does not already know who I am, with the church being so small and filled with mostly family members.   Also, there is always a bit of theater in the church, which inspires many of my stories. 

Well I did go to New Light, and had to introduce myself as usual, which is something I have become quite good at since I have to do this all the time. In my current job, I am always visiting other companies, and one of the first things we do is introduce ourselves which requires presenting a bit of biography.  Therefore, I have had to introduce myself to strangers in such places as Germany, India, Indonesia, Ecuador, Toronto, Amsterdam, and almost every state within the U.S.  As a result, the art of self-introduction has become second nature. 

On this Sunday one of my former classmates was delivering the sermon.  Reverend Johnny Lee Lawson is the Pastor at New Light, but he was absent on this day due to his own illness and the illness of his wife, Elanora.  Therefore, one of my high school classmates, Pastor Delores (Jones) Parker,  was offered the privilege of delivering  “God’s Word” on this day, as the other pastors who are actually my sisters (Ethel and Denise – their mother raised me) did most of the coordination.  

Her sermon was based on Isaiah 38:1 “Set your house in order for you shall soon die”.  She compared her own ordeal to Hezekiah who was presented with a message from God through Isaiah that he would soon die and needed to get his life in order”.  She seemed to be indicating that just as Isaiah was giving Hezekiah a message from God, she too had received a message from God to return to New Light. 

After church I went by my cousin Suzy’s house again to see if she wanted to go to dinner. She was not home but her older sister Glenda (Dunk), who now lives with her, was.  Dunk always has lots of history about our family and various occurrences in our little town and it is always wonderful talking to her since I am such an historical buff.   If you want to know anything about people who have lived in Davis Station, then Dunk is a good person to talk to.  I decided to treat her to dinner at the Golden Corral in Sumter, which offers a decent buffet in the area.  During the drive and during dinner it was wonderful tapping into her memories about our family’s history which also confirms some of my own memories.  I remember once telling a story about a murder which occurred in Davis Station.  This murder occurred before I started school, but I recall seeing the two men just hours before one of them killed the other.  Not only did I see them, I recall the younger man showing a new gun to an older man who he would later kill that Friday night.  Because I seem to be the only one in my family who remembers the incident, I am sure some people may have thought I was making things up.  However, in 2008 I was telling Suzy about this story and the names of Individuals involved.  Suzy asked her older sister whether she recalled the incident and Dunk said “yes”; Dunk even indicated that the two men had also visited their home just prior to the actual shooting.  Suzy and I are the same age, but she was too young to remember this incident, but I remember it in detail.

On Monday morning, I had breakfast at the hotel, which was not bad for a hotel of this class.  The breakfast was not like the buffets at Marriott’s and Hiltons, but it was at least free.  

After breakfast, I returned to the airport in Charleston for my trip back to Newark.  Nowadays I do spend a lot time in both large and small airports all over the world, but none of them provides that special sense of homecomings and memories as the very small ones in South Carolina.  

Back in April I shared a very long story about my second trip to India.  This, however, is my story about coming home, and I truly enjoy sharing my memories with family and friends.  I remember all these things because I am truly an “old soul”.

As indicated in Langton Hughes’ poem “The Negro Speaks of Rivers”:  I have known rivers: I have known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of blood in the human veins.

“My soul has grown deep like the rivers”. 

Jerome Pearson

Wayne, New Jersey

by Jerome Pearson

1992

Brother Jake Walker ran the only funeral home in the town of Summerton, South Carolina.  It was called “Jake Walker Mortuary”.  Every time you went past that funeral home you would see the old black hearse parked in the opened garage.  It was never clear why Big Jake wouldn’t close the garage door. I guess it was considered some form of advertisement to have that big ugly hearse parked up in there with those big ugly fins just smiling at everyone, as if to say, “that’s right, I’m gon get you next!” 

Everyone says Big Jake doesn’t know what he is doing no way!  There was that time when Jake dressed a fellah for a funeral and forgot to put a necktie on him.  But folks didn’t complain much.  It was thought that if God wanted Leroy to have a tie on his final day, then he would have instructed Jake to do it.

Jake was a serious businessman, but he was also a crook!  He was known to take advantage of gullible souls.  As example, one lady didn’t have the money to pay for her husband’s funeral. Jake asked her to give him what she had, and the rest would be paid on installments.  And these installments did not always occur in the form of money. She had to come by once a week and these transactions would occur in one of the back rooms. Jake and the widower were the only people present; all other potential witnesses in the place remained silent!

One Friday night, me and a few of my buddies decided we would to try to slip around back of the funeral home and see what Big Jake and Reverend Paul Gibson were doing to those bodies.  Paul Gibson was Jake’s helper and he was also a part time preacher because he didn’t have his own church.  My grandmother said that God never called Paul to preach in the first place, and that’s why he doesn’t have a church.  He had probably run across some hard luck awhile back; because whenever things aren’t going right in people’s lives, next thing you know is that they become a preacher. The ministry is filled with former sinners. Of course, it has a few current sinners too.

But anyway, we decided that the Friday prior to Halloween would be a good time for us to try sneaking in the back of the funeral home because Mrs. Lena Johnson passed on Wednesday, and they would more than likely be working on her body. 

Around eight pm that Friday evening, I along with my three friends, Leroy, Billy, and Daniel, gathered up enough courage to take the stroll down Main Street in the direction of the funeral home.  We decided we would walk past first and scout the place out like they do on the TV westerns.  Well, none of us wanted to scout alone, so we decided to all go together.

It was the month of October, and it was getting cold and getting dark early.  I heard that some crazy fools changed the time and we had to move our clocks back one hour the previous Sunday.  Some folks don’t have nothing better to do than play with clocks; next thing you know they will try changing the seasons, like switching Christmas to summer and having the Fourth of July in the winter.

As we walked past the front of the building, we could see a light on in the front room.  We decided if we could slip behind the building, then perhaps we could find an entrance and maybe sneak a peak at them working.  After walking nearly three hundred yards past the funeral home we turned and walked across an old field which allowed us to approach the building from the rear. Throughout our journey we were laughing and teasing one another about who was scared and who wasn’t, but as we got closer, we all put up a more serious tone. 

We had never seen the building from the rear and were surprised to see how mysterious it looked back there.  There were several old black cars parked side by side.  They were old Cadillac’s; probably cars that Jake used to transport the families of the deceased during a funeral.  And all those cars had those big, ugly, 1960 something fins.

When we got within ten feet of the funeral home, we noticed a small stairway that led down towards the basement.  At this time Daniel decided that maybe we should turn around and go back, but we started calling him a chicken and a scary cat, so he had to change his mind again.  As the leader decided to take the initiative to start walking down the stairs first.  The other guys followed me. 

The steps descending to the basement were very narrow and squeaky, so we had to walk real softly and slow.  When we made it to the bottom of the steps, we stopped in a small foyer which led to a hallway in the basement.

The hallway was very dark, but I could see light coming from an adjacent room.  I then tipped-toed in the direction of the light, as the others followed.  I stopped about ten feet from the doorway leading into the room with the light.

Suddenly, I heard some noise, sounded like conversation, so I got on my knees and crawled closer.  When I got within five feet, I could see diagonally into the room.  I could then see Reverend Paul Gibson sitting at a table with bottle of whisky and a big pistol lying beside the bottle.  He had a crooked smile on his face, as if he had done something wrong.

It appeared that he was busy counting money, because he had a stack of bills in his left hand and he was moving them to the table with his right hand.  Every now and then, he would lick his fingers like people do when they’re counting lots of bills. I then heard another voice, which appeared to be that of a woman.  The woman walked over to where Rev. Gibson was sitting and kissed him on the lips.  It was the strangest thing, because I could swear that woman looked just like Mrs. Lena Johnson, who was supposed to be dead. 

Then Big Jake walked over to Rev. Gibson, and as he did so, he sort of glanced out into the hallway.  My heart skipped a beat because I thought he saw me, but it was probably that crossed eye of his. Sometimes his right eye would be pointed in one direction, but he would be looking straight ahead.  He handed Reverend Paul some more bills, and the Reverend began counting those as well. 

Jake then turned towards the woman and said: “Now Lena, when the family and friends file past you at that funeral this coming Sunday, don’t you bust out laughing at those silly fools who think you’re dead and in heaven!” 

JP 

1992

by Jerome Pearson

It was a Cadillac Hearse. I was enjoying the smooth ride. Apparently General Motors had improved its suspension system, because we floated over every bump in the pavement, as if we were a boat on a calm sea. I’m not sure if it was a Coup de Ville or Fleetwood Brougham.

But, as we backed up into the graveyard, I could feel some of the bumps that aligned the entrance. The driver must have noticed the bumps too, because he backed more slowly over the second bump. After twisting our way into the cemetery, we suddenly came to a halt. I know the driver got out because I could hear his door slammed.

For the next 30 minutes, I’m not sure what happened, I could only imagine. Meanwhile, I was busy scratching my face because the silk that insulated the casket caused me to itch. Plus the ugly blue suit that was bought for me was too warm, in spite of the cool October weather. That’s the problem with cheap suits. They could have gone to Nordstrom or Saks, or even Macy’s but they chose a Wal-Mart sale. As you can see, I wasn’t well thought of. That’s because I, to be frank, don’t think much of others either. Perhaps that explains why I had done all of the terrible things during my life.

All of sudden the back door was jerked opened. I could feel the hearse lurch backwards. After about ten seconds, the casket was being pulled out. I braced myself, just in case if there were any abrupt motion that might cause me to butt my head. It is not widely known, but I don’t tolerate pain very well.

I was taken about ten feet, and I could hear the October winds blowing over the cemetery. Now, come to think of it, it’s a good thing that this suit is warm. I was told it gets cold down there. When my second cousin came back exactly two years ago, he gave me the low down on what to expect. The temperature is a little more extreme than what is generally experienced above ground, fluctuating from hot to cold.

Shortly, I felt myself being lowered, very slowly, then fast again, then an abrupt halt. I didn’t hear anybody crying as I was being lowered and I was happy. I have heard enough crying during my days. The next time I hear any crying, it had better be when I return. Then, they were throwing dirt over me, bidding me farewell, as if they will never see me again. But they will.

Later that evening after everyone had left the grave, I decided to climb back out of the casket. I left the suit in the casket so it would be available once I return after tonight’s adventures. I had a pair of old jeans, converse sneakers, sweat shirt, a mask and an old wool jacket hidden beneath the insulation. I stole them all from the funeral home last night, when the mortician had gone home. I also stole his knife.

My own family has all disowned me for what I did. They didn’t even give me wake. They say I give the Hampton family a bad name. I don’t see how killing 17 people and stealing that money off that Armor truck should classify me as a bad person. Oh, maybe it was because I did kill the two
drivers, also! So what, that only makes it 19. But there were the 9 rapes I forgot to mention; but they were nothing but skanks anyway. They should not have been looking at me in that teasing way women often do. What do they expect? I am only human; or may be I am not. The Judge said I wasn’t Human; the first Judge that is, but now he is one of those 19.

Sometimes my head hurts. Sometimes I feel just fine. I can calculate things better than most. I was going to be a mathematician. But I killed that professor who gave me a “B”. He should know better than give me B when I was smarter than he is. People always try to take advantage of you. But you have to stand up for your self.

When I was a kid, they had me in an institution; I don’t know why? I wasn’t stupid like those other fools in there. The Dr. who visited the place calls himself a Shrink. Said I have a high I.Q, but emotionally disturbed. Well, I am not going to say what happened to him. Let’s just say he is no longer practicing.

Before the trial, a Preacher came to my cell. He told me to give my life to the Lord. I asked him what for, why don’t he give his life, or I would give it to the Lord for him, or whoever. He didn’t come back.

Now I am walking down these dark streets. My head is hurting again. That succinylcholine they gave me as a final dose didn’t work. I had already put reversal in my system. It brings you back after anesthetization. I know pharmacy. I fooled them all.

Now I am coming back and I have all of those names in my notebook.

By the way, did I scratch your name off yet?

If not, better watch your back, and keep the Devil Down in the Hole.

Jerome Pearson

By Jerome Pearson
September 2013
As a young boy in his home state of South Carolina, he had always wanted to travel, but rarely got the opportunity. His first time leaving the state was during the summer prior to entering the 6th grade. That trip would take him to Miami, and would only last a week. After that summer, he was required to write a story about how he spent his summer. He had lied, indicating that he had spent the entire summer in Miami, when it was actually just one week. He was thinking that spending the entire summer away was much more impressive than just one week. He had envied those who were privileged to spend the entire summer away. He could not do that. He had to work in the fields, pulling weeds out of cotton, and later, working in tobacco.
During those days schools in South Carolina would routinely open on the Thursday before Labor Day. Those who were away for the summer would most likely not begin school until the Tuesday following Labor Day since they would not return to South Carolina until the Labor Day weekend. You could tell who had been away for the summer by observing their absence during the first two days. Those students were held in high esteem once they did show up since they had spent the summer in Baltimore, Brooklyn, New Jersey, or Miami. When they returned to SC they would flaunt the latest fashions which would include such things as, new mini-skirts, hot pants, bell-bottoms pants, platform shoes and Converse All-Star sneakers. Over the next several weeks they would wear an air of superiority over those “lesser beings” that had to spend the entire summer working in the fields. As a matter of fact, everything that was considered “not South Carolina” was held in higher esteem back then. Even cars that displayed, for example, a New York license plate would be considered superior to the very same car that contained a SC license plate. During the holidays he and his friends would aggressively look for cars that would contain “off” license plates. He never knew where the word “off” came from, at least in the manner that is was being used. Someone from another state would be considered being from “off” or “up the road”. However, North Carolina did not count back then. If you came to SC with a North Carolina license plate, you would look like a runaway slave who, unfortunately, got caught before reaching freedom.
Regarding the new school year, he had once contemplated not showing up until the Tuesday as well, which would give the impression that he had been away for the entire summer. But he so loved school, and could not wait until the new school year to begin; skipping the first few days was not an option. In the meanwhile he could only travel through books, and as the saying goes, “through books he could travel around the globe without moving an inch.” His real traveling would only come many years later, and the places he would go were not necessarily the places those students had gone many years ago. He would, indeed, travel around the globe for real.
He arrived in Delhi, India on a Saturday evening in mid-August 2013. This would be his second time in India during the year and fourth time overall. Earlier this year he had flown to India and from there to Amsterdam. This time he would leave India, and then fly directly to Seoul, South Korea. After arriving in
India on that Saturday evening and spending one night at the Radisson Blu Hotel in Delhi, over the next several days he would reside in 3 additional hotels before returning back to the same Radisson Blu the following Thursday.
Returning to the Radisson Blu on that Thursday evening after a very eventful 4 hour train ride –which included an incident with smoke coming from one of the cabins in the train – he could finally relax over the next couple of days before leaving for South Korea.
On that Friday, he would be taken on a guided tour of some historical sites in and around Delhi. Saturday was quiet, but did include some time at the gym which was followed by much needed treatment within the hotel’s SPA. Following the treatment he could relax, and get ready for the next leg of his trip.
It was now Saturday evening. It had been a long, but exciting week. He was finally headed out. The hotel arranged a taxi to take him to the airport. His Asiana flight was due to leave Delhi, India for Seoul, South Korea at 2:a.m, very early Sunday morning. The trip from the hotel to the airport would be short – no need to worry about the chaotic driving he’d experienced during the week. He had survived another round of the craziness of driving in India. So far so good! However, he will be back. He always comes back to India, multiple times and multiple places. So many people, so many businesses! Why so many businesses in one of the poorest parts of the world? What is it about this country that attracts so many foreigners? Therein lay the question! If only he knew the answer!
About a mile from the airport, there was a traffic jam. Or was it an accident? Only in India could a 15 minute drive become a chore. This time, a truck has broken down, blocking traffic. Not too bad! The constant blowing of car horns! What would a car be like in India if its horn ceases working? The driver would probably be killed. Using the horn is the key to survival: to the driver himself, and also fellow drivers. Indians use their horns continuously; to alert fellow drivers that you are right behind and about to pass, don’t move over, or you could be killed, particularly if you are on a bike or motor-cycle. There appear to be no rules, and people frequently drive on what, in other places, would be considered the wrong side of the road; potential head-on collisions and near misses are rampant. But there is a deadly rhythm to driving here; everyone must stay on beat; one false move could mean death!
He arrived at the airport safely. The driver removed his luggage from the car. He was wondering should he tip, but in India, oftentimes the hotels include a tip in the fee they charge you for the taxi they have arranged. He did not tip – not this time! Upon arriving a week earlier, he had tipped the escort who guided him to the pre-arranged taxi, then at the hotel he tipped the taxi driver, and then inside the hotel, he tipped the agent who showed him to his room and showed him how to operate the various gadgets, and then the bellboy who brought his bags to the room. It was getting out of hand! In India he felt that everyone wanted something from him; that effusive graciousness and polite bowing of the head with palm on palm gesture did not come free.
The airport wasn’t so crowded this evening. He was happy for that. He would line-up in the business class queue for check-in; always the pleasure! There was a woman ahead of him arguing with one of the agents about something. He was wishing that she would just shut-up and move out of the way. Some
people continue to ask questions even when they already know the answer, just to spite those behind them. Since she was not getting her way, she wanted to make others suffer as well. He was finally called to another agent. The woman was still arguing. He would see this woman several times over next 10 hours. He had the unfortunate pleasure of having her on the same flight to Seoul. She would get into arguments with various people throughout the trip. She was acting like some kind of dignitary and wanted everyone to kneel before her. He would later notice her trying to cut into the Korean citizen’s check-in line at customs in Seoul. The line was shorter, but was for Korean citizens only. She was Indian, he thinks! But the agent told her to get back in the line for non-citizens; just like everyone else. He wanted to laugh at her! Who did she think she was? High and mighty! Serves her right, idiot!
After checking-in and retrieving his boarding pass, he would now go through security. There was no rush. The time was 11:30 pm; his flight does not leave until 2:10 a.m. Since 911 security in various places has gone over the top. What would he have to remove this time? America is obsessed with shoes and belts. India is obsessed with electronics. In India, he would only have to remove his computer, kindle, and cell phones. Shoes and belts can remain on. Why the difference: the shoe-bomber was coming to America when caught; therefore, America’s security has become obsessed with shoes. India does not care so much about shoes; one gets the impression that they just want to see the latest electronic gadgets that are available in the rest of the world.
After going through security, he headed for the lounge that was available for business class travelers. On his way he stopped by an airport bookshop. He wanted use his remaining rupees. Why take them to Korea, where he would need the KRW (won), or lastly to America, where only dollars count. He bought a book called the “White Tiger”, a satirical novel about India, written by an Indian writer who has studied in America, a graduate of Columbia, in NYC, just like his wife, Cecelia. After skimming the first few pages he knew he would want to read it. He needed to learn more about India since he has come and probably will come here often. He doesn’t usually buy physical books anymore, and has plenty to read on his Kindle, but he bought it anyway. He had actually seen the book in America, but this is the Indian version, he could tell by its cover. He would read it after reading the “Syndrome E”, a French novel that he was currently reading about “mass hysteria”. He has so much to read on his Kindle already. But a paperback can sometime come in handy, particularly on a plane, when you have to turn off “all electronics”, until the flight has sufficiently ascended. What he would do without books, he could not imagine! Books have been his one constant from the time he was first given one back in South Carolina many year ago. He has been blessed with the desire to read, for it is, indeed, a blessing to have a hobby that actually enhances one’s intellect and knowledge of the world. So many others have not been so blessed!
In the lounge, he selected white wine – no food this time, and started reading the paperback. Boarding time would be 1:40; he remained in the lounge until 1:15. Finally, it was time to leave, without looking at his ticket again, he headed toward gate #7, only to discover that he had read his ticket wrong; the ticket actually said gate 17. He has gone in the wrong direction. He wanted to kick himself for not being more meticulous. He wanted to be there when boarding was announced. But it was too late; boarding was announced as he was walking back up the long corridor. Lucky for him, he has a business class ticket, separate line. Those little blessings come in handy. He was one of the first to board, but it did
not matter, the plane would not be filled. Plus he was business class, plenty of room, no one sitting next to him, reclining seats, very plush.
His spirits were only dampened by the presence of that lady again, the one who started an argument at every turn, as if she was being persecuted by not being treated like a queen. Of all flights departing this evening, how did he wind up on the same flight as she? Of course she would be in business class too, but at least some distance behind him. He did not want to hear her arguing about the service, which she was destined to do; it was in her DNA.
This was his first time flying Asiana Airlines. He had heard great things about them; except for the mishap in San Francisco a few months prior where one of its planes, coming from Seoul, Korea, clipped the edge of the runway. We all make mistakes, and no airline has been faultless. It reminds him of Singapore Airlines, which he had flown several times, and was always impressed. The cute Flight Attendants, selected, he suspects, from amongst many candidates, could all be models, and perhaps were, in their own little way. They were quite different from the older International Flight Attendants he would see flying United from America.
The flight from Delhi to Seoul was very smooth. The 8 hours seemed to pass by fairly quickly. He could view the Airport as the plane was descending. His first impression was a state of neatness and modernity. There was no sense of chaos as everything appeared so neat and controlled. Before long he was walking towards customs. There were separate check-in lines for Korean citizen versus non-citizens. After going through customs, he did not have to wait on baggage since he was wise enough to not check anything. He stopped by the currency exchange and converted $100.00 US dollars to approximately 100,000 Korean KRW (Won).
He began searching for the driver who was scheduled to pick him up and take him to the hotel. There were so many people waiting with placards which showed the name of the person they were charged to receive. He finally saw his name, and gave the driver a thumbs-up. The driver grabbed his luggage and led him to the parking lot where a black on black Hyundai Genesis was waiting; top of the line Korean made car, rivaling the German BMW, as smooth as the Japanese Lexus. The driver had a cold bottled of water and ice-coffee waiting for him, both stored in the console that divided the plush leather back seats; they cruise out the airport parking lot, entered the freeway and headed towards Seoul. After the hectic week in India, the constant horns, the deadly driving, he was now able to sit back and marvel at the difference he was feeling now that he was in Seoul as opposed to Delhi. About an hour later, they were entering the City, and there are few city entrances more beautiful than entering Seoul, surrounded by the Han River, the wonderful bridges, and the sky scrapers that rivals those in the US.
Driving down the local streets in Seoul reminded him of certain cities in Europe and perhaps the US as well. Restaurants and Cafes were aplenty and there was this sense of elegant elitism pervading the scenery.
He would arrive at his address in Seoul, Lotte City MAPO Hotel, with its smooth marble-like surface, 8 floors, and 284 rooms, locate in the heart of the city with subway and underground-mall access from the lowest floor.
Check-in was quick and smooth and before long he was headed upstairs to his room on the 6 floor. His window faced the opposite side of the hotel, from which he could obtain a more voyeuristic view of the city and its inhabitants, and which also provided an excellent view of its overall horizons. He would unpack his clothing and, where applicable, hang them in the closet. After taking a shower, he could now relax on the bed and perhaps take a nap. He would read himself to sleep within a short time.
There is always a bit of apprehension when entering a foreign country for the first time; you want to ensure that you have all of the appropriate documents for entering, and that you would not be stranded at the airport as some other famous fellows now days. Thus far everything has been successful and gone off as planned: The trip from India, going through customs at the airport in Seoul, the drive into the city, and now finally in his room. In some ways he was feeling like a contract an assassin who has been sent on an important, secretive and deadly mission in a foreign country.
He would call Cecelia later since the 13 hours difference would put the US smack in its prime sleeping time of 3: AM. After napping for several hours, he was then able to call home and let everyone know that he has arrived safely and his initial impression of Seoul, Korea, of course all positives. He would describe his hotel and its surroundings, the sophisticated room, with its many gadgets and electronic devices. He would be given recommendations of potential site-seeing for the next couple of day since they did not involve meeting and would he have some time alone.
For dinner during the first several days, he would dine alone in the hotel’s restaurant called Naru which boasts an open-concept kitchen, and serves a buffet spread of Western dishes.
The next morning, he was able to use the gym before breakfast and was happy that he had included work-out clothing in luggage. Of course this made his luggage heavier than it could have been but it was certainly worth it, since the gym was nice, quiet and conveniently located on the 4th floor of the hotel.
After breakfast in the same restaurant, Naru, he began inquiring about potentially traveling to a wellregarded mall called Myeong-dong. Of course he could take a taxi or bus, but was told that the subway was more convenient. Hotel representative mapped out his directions which would include only one train transfer prior to his destination. In some countries, although you may not speak the language, you can still follow the name of places because the spelling may in some ways be similar to English. However, in Korea and perhaps China and Japan as well, you can’t even begin to analyze the beautifully scripted language which may look like this: 한국어/조선말,.
To say the very least, he was lost on more than one occasion. Although it was a challenge, it was certainly fun, and anyone he approached with a question went out of their way to help him as much as they could. Sometimes, he was reminded of that movie called, “Lost in Translation” because there was some evidence of that as well. At no time did he panic, and he is always one for a challenge. He made it to his destination and was finally in the midst of one the more wonderful shopping scenes he has ever experienced. This could have been New York, Los Angeles, or San Francisco. All of the name brands were there, to include Gucci, Nike, Reebok, FUBU, Coach, etc. This was an out-door mall with street front entrances, and on such a beautiful day, the atmosphere was electric. You could walk into a New
Balance store and hear the music of soul diva, Blue Cantrell’s “Breathe” pumping from the speakers as the salesman scrambled around the store from customer to customer.
He would take numerous pictures during the visit to include one of the McDonalds located on one of the busier streets. He would even have lunch there. He had been away from America for 10 days by now and he wanted something little less spicy than the Indian and Korean cuisines that had been his regalement for the past week. McDonalds was crowded and he could barely find a seat, and he could tell that so many others must have had similar ambitions. His verdict was that McDonalds in Seoul, Korea tastes just like McDonalds in America.
It was then time to get back on the metro and attempt his journey back to the hotel. If he had been a little confused during the trip form the hotel, this confusion was perhaps even doubled during his return trip. Lucky for him, two nice Korean women noticed his befuddlement and made every attempt to point him in the right direction. They would even have him get on the train with them, and he got the impression that they were altering their own route to ensure that he landed safely at his stop. When he was at his correct stop, with broken English, they informed him that this is where he should get off. They seemed so pleased with the opportunity of being such a Good Samaritan. He thanked them as best he could, and even though he could not speak their language, they surely knew from his smile and the appreciation shown in his eyes, that he was indeed thankful. When he later told this story to his wife, she laughingly said, “I think those two ladies will be coming back for you!”
Over the next several days he was joined at the hotel with colleagues and would visit their supplier which located nearly an hour way from Seoul. Each night, they would all go to dinner in some of the best restaurants in the city including the famous Korean barbeque places.
He would leave Seoul, Korea the following Friday which would be 2 weeks from the Friday he left Newark, NJ to Delhi, India. His Asiana flight would leave Seoul at 10:a.m on Friday morning, 30 August 2013, and he would arrive in New York at 11:a.m on Friday morning being that Korea is 13 hours ahead of the U.S. As he was about to board the plane in Seoul, he was informed that he was being upgraded from Business Class to First Class.
First Class on Asiana Airlines would turn out to be perhaps his most enjoyable flying experiences. Not only did he have seat that would recline like a bed, but he also had a sliding door to his compartment. He had enough room in his compartment to actually change into the silk pajamas that were provided by the airline. It was like flying in your own little bed room and the 14 hour flight could not have been more pleasant.
As he flew back to America on Asiana airlines, he began to remember those Labor Day weekends when he was kid in South Carolina many years ago. He could not imagine back then that while he was never fortunate enough to be one of those students who would arrive back home during Labor Day weekend, it was perhaps because of the very fact that he spent those summers in the fields, he would learn the discipline and patience that would lead him down that very long and exciting road that would make it possible for him to return home, not just from Brooklyn, Baltimore, and Miami, but perhaps, also, from India and South Korea first class on a Boeing 320 Airbus.

Jerome

Reflections by Jerome Pearson

May 2015

For most Americans, the fourth of July generally signifies Independence Day; that day back in 1776 when America declared her independence from England; thus, setting off the Revolutionary War which was won in 1778.

However, although America declared herself independent and free in 1776, slavery still existed, so had I been living back then, I would not have been free; at least not until almost another hundred years when in the midst of another Great War (Civil War), in January 1863, President Lincoln, issued the Emancipation Proclamation, which declared “that all persons held as slaves” within the rebellious states “are, and henceforward shall be free.”

And even if I had become free in 1863, living in the South, it would have taken another 102 years (1965), before I would have been guaranteed the right to vote.  So, in a sense, I would not have been declared a true citizen until nearly 200 years following the date we celebrate as Independence Day!

So, the question might be asked is this:  what, indeed, are African Americans celebrating when they celebrate Independence Day?

However, I must admit that for many years, and perhaps still today, African Americans were not so much celebrating Independence Day, but rather celebrating that time of the year when many of our relatives who were living in the North would come home. Perhaps only second to Christmas, “The Fourth”, as it was called, was the greatest of all holidays, not so much because of an Independence received nearly 250 years ago, but rather for the chance to see relatives who had gone off and made it big. 

Set during the middle of our Summer months, the “Fourth” was indeed show-off time, as evidenced by the Cadillac Coupe Deville’s, Cadillac Eldorado’s, Buick Electra 225s & Riviera, Pontiacs (GTO), and the Oldsmobile 98s, with colorful license plates stating either Maryland, New York, New Jersey, or Florida that would now be frequenting the South Carolina roads.  One of the greatest joys of any family was having a car with a “foreign” license plate parked in its yard.  Foreign in this case means out of state. Admittedly, some relatives who had gone away had returned on a grey-hound or Trailways bus, but we were still happy to see them.  Still, a nice car would have been preferred! Without a car, you would have to drive them around instead.

I do recall once a neighbor’s relative had returned home driving a “Ford Falcon” which was one of those ugly little cars manufacture by Ford Motor Company; a car I would have never wanted to be seen in as a kid.  I was trying to figure out how do you come all the way from Miami in a Ford Falcon? I didn’t think they would have such car in the “big city”.  Wouldn’t you be embarrassed to return home in such a car?  Now people would be thinking that perhaps you were not doing so well after all.  Now we can’t even show you off!  You would have been better off returning home on a greyhound; at least, in that case, it could be surmised that perhaps you left your nice car at home!

Many of our relatives had become members of the great African American Migration that started in the 1920s and lasted up until the late 1970s.  So, during the holidays, they would often return home to the great delight of those who were left behind.  And, if they were driving a nice car, that would be the number one symbol of their success up north, or down south in Miami.   Of course, this route of migration would have been different if your family were living in Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, or Texas, as many of those folks would have traveled to the Midwest (Chicago mostly), or to the West coast (Los Angeles or Oakland).

As a kid I once made the rather naïve observation that I rarely saw a White person driving a car with a “foreign” license plate.  My first thought was that perhaps their relatives never came home during the holidays.  I did not realize at the time that, for the most part, they had no relatives who had gone away because there was no reason to ever leave where they were living.  Everything was always fine with them, so why would they move to Detroit! 

I always find it interesting that during those days the City of Atlanta was never one of those cities that our relatives would migrate to. Although Atlanta was the closest “big city” to my hometown, and the home of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., for many years it was not considered a destination for anyone from my community.   Atlanta is in the State of Georgia, but back then it was considered too close to the “plantation” – no one was interested in stopping in either Georgia or North Carolina. A story was once told that there used to be a speed limit sign in the State of Georgia that displayed the following: “Cars (55mph); trucks (45mph); Negroes (haul ass)!”

Nowadays Atlanta is one of the more exciting and energetic cities in the United States and could perhaps add a new suburb name “Summertonville” because half of the folks from Summerton, SC seem to have moved there. Also, Atlanta is the home of many African American celebrities who enjoy living in the “A”, as it is described by Mariah Carey.

For some strange reason, I always associate the Fourth July with the year 1965; I am not even sure why that is the case, but for some reason I seem to remember Fourth of July of 1965 more than others.  Who knows –although not old enough at the time- perhaps I was celebrating the news that African Americans were finally about to be given the right to vote in the South, which would become law in exactly one month following the Fourth of 1965.  In 1965, the Fourth was on a Sunday, and in my hometown of Davis Station there would be baseball game and a few miles down the road in area that was colloquially called the “Swamps”, there was a picnic at Mt. Zion AME Church.   I wound up spending some time at both.

During that Fourth of July, (1965) I remember a guy who looked like Nick Ashford (From one of my favorite soul couples, “Ashford & Simpson”), driving a White on White Old’s 98 with that yellowish New York State License plate.   He was an older brother of one of my classmates, Frank McCrae.  Louis McCrae, his name I think, was epitome of success returning home.  He lived in Harlem, and years later would return home driving a Hog (Cadillac Coup de Ville), with a white vinyl roof, white leather interior and a red body.  He was lean and tall, wore a white brim, and although he looked like a pimp, he was just a hardworking man who apparently gained some success in the garment industry in NYC. 

During the fourth of July of 1967, I recall a guy named Frank Pearson, who was one of our neighbor’s sons, came up from Miami driving a Maroon Pontiac GTO with black vinyl roof. Pontiac has probably never made a more beautiful car than the 67 GTO. I recall that GTO flying into our yard one day while blasting Aretha Franklin’s “respect”. Frank jumped out of the car wearing shorts and sandals and popping his fingers to the beat.  He was so cool!  Frank was the epitome of the partier and was as crazy as they come. 

Many years later, while I was in high school, Frank returned from Miami during another Fourth of July for good driving a navy-blue Ford Thunderbird.  Now that car was the “bomb diggity!”   During the early 70s, the Thunderbird was one the most luxurious cars ever made in America.  Frank had apparently paid for that car in cash and was on the run from some less than ethical business partners; so, it likely would have been difficult for him to ever never return to Miami.  I remember cruising around Davis Station in that beautiful car, as he would often ask me to drive for him since I had a driver’s license at 15 years old.  And even though that car had no gangsta whitewalls or TV antennas in the back, I was still “digging the scene with a gangsta lean”.   

Back during the fourth of July of year 1974, a former resident of Davis Station Name Nook Green, came up from Homestead, Florida to South Carolina driving a navy blue 1968 Camaro with an SS 396 engine, and four on the floor.  His car was the talk of the town, because not only was he a just a little bit crazy when it came to drive, this time he had the fastest car around and spent most of time home daring anyone to race him.  Even during the heavy rains of that fourth July weekend, you would see that Camaro fish-tailing down the highway just outside of Davis Station at full speed with a car load of worshipers. Following the holidays, one of our citizens, Jean Coard, was so excited that he decided to leave his family and traveled back to Homestead with Nook Green.  Nearly two weeks later, I drove his mother to Manning, South Carolina to pick him up from the bus station.

Perhaps like many things in the American Society, African Americans have taken the holiday for independence and used it for something else.  Family reunions and weddings are probably most prevalent during this holiday.  We exploded fire-works, not so much because we were celebrating independence, but mostly because it was fun and exciting; very few of us were even thinking about 1776. Our tee shirt may have been red, white, blue, but not because of a flag. These were the colors chosen by individual family reunion committees.

So, the fourth for African American was about family-reunions, weddings, picnics, barbeque, fish-frying, auto racing, church, fidelity, and in some cases, infidelities.

Perhaps only Christmas was more exciting than the “FOURTH”

Jerome Pearson

June 1969

By Jerome Pearson

June 12, 2019

Fifty Years ago, this week, I visited the city of Miami for the first time. As a matter of fact, it was the first time I had even left the state of South Carolina.

Prior to traveling from Ft. Bragg, NC to Miami, Florida, my uncle John Henry called to offer my cousin James and I to accompany him. The previous Spring of 1968, he took Bobby and Ethel with him during a similar trip.   During that previous trip I recall James crying up a storm because he was not included.  I was disappointed too, but I didn’t cry. But this year would be our turn. Now Bobby would spend the following week depressed!

On the Thursday evening before our trip, Uncle John called Mrs. Elise House (our step great grandmother), to let my aunt know to have me and James ready.

This would be my first trip away from South Carolina, and you can imagine my excitement.  Uncle John showed up on the Friday evening driving his 1968 White with black vinyl roof Chevy Chevelle.  I remember my aunt bought me two new pairs of pants for our trip.  I recall Uncle John not liking what I was wearing initially and asked that I change into the 2^nd of the two new pants.  My uncle John was always image-conscious and wanted to ensure that his nephews represented well.

We left for Miami at around 2pm on that Saturday afternoon.  I sat in the back as James sat in the front with Uncle John. I recall trying to observe the direction he was taking because I obviously had no idea how to get to Miami. I only knew that it was south of us.  I always thought that if you went past Charleston, then you would be in Miami. 

If I recall correctly, we took a combination of highway 301 and Interstate 95 which was not yet completed.  The section of 95 coming through our area was still being worked on.  I recall later we got off 301 to get some gas somewhere near Jacksonville.  After gassing up, we would be getting onto an Interstate highway.  Even the process of entering a highway by going around and around until you accessed the interstate was so new to me.  I was wondering why my uncle was driving around in a circle because I never had that experience before.  

Eventually we were on this long straight road to Miami.  I recall reading signs and could not believe how many miles we would have to travel to get there.  Interestingly, since that trip in 1969, I have never once driven that road south again. All my future trips to Miami would be by airplane.

I remember at some point during that Saturday evening, Uncle John pulled over to sleep; he was the only driver.  As my uncle napped I stayed awake. How could I sleep with so much excitement?  Eventually, we were back on the road. 

Around 6am that Sunday morning we were entering Miami.  I remember as we were entering the city, a rather strange new James Brown song was being played over the radio called “Mother Popcorn”.  It seemed like a blatant departure from James previous songs.  I later realized that he had just changed record company.  To this day, whenever I hear “Mother Popcorn”, I cannot help but think about that first trip to Miami.

During that one week in Miami, Uncle John would be staying with his wife’s family which was in another part of Miami.  James and I would stay with my 2^nd oldest Uncle, Hubert and his wife, Minnie in area called Liberty City.  At the time I didn’t realize how infamous Liberty City was. I recall that my uncle was living in a housing complex (perhaps some people may even call it the Projects).   I had never been in a situation where so many people were living so close to each other.  The complex consisted of 3 levels that was built into a horse-shoe shape.  It was fun running up and down the stairs as Uncle Hubert’s apartment was on the 3^rd level.

I recall uncle Hubert taking us by his ex-wife (Aunt Vilola’s) home so that we could see our cousins.  We had met 3 of the cousins the previous Christmas when they visited us in South Carolina for the first time.   Our youngest cousin, Nola, was the only one we had not met. (Interestingly, as I write this, I have learned that is Nola’s birthday today, so we met her during her birthday week 50 years ago. 

The first shocking thing to me was the taste of water. I thought the water was nasty with all the chemicals.  I was wondering how could they possibly drink such a thing?  I was so used to chemical-free well water.

What was also different for me about Miami was all the Latino colors and the sirens.  Suddenly, I would see buildings that were painted green, blue, or even pink, which I never saw in South Carolina.   I was also not used to hearing sirens all the time!  In the country you may only hear one siren per year, probably because of a severe illness or a major accident!  In Liberty City, sirens were a constant; I was trying to figure out how many accidents could once city have in one night!

I was also introduced to a strange new fruit called “Mango”, which was something I had never had before.  I ate so many mangos during that week that I developed a rash on my face.   I did not eat any more mangos until I was a grown man.  I discovered that the strange little boys I saw riding bikes through the streets were Cubans.  I recall that they had strange names like “Hector” and “Rodriguez” which were   new to me.  At that time there were very few, if any Latinos, in South Carolina. 

During that week James and I would be at home as Aunt Minnie and Uncle Hubert went to work.  I recall James always cooking breakfast, which was pretty good. We even made coffee for the first time.

On the Wednesday of that week, Uncle John came over and took us back to visit his wife’s family.  When I reflect on it now, the area we went to was Opa-Locka; it had seemed quite different from Liberty City. I remember that it was raining as we drove through to the streets to their home. I remember finding it interesting that I was now seeing trees again. I remember meeting one of my aunt’s nieces name Gail.  She was about my age, and I automatically saw her as a potential.  However, I don’t think I saw her again until 45 years later. 

We would be leaving on the Friday evening for our return trip to SC.  Although we had only been there for a week, I recall my aunt Minnie crying about our leaving.  I was always one of her favorite nephews. She would refer to me as her “pretty black boy” with a Kool cigarette stuck between her lips.  She took us shopping earlier on that Friday evening so that we would have food to take with us. 

My cousins, Hedi, Halbert, and Herbert returned to South Carolina with us and spent the remainder of the summer with us.

That trip to Miami 50 years ago represented my first bit of traveling. 

I could not have known back then that it was only just a beginning!

50 years later I would travel to Johannesburg, South Africa!

But I will always remember my first trip to MIAMI!

Jerome Pearson

A Memorial

09 May 1944 – 07 November 1967

By Jerome Pearson

26 May 2019

As we approach another Memorial Day, I will again write a tribute to my Uncle Jesse James Pearson who lost his life in Vietnam in November 1967.  In the past I have written so much about him that I often fear that I can only repeat myself by writing about him again.  Even as I have begun this tribute, I have no idea what direction I will take.  What more can I say that I haven’t already said?  But as the great writer Earnest Hemingway once said regarding writer’s block, “just write one true sentence!”  One true sentence (unlike a false sentence), seems to be the spark that often lights our fire.

And one thing I do know is that I can always write a “true sentence”. As a matter of fact, I can write many true sentences. But I will begin with one: My Uncle Jesse left for Vietnam in September 1967 and his family never saw him again!

This sentence is true in all its aspects because we indeed never saw him again, neither dead nor alive. I say neither dead nor alive because, although the US Army sent our family a casket, it was sealed and there was no confirmation that his remains were even inside.  As a former military Officer, I do know why the Military would do that and I have no issue with that practice.  As a matter of fact, it has never been important to me to see any person once deceased.  I know people consider the “viewing” a matter of “paying respects”, but to me paying respect is being kind to them while they are living and honoring them once they are no longer with us.  I don’t need to view their remains to honor them!

My Uncle’s tour began on September 3, 1967 and I think he was killed exactly two months later.  Now, I know that the Army lists his official death as occurring on Friday, November 7, 1967 but I am almost certain that is happened several days earlier, and November 7 is only the day they made it official. The Army had even sent two Military Personnel to our home on Wednesday November 5, 1967 to inform us that he was “missing in action”. Therefore, at the very least he was likely already killed by the time they tracked down his next of kin to them know that he was missing.

I have written in the past that when I was a student in college, I started reading old newspapers that were stored on micro-film.  This was many years before the internet, so even though such technology may seem archaic today, it seemed advanced back then.  Therefore, I would sit in SOPERS Library at Morgan State University and begin reading old newspapers. I was not reading them for class, neither was I reading them just to be reading.  I had a mission! My mission was to find out more about my Uncle’s Death and exactly where he was killed in in Vietnam.  My search was not guided by any instructor or any class I was taking. It was only guided by my heart!

At the time, I did not even know what unit my uncle was assigned to and what mission they had!  However, based on my reading of those Newspapers, I determined back then (without any official confirmation), that my Uncle was killed on November 3, 1967 in a place called “DAK TO”.  Years later with the Internet I was able to trace him to: D CO, 3RD BN, 8TH INFANTRY DIVISION.  It was a unit whose members called themselves the “Ivy Dragoons”! I was also able to confirm that I was correct in the location of his death, and that he was killed in what was called The Battle for Dak TO!

In October 1967, US intelligence agencies received information that North Vietnam was preparing for a large-scale attack against US forces. Reacting to the intelligence, the US Army began reinforcing the area with multiple units for a counterattack to maintain its current position and not be overrun. My uncle had arrived in Vietnam shorty before this escalation.

“DAK To  lies on a flat valley floor, surrounded by waves of ridgelines that rise into peaks (some as high as 4,000-foot that stretch westward and southwestward towards the tri-border region where South Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia meet. The Province is covered by double- and triple-canopy rainforests, and the only open areas were filled in by bamboo groves whose stalks sometimes reached eight inches in diameter. Landing zones large enough for helicopters were few and far between, which meant that most troop movements could only be carried out on foot. Temperatures in the highlands could reach 95° Fahrenheit during the day and could drop to as low as 55° Fahrenheit in the evening”. In addition to being on foot, most infantryman carried backpacks and other resources that weighed a much as 100 pounds.  Can you imagine running through a muggy, muddy, jungle filled with mosquitoes and snakes heading towards an enemy who might be hidden anywhere to include underground tunnels?  This is the mission my 23-year old Uncle was faced with within a couple of months of arriving in Vietnam.

Search and destroy missions were conducted by rifle companies under a canopy of artillery cover and other supporting elements.  However, many units were under resourced. Delta company was a small provisional company that had only two infantry platoons instead of four.  Total strength was three officers and eight-five men.  October 28, 1967, A and D company of the 3/8 Infantry were first troops to arrive at the Dak TO airstrip. D Company made a combat assault west and behind the advancing enemy.  Contact was made with well-entered and well equipped North Vietnamese Arm (NVA) troops. The 3/8^th infantry (called Ivy Dragoons) was hit.  They started taking casualties before they reached the hill. They had walked into an NVA ambush and were outnumbered 10-1.” 

The period between November 3 and November 22, 1967 represents one of the deadliest periods in Vietnam.   In 19 days of action US Paratroopers lost 135 men, 30 of whom died as a result accidental US Air Strike on US Army positions.  In total during this period, US lost 285 soldiers with 985 wounded, and 18 missing.  Sadly, on one day in November of that year, approximately 80 US soldiers were killed in a single day. The Vietnamese losses during that period was worse and estimated at about 1,500.  My uncle was one of those 285 US soldiers lost during that 19-day period!

I have always been curious about the phrase “missing in action” because if you truly found everyone, would any of them still be labeled as “missing”? For many years, I would see my Uncle listed as “killed missing!”, while other victims would be listed as “killed in action!”

What does that mean if indeed he was ever found? I had secretly wished that during one of my many travels I would be walking down a street in Vietnam and run into my Uncle Jesse. I don’t think that will likely happen since relationship between the US and Vietnam has improved significantly.  Even my wife, Cecelia, has since visited Vietnam in recent years.

But I often think about my uncle and what his thoughts might have been after arriving in Vietnam! Afterall, he was coming from a segregated town in the State of South Carolina and was now a part of an integrated Army.  Therefore, he would have a close bond with people 10,000 miles away that he would not likely have had one mile away in his own community. The military offers a kind a brotherhood that is not necessarily found outside of the military.  I also wonder what he would have thought of his purpose in Vietnam.  Why were we over there in the first place, and why did we have to travel so far to fight them? What did they do to us that would cause us to go so far and sacrifice so many lives? 

I cannot reflect on my Uncle’s service to our country without also reflecting on what was happening in our country at that time.  If I am to truly do justice to his memory, I must place in context how his dedication might be contrasted with that of some of his other brothers in arms.  This is by no means to minimize the dedication they all have made in one way or another.

I think that as I remember my uncle, I must also be reminded that my uncle was willing to put his life on the line at a time when there were no assurances that his own country fully respected his rights as a full citizen.

My uncle is from the state of South Carolina.  And although the year of my uncle’s death was more than 13 years after the landmark Supreme Court Case (Brown) which supposedly ended segregation in public schools, the high school he graduated from and that I would eventually graduate from was still segregated and the Brown Law was not even enforced until 3 years after my Uncle’s death.  He would not live long enough learn that the state of South Carolina, despite the 1954 ruling, would later have to force integration of public schools in 1970.  And even then, with the help of many Religious Institutions in our community, private schools would be created to prevent integration of public schools.

My uncle would never have known that the prominent Civil Rights Leader of that time, would himself be killed in Memphis, TN less than six months after he was killed in Vietnam. 

Therefore, my uncle died without ever having the opportunity to share his thoughts, and I as his nephew can only imagine what some of them might have been!

But he might be pleased that his nephew would become educated in that same community and become a military officer. 

He might also be pleased that his nephew would always remember, research, and tell his story in such a convincing manner that his legacy will never be forgotten and, thus, his service to his country would not have been in in vain!

Jerome Pearson

(Former) US ARMY Captain

(Nephew)