This story expresses life,truth and beauty; it represents a 1950's American Southern way of life; it touches on love, jealousy, life, hate, death and hope. You will see a determination and love for his wife also the quality that he puts forth in all he does.
The Tongue That Wouldn't Keep Still
By Robert Evans Jr.AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Robert Evans Jr.
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4567-6403-6Contents
Preface...............................ixDedication............................xiIn Gratitude..........................xiiiIntroduction..........................xvI. Childhood..........................1II. Adolescence.......................25III. Independence.....................35V. Maria..............................75VI. Awakening.........................125VII. Memories.........................135VIII. Adios Maria.....................145XIV. Family...........................153X. Oriental Dream.....................159Epilogue..............................161
Chapter One
CHILDHOOD
Beatrice and James
In August of 1946, my mother, Beatrice and my father, James were married in Newton County, Mississippi. She was fourteen-years-old and he was seventeen.
In July 1947 they had their first child, Mary Jane and in October 1948, I was born. They named me after my father, James Jr. In September of 1950 they had their third child, Grace. After the three of you were born, well, this was the beginning of the end of our marriage, Mama told me.
Mississippi—1950
In Mississippi, the only work for Blacks was as field hands. "I had some money I had received from my father's death, so I bought a train ticket to Chicago for your father," Mama said. "He said that he would get a job doing construction work and he would send for me and the three of you."
So Daddy moved to Chicago and lived with his sister, partying, drinking and having a good time. Six months later he came back to Mississippi with no money. He stayed in Mississippi for two months, and then returned to Chicago, leaving us alone again.
Mama told me, "One time in the winter of 1950, I had no wood for the heater or for the cooking stove. During that time most people had only wood heaters to heat the house and a wood stove to cook with. This was a cold day with freezing rain. I had to cut up my kitchen table for firewood to cook us some food."
"There were many days when I had to walk for miles to pick cotton in a white man's field," said Mama. "Mary Jane would walk with me to pick cotton. You were a one-year-old and could walk, but you wouldn't. I was so tired. As soon as I would put you down, you'd start crying, so I had to carry you with your baby sister," Mama added.
When she arrived at this field, she said, "I carried an old blanket, placed it on the ground about half way down the row and set you two on it. I'd pick cotton until I got to you babies, then I'd move you to the end of the row so I could finish picking to the end. After that I'd turn around and do the same thing all over again."
In the evening, after the day was over, she collected her pay, four dollars. "Then came the long walk back home with the three of you," Mama sighed. "Those were very hard times. I didn't think I'd ever get away from that life."
Separation
One day in 1951, Mama's mother arrived from Chicago to take us all back with her.
My Daddy's parents, Grandpa and Granmo, lived about a hundred yards from Mama's house.
When Grandpa realized that Mama was going to take all three of us back to Chicago with her, he stepped in and said, "No, I don't want you to take the two oldest. You leave them here with me. You are going to Chicago, you don't have a job and you don't have anywhere to live. You leave those kids here with me: if I eat, they eat. When you get set up in Chicago, you can come back and get them. That baby ... you can carry her with you."
Mama said, "This was a difficult choice for me, but I knew this was my only chance to leave."
So she left Mary Jane and me with my grandparents. I was between two and three years old, so I didn't remember any of this.
One summer day when I was about five years old, Grandpa told me that my Maw (Grandpa had a real way with words) was coming to visit. I didn't remember her. I knew that I had a mother because my grandparents always told me about her. I just couldn't remember—all I knew was my Grandpa and Granmo.
That afternoon, we were sitting on the front porch. A car came down the hill blowing its horn. Grandpa said, "There come your Maw." I jumped off the porch and ran around the side of the house to the China Berry tree. I climbed up that tree and stayed there.
My mother and her sister got out and spoke to Grandpa. They came to the tree I was perched in. My mother asked me to come down. I didn't want to, because I didn't know this woman. After a short while she started crying and begging me to come down. I just sat up there and looked at her. Grandpa finally came around and said, "Boy, come outta that tree."
Grandpa didn't have to tell you but once, so I came down. My mother was hugging and kissing me. I didn't want this lady kissing me. She asked Grandpa if she could take me with her to her uncle's house. He agreed. I went with her and stayed all night.
The next day she brought me back. I was happy to be home.
Mama and Daddy
Mama once told me, "When I first arrived in Chicago, I lived with my mother. Your father was living with his sister. We would see each other and talk, but we never got back together."
One day, while Mama was at work, Daddy came over to my Mama's mother's house. My grandmother was babysitting my little sister Grace. He asked if he could take her to the store to buy some candy.
After Mama arrived home from work, she called my Daddy's sister's house looking for her baby. My aunt told her, "He's not here. I don't know where he is." My father had taken Grace and not come back.
That night went by, and the next day, but still no word of the baby. "I was really hurting, but the one thing that gave me comfort was that this was my baby's father," Mama said, "and I knew he'd take care of her."
Two weeks later, Mama was told that Daddy had moved to Detroit, Michigan. Daddy kept Grace in Detroit for a year. In his later years he told me "I took real good care of Grace. I loved my baby girl with all my heart. I used to dress her real pretty and comb and braid her hair."
Grandparents' Farm
When I was five and Mary Jane was six, we were still living with Daddy's parents in Mississippi. We knew that we had a baby sister, but we didn't remember her.
One hot summer day we were very excited because we heard that our baby sister was coming home. In the late afternoon, a car pulled up and a man got out and talked to Grandpa. He took a little suitcase from the car, and then a little girl. Daddy sent Grace back to Mississippi, saying, "I want all of my kids to be together." Mama didn't see her baby again until she returned to Mississippi.
Mary Jane and I were happy. And Grace was so pretty. I remember the reunion just like it was yesterday. I told Grace, "I am your brother and she is your sister." Grace stood there crying.
I remember trying to take her hand, but she didn't want any of us to touch her. She didn't know us, and we didn't know her, but that was okay. Mary Jane and I were still happy to have our baby sister back.
Peas in a Pod
Time went by. I remember being seven years old. The three of us were very happy, poor as we were. We were like three peas in a pod. If one cried, we all cried: if one got a whipping—we all cried.
Our grandparents did not have electricity or running water. We had coal oil lamps for light. We carried water from a spring about two hundred yards from the house. We walked down...
