Category: Uncategorized

Southern California – the days are all the same.  Beautiful sunshine in the late afternoons inevitably compensates for a fog-filled morning.   There is generally low humidity and mild to warm temperatures.   Sometimes, the days are so peaceful and the breeze from the Pacific so sweet that one can be so easily lulled into an unwarranted sense of security.

Sunday, June 12, 1994, was not one of those delightful days.  The skies were partly cloudy, and an unseasonable coolness continued to linger into late spring of that year.

On this day, John awoke at 8 am.  He remembered the golf outing that he had agreed to participate in with friends later that morning, and he also remembered his daughter Cindy’s dance recital, which was to occur later that afternoon.  He needed to call his assistant and remind her to ensure that flowers were available for him to give Cindy after the recital.  Although he and her mother, Michelle, were no longer together, he still loved his kids.  But then he thought, wouldn’t it be nice if they all went to the recital as a family?  That would undoubtedly make Cindy and Troy happy.

He decided to call Michelle to make the offer.  Michelle was not in an excellent mood.  She had just received a call from a friend who had seen John at a charity event the evening before with Shirley!  How dare he, she thought, finally said, “I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with you again.”  John responded by calling Michelle a “ho” and a “slut”, after which time the phone was slammed down in his ears! 

Later, while having breakfast at the golf club, John had his usual: potato, toast, eggs, sausage, and, of course, Grape Juice. His friends were pleasant, but John still steamed about his earlier conversation with Michele. He thought,” I ought to take my kids from her or go over there and put my foot up her behind!”

John was having a difficult time at the golf outing.  He was hung over from the previous night’s drinking.  “I should have stayed home in my damn bed,” he mumbled.  Then, suddenly, one of his golf partners was teasing him about his golf game.  At first, John paid no mind, but then he thought, “I wouldn’t mind getting these White boys out on the field in a real man’s sport.  I will run over all of them, punks!”   The one partner doing most of the talking continued to knead.  Finally, John said, “I will kick you behind right here and now!”  His friends were surprised at the sudden outburst of anger.  “We’re just teasing you, oh buddy,” one of them responded.

In the early afternoon, John sat in his den drinking scotch.  He was feeling sleepy and decided to go upstairs for a nap.  He was thinking about when to set the alarm to make the recital.  “I guess I will miss the basketball game today between the Houston Rockets and the New York “Knicks.” Houston and New York were in the NBA finals, pitting a match-up between the league’s premier centers, Patrick Ewing and Akeem Olajuwon.  “The game will be on why I am at the recital.  Maybe I’ll record it.” But then he thought better since he was scheduled to fly to New York later that evening and would not have time to watch it.

John had several dreams while sleeping, but he could only remember two.  In the first dream, he was tied up and gagged in a secluded house, as both men and women were beating him in the face with bare hands.  He tried to speak but could not, began to go unconscious, and finally, there was the complete absence of pain. 

He also dreamt about the charity event the night before. In this second dream, Michelle was there.  He had gone to the men’s room, and while returning to the ceremony, there was noise coming from behind a door adjacent to the walkway.  He decided to open the door to see what was happening, and there was Michelle, stripped naked, lying on a couch surrounded by several men who also were naked.  In his dream, Michelle looked up at him and began laughing. The men turned towards him, and they began laughing, too.

He awoke in a cold sweat and saw that it was 3:45. His alarm was set to go off at 4. He got up and took a shower. He had planned to dress more formally but finally said, “I’m going casual!” He wore dark, baggy slacks, a Ralph Lauren Polo sports shirt, and casual Italian shoes.

Shortly after 4:30, John was cruising down Sunset Boulevard. He stopped by a friend’s house to pick up a package. He immediately consumed one item in the package and began feeling relaxed. 

By the time the show started, he was overwhelmed with euphoric bliss. He smiled big as he watched the young girls dance, but his mind was elsewhere.

He stared ahead and saw Michelle and her family.  He began thinking about their conversation earlier that morning.  “What an ungrateful “b,” he mumbled to himself.  He had been generous to her; her family had all benefited immensely from associating with him.  And here she is driving around with every Tom, Dick, and Harry, spending his money.

When the recital was over, John hugged and congratulated Cindy.  “You are beautiful, sweetheart!”  He gave her the flowers and then hugged Troy.   When Michelle came near, he said, “Hey, Michelle, I wanna talk to you in private later.”  Michelle replied: “No, any speaking you have with me will be in public!” She quickly walked out.  He walked behind her and said, “Where are you all going? To dinner or what?”  Michelle answered, “I don’t think that’s any of your business, John!”

John started walking toward his former in-laws (Thomas) and hugged them.  Mr. Thomas said, “Are you coming to dinner with us, John?”  “No, I got to pack for my trip to New York.” 

When John returned home from the recital, he was depressed again, not so much because of what happened at the recital, but primarily because of a general old depression that came over him every so often.    He would usually get that way for no apparent reason. He hated Sunday nights; nothing was happening, especially this night, except getting ready for his flight.   He wished he had scheduled an earlier flight, but then he would have missed Cindy’s recital.

Later, John knocked on the door of the guest house.  Plato let him in.  John told Plato about the recital and how much of a “b” Michelle had been.  Plato hadn’t picked up the package yet but stated, “We can ride over there now if you want to, John.  I have to make a call first.”

The Bentley pulled out onto the road and headed toward Santa Monica.  They crossed over Sunset Boulevard and went west on Wilshire Avenue.  The streets were quiet, except for the occasional hooker, strutting in white boots and fur coats, even though it was June. 

They drove into a Burger King parking lot. A black Lexus GS400 was waiting. Plato jumped out and spoke with the driver as John drove up to the “Drive-Thru.” He ordered a snack for both. After paying for his order, he picked up Plato just before exiting the parking lot.

The drive back to La Cienega was quiet. John ate some of his fries and sipped a Coke. John went inside his home when they returned home, while Plato went to the guest house.

John consumed some of the package’s contents and voraciously devoured the cheeseburger. Shortly, he was beginning to feel good again. He did some last-minute packing because it was near 8 p.m. He had to be ready for the Limousine by 10:30 p.m. After packing, he consumed some more of the package.

At around 9:00, he decided to go for a ride to catch some fresh air.  He drove his F150 “Bronco” style this time rather than taking the Bentley.  The white Ford F150 cruised down La Cienega.  He was not sure where he was going.  He tried calling Shirley, but there was no answer.  Then he was thinking about Michelle.  “All of my darn money!”

Suddenly, he was feeling tired again. His head was spinning.  It was like being in a dream again.  Maybe it was the alcohol, the contents of the package, or both.  He wasn’t sure.  But he knew that his head was spinning, and he was having an out-of-body experience.  He had almost driven to the Pacific Coast highway before making a U-turn and heading east back up Sun Set.  He did not feel like returning home, but there was no place he wanted to go. 

Suddenly, an inexplicable transformation occurred; a stranger was now driving the F150!  John was only a passenger, helplessly watching events unfold outside his control.

The stranger was making a right onto San Vincente and going south.  John could only observe this stranger as he slowly drove the Ford down San Vincente.  Finally, they passed some upscale townhouses that aligned with San Vincente. He then became sad. He wanted to give a warning, but it was too late.  The stranger was too determined and overwhelming, and he could do nothing.

After passing one Townhouse, the F150 made two right turns before coming to a halt in the driveway behind a locked gate. The stranger, dressed in all black, disembarked, quietly closed the door and smoothly swung himself across the gate.

The back and front yards were densely populated with small and large trees.  Rose bushes and hedges surrounded the condo.

The evening was quiet except for two laughing voices. The stranger could see them from the corner of the house, but they could not see him. The road in front of the house was quiet; no car or truck was going down San Vincente. The two people were locked, embraced, and laughing quietly.

The stranger observed them for a few minutes from kneeling behind one of the many hedges surrounding the condo.

The blade was then opened in a neatly gloved right hand.

And then he struck!

It was all over so quickly, so easily; he could not believe what the stranger had done.  As John waited, the stranger was leaping across the gate and into the F150.  “What ‘d you do? He asked the stranger. But the Ford was on the road again.  The stranger was driving wildly, running stop signs and red lights. The F150 barely missed a few cars at a stop light, and the stranger yelled from the F150 at the other drivers to get out of the way!

When the F150 reappeared at La Cienega, the stranger suddenly disappeared, and now John was at the wheel. 

Rather than driving around the corner to La Cienega, the Ford F150 was stopped on a side street that intersected La Cienega.  Then, John walked across the lawn and into the house.

After waiting more than thirty minutes, the limo driver suddenly sees a Black figure walking across the lawn and into the house; he decides to call the house again.

Suddenly, the phone rang!

John picked it up and said, “Hello.”

“This is limo services for John Washington.”

“I will be right out; I just got out of the shower!”

Jerome Pearson

Trouble

Jerome Pearson

2024 UPDATE

The story is often told of a farmer who went to town Friday evening to pay some bills and secure another loan. Once in town, he visited the creditor from whom he had received one of his loans and who was managing his finances.

To his disappointment, the farmer was informed that he could not borrow additional money for supplies for the upcoming year’s crops. The creditor had already granted him several extensions, which were not being met. This delinquency was not due to the farmer’s negligence but rather to an apparent stroke of back luck stemming from several seasons of bad weather that affected his crops: it was cold when it should have been hot, hot when it should have been cold; dry when it should have been wet, and flooding when it should have been dry.

He was a good man who served as a Deacon in his Church and whose only sin was that of surreptitiously sipping a bit of corn liquor now and again and, when convenient, looking a little too hard and too long at the way some of the more flirtatious church women flaunted their various attributes like forbidden fruits. He was honest about his shortcomings, and it was not his fault because, in his eyes, they would often wear dresses that clung to their various figures in such a revealing fashion that, in his mind, could only have been deliberate.

If it were not for these particular distractions, he might even be considered an excellent Christian. And he, like most men starting with Adam in the Garden of Eden, could not help but fantasize about what he did not have or has yet to be explored. But hey, “Let him, without sin, cast the first stone.”

Usually, because the town was so far away from his home, he would stay at a local cheap hotel and return home the next morning. However, on this particular trip, he decided to return home this Friday night due to the disappointing news he received. What was the use of spending more on a hotel when he was already in debt?

On the other hand, while the farmer was away, his wife, who always remained at home, did what she usually does when he was away; that is to say, she entertained one or more of her lovers. She was much younger than the farmer, and although she attended church regularly, she was not as devout as some of the other wives, most of whom she saw as hypocrites. They were jealous because of her youth and the way their husbands seemed unable to prevent themselves from tripping over one another to be able to stand close to her presence. After church services, she was the person every man wanted to wish a “good afternoon.”

She ran a tight shift with her lovers, and when her husband was away, they were each given an appointed time to grace her company. These lovers did not care that they would often run into each other as they were coming or leaving, mainly because they felt so blessed with the bit of time granted that it overcame whatever natural jealousy might have arisen.

On this particular Friday evening, the first lover to arrive had the incredibly unique name “Trouble.” Trouble came in and sat down on a sofa. He was offered a beer, which he accepted. Their conversation centered on trivial things, such as what kind of car “Trouble” was driving and how old it was. “Trouble” told her that his car was completely paid for and that there were no payments. He was so proud of himself for this rather unusual accomplishment.

After Trouble had been there for approximately thirty minutes, there was another knock at the door, to his disappointment. The wife looked out the window and realized it was another lover named “Such as That.” She immediately realized that she had gotten her times mixed up on this evening, which was bound to cause some overlapping; thus, having the unfortunate scenario that each lover would arrive 30 minutes earlier than she had planned. She told “Trouble” that her husband was outside and that he needed to hide in the closet.

“Such As That” was greeted at the door, and while he suspected some concern on the Lady’s face, he was so happy that he overlooked it. Again, as she had with the first her first lover, she offered him a beer from the refrigerator where she had stocked a case earlier during the day. “Such As That” began telling her about his rough day, how his wife was such a pain in the “you know what” and how he had a sound mind to send her packing back to her mother. The farmer’s wife feigned interest but was distracted by the fact that she knew that the 3rd lover would be arriving soon.

As expected, the 3rd love, “Someone,” showed up about 30 minutes later. The Farmer’s wife knew it would be him, but again told “Such AS That” that her husband was outside and needed to hide behind the Piano.

“Someone” was then let in. He walked into the living room with a big grin, not believing his good luck to be out on a Friday night without his wife knowing where he was. He told his wife he would be out with the “boys.” It had been a long week, and it was so pleasant to “keep company” with a woman as fine as the Farmer’s wife. He turned down the beer and opted for a swig of corn liquor instead. He was grinning ear to ear and telling her lies about how much money he was making and how he was going to be leaving his wife as soon as their last kid turned four. He was beginning to doubt that the last baby was his anyway; not only did the little boy have nappy hair (peasy, as it was called), but he was also turning out to be too dark to have even an iota of genes from his “high yellow complected” family.

About 30 minutes later, to her very surprise, there was a fourth person, which was truly unexpected since she had only three appointments. She heard a car pull into the yard, a door slammed shut, and the visitor walked towards her house. She then drew back the curtains, looked out of her window, and, to her dismay, recognized her husband, the farmer, who was not supposed to be back until Saturday. She nervously but quickly told “Someone” that he had to hide underneath the bed because, this time, truthfully, her husband was on the porch, much to her shock.

The Farmer walked in looking very distraught. He sat down on the sofa, his face resting in the palm of his hands. Still worrying about his inability to get the loan and what might happen to his farm, he finally confessed to his wife: “Honey, I see trouble!”

“Trouble,” thinking he was being referred to, immediately jumped out of the closet, knocked down the door, and ran out of the house. Surprised, the Farmer jumped up and asked, “What was such as that?”

“Such as That, “now thinking he was being referred to, jumped through the piano, ripped out the keys, and crashed through the window. The Farmer then turned to his wife and said, “Honey, if you don’t tell me what’s going on up in here, I am going to wind up killing “Someone.”

“Someone” immediately jumped from underneath the bed, carrying the box-spring mattress, sheets, and bedspread as he sped out the door.

The wife then replied: “Oh, my poor baby! “Someone” has been causing you so much “trouble” “such that,” I think you are beginning to have hallucinations.”

Jerome Pearson

BOOGIE AND BROWN

(A True story)

Jerome Pearson

It was on a Friday when I saw the little pistol that would later be used in a murder! The gun had a pearly white handle and a silver snub-nose barrel. I thought it was cute as I admired it from a distance.

Here is how the tragedy unfolded. I was only five years old then, but I remember it distinctively!

One Friday afternoon, shortly after 6 p.m., two men came to our home. We sold moonshine, and customers would come from far and near. We were only one of many homes that had similar endeavors. Customers were primarily men, but sometimes, they would bring their wives or girlfriends. A designated area in the home where they would linger was similar to a bar. They would stand around and socialize and sometimes get into fights.

On one particular Friday afternoon, I saw two men arrive together. I knew most of these men because I likely had seen them before.  I knew that the older man driving was called “Brown!” I am not sure if that was his first name or last.  The younger man riding with him was called “Boogie!”  I was not sure that I had seen them together before.

They were inside drinking, but within a short time, they decided to smoke a cigarette in our backyard. I saw them because I was playing in a woodpile out back.

Apparently, Boogie had just bought the gun and showed it to Brown. Boogie seemed proud that he had a gun. I saw Brown looking at the gun, feeling it, turning it over in his hand, and admiring it. He returned the weapon to Boogie, who placed it back in his pants pocket. They seemed to pay me no attention, but I could see what was happening and thought nothing of it.

Within a short while, they went back inside and continued to drink. I used to go to bed around 8 pm and did not know what happened over the following hours. I would later learn that at some point during that evening, Boogie became drunk and argumentative. My mother then asked Boogie to leave, which he did, but when he went outside, he decided to fire a bullet through our living room window. I must have been sound asleep because I heard neither a gunshot nor the commotion that I am sure ensued following that shot. Luckily, no one was hit during that incident.

When I awoke the following day, I saw my mother using a screwdriver to remove a bullet from the wall in our living room. I also saw a small hole in our living room window.

It was only then that I learned what happened later that evening.  The two men left our home together and drove to the heart of our town of Davis Station. At this time, we lived approximately 3 miles from the center of Davis Station. Once they arrived at Davis Station Center, they continued drinking on that fateful Friday evening.

At some point, the two men must have gotten into another argument. I don’t know exactly how it happened; Boogie would later shoot “Brown” with the same gun he had proudly shown him only hours earlier. Brown later died because of his gunshot wounds.

Although the shooting did not occur at our home, if someone were doing a serious investigation, they might want to know the entire sequence of events. Where were they that whole evening?  I could see the concern on my mother’s face.  However, it was later revealed that our home was not the last home they left that Friday evening.

A few days later, one of Brown’s sons came by to learn more about his father. My mother told him what she knew, and he seemed appreciative. In some ways, we were lucky because law enforcement was not interested in any serious investigation. To them, it was just one Black man killing another Black man. What is there to investigate? They knew who the shooter was, so the case was closed.

I know nothing about the trial, if there was one. I do know that Boogie was sent to prison. In the upcoming years, I often saw Boogie as he worked on a chain gang. The chain gang consists of prisoners chained together to perform menial or physically challenging labor, such as chipping stones or cutting grass, usually along state highways or railroad tracks. They were monitored by guards with high-powered rifles and could not escape without being shot; they were chained the entire time.  Usually, when I observed him, no other kids around me knew who he was or anything about the story I remembered.

Each time I saw him, I would reflect on that fateful Friday evening years earlier.  I would look at him and wonder if he remembered me. Did he remember the young kid observing him show the weapon to the man he later killed?  Or, perhaps, he thought my testimony was used to imprison him. Maybe he could not wait to get out of prison and get revenge.

I would look into his eyes and wonder if he realizes that there is a kid looking at him at that moment who knows exactly why he is in prison.  That this kid saw him only hours before his life changed.  I do not think so! To him, I was just another kid observing them cut grass. He would not have realized that he had taught me a valuable lesson. And that lesson is we must be in control of our lives as every moment.  Because those moments when we are not in control could lead to a history that will haunt the rest of our lives. On that fateful Friday, not only did Brown die. Boogie died too.

About ten years later, a friend told me that he and his family were driving past this little store near the town of Jordan when they saw a crowd of people standing in the yard around a man lying on the ground. He had just been killed. My friend told me he later heard the man’s name was “Boogie.”  I knew his last name (but will not mention it) and knew he had only recently completed his ten-year sentence.

I told my friend, “I know of a “Boogie!”; he had not long left prison for a killing he did years earlier!”

And it now appeared that someone had just killed him. And I began to wonder who might have killed him!

When I was a kid, I was very precocious. I was small in size but much older than my age. I knew things that most kids my age did not know. And I remembered almost everything. Even today, I can tell my siblings about things that happened that amaze them. I am not sure if any of my siblings even remember this story. One of my closest friends once told me he thinks I was recording things as they happened.

At five years old, I saw the beginning of a tragedy, and ten years later, I would be made aware of its ending.

But the story has never died; it has been with me all these years.

Perhaps my blessing is remembering so many lessons from the troubles I have seen.

Jerome Pearson

The Fish-fry Murder

(Fiction by JP)

June 2010

It all went down back in the summer of ‘74.  That was the summer when 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. The ordinarily unbearable hot and blazing Sun seems 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 when Richard Nixon resigned from the Presidency was the most soulful ever.   Pick a year, and you will not likely find one more soulful than 74.   If 1970-74 were the height of “Soul Music,” then 1974 was its acme.

But our story takes place in Davis Station, SC, and we didn’t care 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 and put em in a Jar.”

It began on an unbearably hot and sultry Friday in late June 1974. The bossman permitted us to knock off at noon to have the annual fish fry.

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

Bono and Albert would cook because they were 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 the accumulated dirt and grime from the fields. It always feels good to get that tar off your hands after you have been cropping tobacco.  I smoked a cool as I soaked in the soapy water.  I could hear the chickens cackling across the yard.  My mother was outside hanging clothes that she had washed earlier that day.  In those days, you didn’t need a dryer; you hung the clothes on the line and let the sun go to work.  However, remember to bring your clothes to the house before the rain.

I stayed in that tub for about 45 minutes before getting out and drying myself.  I wore a short yellow-sleeved silk shirt with an oversized collar, green bell-bottom pants, and brown platform shoes.  I walked down to Big George’s club at around 2:30. The first person I saw was Leroy.  He didn’t even look like he’d gone home to bathe 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 doesn’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 to the Thorton’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 Thorton’s store, he was steadily 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 watched all those brown spots on their hands, hoping they didn’t touch my meat. We thought it was cancer, and I didn’t want any 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 any of my money today.  She said, “Hi baby, where do you think you are going?”  I told her I was heading back to Big Georges and 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 toward Big Georges.  She’s never getting any of my hard-earned money.

When I returned, Leroy was still sitting on a stool, drinking his colt.  A few minutes later, I saw Bono’s car pull up, and Albert sat in the front seat.  I immediately got up and went out back.  “About time!  I thought you all weren’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. Come on around here and start skinning these catfish!”

I grabbed a knife and a 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 ensure you didn’t get stuck by that fin because nothing was 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 set a black wash pot filled with water; that’s where we would cook the catfish.

Now and then, the clouds would come out and threaten rain, but then the Sun would return; they played hide and seek like that for the rest of the afternoon. Before long, Eddie and Little Man showed up.  The little man had a pint of Grand Canadian sealed whisky that he must have gotten from 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.  Once, I saw ’em grab 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, big, strong, and blacker than blackberries.  “Start cleaning those carp and breams over there before y’all get too drunk,” Albert yelled towards them.

Meanwhile, I continued skinning the catfish, careful not to get any blood and guts on my clothes.  I just got these pants off layaway and didn’t want to take them to the cleaners this soon.  Plus, you have to drive to Manning even to 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 any iron on my polyester because, you know it, you have holes.    I also had a second pair of polyester on layaway, but I am saving them for the Fourth.   That’s when all those pretty girls are coming up the road from places like B-More and Jersey.  Some of um come from New York and Miami, but most are from B-More and Jersey.  And Jersey has the finest girls around.  B-More had some fine ones, too, but they needed to get all that faked gold out of their mouths before they could compete with Jersey.  But when they come down here, I try to look my best.  The only bad thing is that they think we are “country” and talk funny.    But they don’t mind spending our money though.  They try to pretend that the boys “up the road” are better, but from what I hear, most are in jail or prison. They are talking all of that mash, but when it is time for them to leave to go back “up the road,” they are crying, all like they are in love because they know there ain’t no loving like country loving, and you can believe that!  Who sings 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 figure because they are from “up the road”, wives will just have to take a back seat while they down here.    But some of the Country wives come upon them by surprise, and then they sing, “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 sitting in the car with their daddy.   She thought she was cool until they dragged her behind out of that car.  And all their daddy did was take 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 were adding that catfish to that hot water and all the spices, and ain’t nothing like some good ole stewed catfish.  Some people put potatoes in theirs, but we don’t.  Cars are driving past, looking at us, and I know they want to come over and try to get some of this fish, but they didn’t contribute, and it isn’t nothing free out this piece.

We try to have the fish fry the week before the fourth because that is barbeque time.  And when I say barbeque, I’m talking about a pig, not a chicken.  I hear some people saying they are barbequing chicken.  Around here, barbeque means pig; everything else must be something else.  You ask a man for some barbeque; he doesn’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 are serving catfish with all that black pepper, and those gnats are 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 bite into a gnat, but it makes no difference cause seasoning is seasoning.

For a long time, we scooped up that rice and scooped that catfish stew on top of it.  That, with some light bread, is all you need.  Nowadays, people eat salad for their meals, but we don’t care anything bout no salad.  Why do you want to mess up a meal with salad when the real thing is right in front of you?  I don’t know who has been crazy enough to think of something stupid like that.  And then some people claim that salad is all they eat, but they are the ones who have never had any catfish stew. All they need is one spoon of that catfish stew, and then that’ll teach them from “sucking eggs,” and you can believe that.  I think they are trying to fool somebody.  But we know the real deal in the big DS.  You bring some salad round here that ain’t macaroni or potato; then you might just get shot, or at least stobbed.

After we finished eating and bonding, there were always these challenges and whatnot.  Leroy had him a new can of Colt 45.  He said to Little Man that he was going to set the can on the ground and count to 3, and if Little Man grabbed it before him, he could have it.  So, Leroy put his can on the ground and counted 1, 2, 3, and they both were reaching for the beer, but Little Man, being fast as a cat, swooped it up first, and next thing you know, they in a brawl because Leroy was feeling embarrassed plus he did 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 were dumb enough to challenge another dude.  Leroy was also embarrassed because Little Man was much smaller than him, but you would never know what just happened.  So now he had to try to save face.

Shortly, Leroy went to the trunk of his car and grabbed a metal crowbar used to change tires. He looked at us from the trunk of his car and realized that he had messed up because we all knew he made the challenge and lost, and now he is 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 myself into?”  Five minutes ago, he was buying himself a new can of beer, and now he had no beer to go along with an unnecessary A-whipping.  It gets no lower than that, but that’s how it is in the big DS sometimes.

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

We continued drinking, eating, and horsing for several hours.  Later, this White girl named Colleen comes around because she likes to hang out at Big George Juke joint.  She doesn’t live too far from Davis Station, and she has been acting like she is Black all her life.  I think she’s sweet on me, but she keeps saying I’m too young.  I keep telling her I have plenty of experience, though.   She gives me that seductive smile and turns away.  She is the only white girl we know who speaks to Black people equally.  She knows everybody’s name and even strings tobacco like the rest of the Black women.  Whenever a car with White people drives past and sees her talking to Black people, I know they are wondering why she is stooping so low, but she is having a good time.  If she is 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 because she is kind-hearted.  She says she only likes Black music, so that is why she is 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 anything ever happened.  She can be a teaser, getting our hopes higher than they should be.

So that was why the next morning, when my mom woke me up saying that the Police were outside and they wanted to talk to me, I was not so surprised.  Colleen was such a good girl, and things should not have turned out as 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 didn’t know when 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 to do with it.   The all-White Jury convicted him anyway, mainly because of his 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 changed.   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 in 2005 as a Master Sergeant.  I married a German woman, but we divorced after 15 years, and she took 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 understood.   She said she couldn’t deal with those nightmares I kept 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

Written by Jerome Pearson

By Jerome Pearson

January 2020

What if all this is happening while you are only in the first grade, and only 3 weeks after celebrating your seventh birthday?

What if one Friday morning before school your mother helps you pull a sweater over your head and then adjusts the sleeves of your shirt for the very last time?

What if on that Friday you return from school and you notice your mother eating rice, which is something you have never seen her do? You find it remarkable because she has always hated rice!

What if you would later go to bed that night not knowing that it would be the last night you would share with your mother?

What if you wake up the next morning not knowing that all future mornings will be drastically different from those you are now experiencing? The very next morning will be the saddest morning of your short life!

What if your mother goes into town shopping on that Saturday morning and you don’t realize that again this is the last time, she will go shopping?

What if your mother returned from shopping on Saturday and you notice that she is not feeling well? What if you dismiss this “not feeling well” as just a passing thing; not knowing that this “not feeling well” is about to lead to the most shocking thing you might ever experience in your life?

What if you observed later that afternoon that your mother is being taken to the hospital? You can see her being taken to the car. But even then, you would have no reason to think that it would be the last time you would see your mother alive.

What if you can remember the men who took her to the car? What if you can remember the color and model of the car she is being driven in? What if the car is a black and white 1961 Ford Fairlane? What if the Car is being driven by a man name Talmage Nelson? What if his friend, also in the car, is a man named Willie (WM) Pearson? What if the lady sitting in the car with your mother is her sister, Rebecca? Could you have known then that from that day onward your mother would now be your mother’s sister?

What if you awoke around 9:30 pm on that same Saturday night with news so shocking that you would forever be immune to being shocked again? No matter what happens to you in the future, nothing could ever replace that shock. All other shocks would be secondary! You have now become vaccinated against shocks.

What if during those short seven years of living you just assumed that your mother would always be there? You never anticipated that your life could be turned upside down so drastically and quickly.

What if the reality you thought existed is no longer real? All the dreams you were able to accumulate during those short seven years are now clouded by another reality.

What if your mother would be eulogized the following Thursday at New Light Baptist Church? What if she would later be buried at St. Matthews Cemetery? What if there is a ritual where all her kids are passed over her grave? Each small kid is lifted on one side of the grave and handed to another person on the opposite side of the grave.

What if over the next several months all your siblings split up and lived in other homes? Only you would be living with your mother’s sister.

What if you had to continue to live your own life? You would have to figure out a way to negotiate your way through future trials and tribulations; continue to do well in school; show the world that those A’s you received during the first half of your first school year were no fluke; that the smile your mother showed when she saw your first report card would be a smile that she would continue to have from above and that perhaps one day, you would be able to do things, travel to places, and have experiences that neither you nor your mother could ever have imagined!

What if after so many years you have never forgotten your mother; there are so many things you wish you could have done with your mother; so many conversations you wished you could have had; so many questions you wish could have been answered, yet in some strange way you have always communicated with her; there is an internal and spiritual dialogue between you and your mother that no one else is privy to.

What if someone were to ask you what is your greatest gift?

What if you replied that “it is my memory!”

What if they asked, “why your memory?”

What if it has been your memory that has afforded you the ability to make seven years last forever?

What if your memory has been your greatest blessing?

What if you never forget?

Ethel Pearson Roberts, May 1936- Jan 16, 1965

Your forever-loving son, Jerome!

By Jerome Pearson

Ethel Mae Pearson Roberts

May 1936 – January 16, 1965

Dear Mommy,

I so deeply wish I had gotten the opportunity to know you better. When you were living, I thought that I would have an entire life with you. But God had other plans! Plans that neither you nor I were aware of when you were living. What kid expects to lose his mother shortly after turning seven years old? And what mother expects to leave this world when her kids are so young, one a little more than a year old?

I am the youngest of your children to remember you. Perhaps in some ways, I should count that as my blessing. My blessing is only that I can recall some bits and pieces of our time together. It is much more than my younger siblings have. I have, however, enjoyed sharing with them my memories of you. I remember a younger brother once telling me he remembers you taking him to school. Unfortunately, I had to burst his bubble because you had never taken him to school. Even though I was only in the first grade, and there was no kindergarten during those days, I politely told him he was mistaken. And there is no doubt in my mind about that!

I remember telling my youngest sister (your baby girl) that I can remember the day she was born. I can remember that day even though I was still incredibly young myself. I told her that she was born on a Friday afternoon. It was a slightly cloudy afternoon. I remember it because your sister was at our house on that day. Yes, your sister who would soon become my mother. Perhaps she was there because you were expecting my younger sister. But I remember my aunt coming onto the porch and telling the older kids to run to Mr. Jimmy Carter’s house so that he could then drive to notify the midwife. No one had a telephone and she needed someone who could drive to her house.

You may recall that I attempted to follow the older children to wherever they were running to. The three of them were running down a dirt road; I tried following them, but they were leaving me far behind. Your sister stood on the porch and yelled for me to return home. I did as I was told, and as I was walking back up the steps she said, “where did you think you were going? You know you cannot keep up with them!” She was right; I could not keep up, but a few hours later, you allowed me to enter your bedroom to see the new baby. I then realized what all the commotion had been about.

As you know so well, there were no hospital births in our community during those days. For the most part, we were all born at home. I would later realize that the midwife, Ms. Catherine House, was the first Medical Professional who would have any contact with us. I find it funny that when I was in elementary school a teacher asked the class in what hospital we were born. Like everyone in the classroom, I lied and said, “Clarendon Memorial Hospital!” I knew we were all lying, but it was a gentle lie. In other words, it was a lie that caused no harm. I almost said I was born on Christmas Eve in a Manager. I was born on Christmas eve, perhaps not in a manger, however! I would like to think that I was your Christmas gift for that year! Ha, ha!

I remember that I could not start school the year you wanted me to. That was because I would not be turning six until December of that year, and the teachers said I was not old enough. You thought that I was ready; otherwise, you would not have sent me. I came to school but was told I could not enroll.

It was not solely that was not old enough because some kids were allowed to start early. It was also because I looked like a baby. But you knew I was not a baby. I will admit that as a child I always looked much younger than my actual age. Years after you left, when I was in 7th grade, we were looking at some old school records from our first grade. In my records, there was a first-grade picture of me, and I indeed looked like I was two. The girls in my class were like, “look at that cute baby!”

But not starting school earlier allowed me to have an extra year with you! I would be the oldest kid at home during those days, and when you needed to have a conversation, you would talk to me. You would send me to the store alone to buy things you needed, and I always came back with exactly what you asked for. When various vendors came to our house to collect payments, you had no reservations about giving me the money to go outside to pay the bill. You would say, “don’t forget the receipt, Jerome!” After I handed them the money, I would always say, “may I have a receipt please?” They would say, “boy who taught you how to talk like that?” With a chuckle!

On the bright side of things, I would not have had that extra year with you if I were in school. I recall asking you lots of questions because I was curious about everything. However, I always thought there would be plenty of time for me to ask many more questions, but there was not.

I would like to think you thought that I was unusually bright! I say this because one day after returning from the store with the washing powder and bleach that you needed, I came onto the porch where you were washing clothes. You said to me, “how is my big little boy?” I was not big, but you were implying that I could do big things. I was so little, but you could talk to me, and you could trust me with certain tasks that someone my age might not have been given. As an example, when President John F Kennedy was assassinated, you came onto the porch and told me about it. You heard it on the news, and it was so shocking that you needed to discuss it with someone. And the oldest kid at home was me. It was only then that I even became aware of such a thing as a President!

I can remember you telling me one day that a car that had been driven by our home was Klansmen. I did not know what a Klansman was, but from the impression, you gave they were scary people. When we would go to the local stores in Davis Station, I tried to figure out who were the Klansmen and who were not. As an example, I thought that Mr. McFadden was Ok because he also had a rolling store and would sometime drive by our house with items to sell. But there was a family of Hortons in Davis Station who were suspects! I assumed that JFK was not a Klansman because you seemed so hurt by his death. However, I did think that all police officers were Klansmen because whenever they showed up it was bad news.

I recall that you could be emotional. I remember one Sunday night we were riding in a car to visit your sister. This would have been a few months before you left. As we drove through Davis Station on our way to Jordan Road, we saw a car in a ditch. There had been an accident! The driver in our car said, “isn’t that Dixie?” You immediately started screaming. Dixie was not your brother, but he lived with us as if he was your brother. When you realized that Dixie was in an accident, and not knowing if he was injured, all you could do was scream. Hearing your scream, Dixie, realizing you were in the car, came running to reassure you that he was ok. He came running to the car saying, “I am ok big sister I am ok!” He hugged you like a brother would hug his sister, trying to reassure you. Only then did you calm down. I was relieved too, not only for myself but mostly for you. You cared so much for your family and friends. Your last days were filled with various emotions. I could sense it!

My last day with you was Saturday, January 16, 1965. It is a day that I can never erase from my mind.

The day following your transition, I was disturbed. I spent most of that morning in the closet trying to find my suit. I knew that there would be a funeral at some point and that I would have to wear a suit. I knew that from experience with my grandmother (your mother) a few years earlier. I remember your oldest daughter (my sister) asking me to get out of that closet. I remember telling her that I was trying to find my suit. My sister insisted that I did not need to find it because clothes would be bought for me. I recall getting out of the closet, but within a short time, I was back in there again. I did not trust that my sister was correct. I thought from that day onward, I would have to fend for myself, and in so many ways, I always have.

But I will say this mommy! Things have worked out fine for me. Of course, they would have been better with you, but sometimes we have to make do with what we have. Your sister did an excellent job with me, and you are probably hugging her right now. I have come a long way from that Saturday many years ago. I have had experiences and traveled to places that neither of us could ever have imagined back then.

But there is one thing I will always miss which is something I can never have. And that is the opportunity to talk to you more, and to get to know you better, and in that way, I could know myself better.

As a substitute, I would often have these internal conversations with you. I would ask a question and then answer it as if I were both you and me.

My blessing is that after so many years, I have been able to retain the essence of you, however fleeting. In this way, I can imagine that you never left because you and I are both the same.

Wherever I am, so too are you!

Your big little boy!

Jerome

By Jerome Pearson

November 20, 2022

Thanksgiving 1982 -40 years ago

Where did I spend it and what did I do? Let me think about that for a few minutes. Oh yes, I remember now. I remember it as if it were only yesterday. Ha, ha!

In 1982 I was stationed in Wiesbaden, Germany.  Thanksgiving of that year would be the 3^rd and last Thanksgiving I spent in Germany. But it would be the first time I would spend thanksgiving with friends from my High School in Summerton, South Carolina.

My friends John and Janie Green had recently moved from the city of Bremerhaven in Northern Germany to the city of Pirmasens in Southern Germany. Now they were within a 2-hour driving distance from me as opposed to the 8 hours they were before. Pirmasens is also only 7 miles from the French border.

Another classmate, Wayne (Norman) Billie, was stationed in the town of Baumholder. Baumholder was approximately midway between Wiesbaden and Pirmasens.

John and Janie invited both Norman and me to spend Thanksgiving and the weekend with them. Janie was also from our high school, but two classes behind us. But what was important was that were all from Scott’s Branch High, SBS.

I showed up the day before in my Mercedes and Norman arrived that same evening driving a sports car, British Triumph. At the time we had all been in Germany for several years and it was so wonderful spending thanksgiving with people with whom we could reminisce about our younger days and about home in general. There is no place like home. Janie could fit right in because she knew the same people, and I had known Janie before I knew either John or Norman. Janie and I also attended the same elementary school and her sister, Bertha, was in every class with me from first grade through 7^th.  I was also the best man at their wedding only months before we all left for Germany. Their oldest son had just been born nearly 15 months earlier in Bremerhaven.

And of course, Janie did all the cooking because she insisted on it. I think John might have helped a bit. I volunteered to help but we all knew that was probably not the best idea. We spent Thanksgiving morning reminiscing and watching movies. I recall us watching two movies. It might have been more, but I remember two. We watched the movie “I spit on your grave” wish was a gruesome yet revengeful movie about a young lady getting retribution for what violently happened to her. And then we watched one of my favorite James Bond movies, “For Your Eyes Only!” Throughout each movie, we were talking our heads off, mostly about home.

The dinner was excellent, and we ate as southerners eat. In addition to Turkey and Ham, we probably had at least 5 starches.  We did not care if the food was good for us. We only cared that it was good.

The next day, John had to work. For some reason, unlike Norman and me, John did not have off that day even though we were all in the army. While John was working, Norman invited me to ride with him back to his base back in Baumholder. I had been to Baumholder only once previously. It was about an hour both ways. What I recall about that trip is Norman’s driving. As mentioned earlier, Norman was driving a British sports car, and he was hitting those steep curves, going up and down hills, and only gearing down at the last minute. Once negotiating each curve, he was speeding off again until we hit another curve, as we made our way up the mountains to Baumholder. Not only were driving up a mountain, but we were also coming close to side rails, where the slope downward was absolutely scary. My heart was dropping to my stomach each time we came to a curve. I never told Norman how freighted I was until many years later.

There was a large PX on base and wanted to do some shopping. The word PX stands for Post Exchange. The PXs are usually on-base American stores that are used by American Military personnel and their families. They sell food and household items below what you pay if you shopped off-base. You can also shop at German stores, but the price would be higher.

Norman and I returned to Pirmasens later that afternoon and the driving was no less scary. John had returned from work by the time we got back. We then continued with festivities, eating leftovers, shooting the breeze, and just simply being so happy to share this experience together while being away from home.

Thanksgiving is always in the heart, and you can celebrate it anywhere your heart chooses to go.

And if you are like me, and never forget the details, you can then celebrate it forever.

Jerome Pearson

Sunday, November 20, 2022