MY GRANDPAW

My Grandpaw, Joe Thomas Chapman, was born in 1892.  I do not have a memory of him being healthy.  My oldest memory is mom and dad picking him up at the bus station in Jemison, Alabama.  He had been to a hospital for some procedure or operation.  I don’t have anyone to ask about it because they are all gone.  But I think it was Memphis, Tennessee.  It was around 1955 before we moved to Illinois, The procedure was on his legs because I remember getting off the bus, legs bandaged, and using a cane.

After spending several years in Illinois, we moved back to Jemison.  It was there that Grandpaw sat on the front porch of the place he bought and farmed for years. 

He purchased the property from the Augustus Walker family sometime in the 19930’s.  The Walker family received the land as a grant from the United States government on April 1, 1876.  I have the original deed hanging in my library.  I just looked at it.  It was part of the Reconstruction following the War of Northern Aggression.  Black people, as were the Augustus Walker family, were given land grants.  President US Grant issued the grant through the land office in Montgomery, Alabama as part of the Congressional Act of May 20, 1862.  This was thirty years before Grandpaw was born.

My fondest memories are Grandpaw sitting in a rocker on the front porch.  His health was deteriorating due to all the hard work of trying to farm.  On that front porch, I heard tales of yesteryear.  He served in WWI and worked in the ammunition factory in Childersburg, Alabama during WWII.  He worked in a sawmill for one dollar a week.  It was there he developed a crooked right index finger.  The finger was offset and was weird when he pointed it at something.  There was scar between the middle and top joint.  He said the scar is where he cut the finger off, took pine rosin, glued the finger together, and wrapped it in an old rag and continued to work.

Sitting on the porch with him, he taught to take broken glass to scrape hickory sticks and smooth them to make rams for peashooters.  The polished rams worked well when shooting each other.  He taught us to shoot chinaberries in a slingshot.  He taught us a command of Southern vernacular although our parents prohibited us from using them.

One prime example is when my cousin, whom Grandpaw despised, done something to set Grandpaw off.  He used that vulgar Chiltonian vernacular in a way I will never forget.  He ran my cousin under a 1950 Plymouth by throwing rocks in between cussing and damnation.

This same cousin, younger than I, would bully me.  Dad warned that If I came home crying one more time from the bullying that he would give me something to cry.  Well, the next time my cousin bullied me; I took his right arm and put it in his mouth.  Thinking it my arm, he clamped down, drew blood from his arm, and went screaming to Grandmoe.  I never will forget the big laugh Grandpaw did nor the prime things he called my cousin.

When I was twelve, dad had me break a field to plant corn.  Using an International Cub tractor, I broke the ground, disced the ground, planted the corn, and cultivated it.  It was a beautiful field.  Grandpaw used mules his whole life.  He bragged on me and we had a bumper crop.

Using mules, Grandpaw cleared the land of trees, stumps, and rocks.  The WPA helped him develop terrace banks on the property to divert water to the woods.  Every time I build things with rocks I would say, “Grandpaw worked hard taking them out and I’m working hard putting back in.”

I own the 1950 Plymouth Special Deluxe that Grandpaw owned.  He got it from my uncle, a body repairman.  I have precious memories of the old Plymouth coming to our house.  Dad was on layoff and food and money were scarce.  Grandpaw would have sacks of groceries in the old Plymouth.  I was sick at school and Grandpaw and Momma came to get me.  I remember lying in the back seat and going home. 

When Grandpaw got very disabled, dad bought it from him for a work car.  Dad drove it until a rod started knocking in the motor.  Dad asked if I wanted a car.  Being 12 years old, I jumped at the possibility.  He said the old Plymouth is yours.  It was straight shift, three on a tree, and mama taught me how to drive.  I can honestly say that although prohibited from using Grandpaw’s vernacular, momma had learned it perfectly from her dad.  I know she used them when teaching me to drive.

I had the Plymouth restored and will pass it down from uncle, to Grandpaw, to dad, to me, and which child wants it.

Grandpaw worked hard and died poor. Two cousins and I are the only descendants to live on the property.  Looking over the land reminds of the hard work Grandpaw put into life.  A friend that I wrote about a couple of articles back told me that when he was a boy he saw the most extraordinary from Grandpaw.  JB was walking home from the old country school that was adjacent to Grandpaw’s field, the one I would plant corn years later.  Plowing the field with one of his mules, Grandpaw’s patience, if he had any, wore thin with the mule.  JB said the mule balked and sat down.  Grandpaw used that Chiltonian vernacular to no avail.  Since the verbal did not work, Grandpaw used his mouth differently.  He bit the mule on the nose!  JB said the mule lifted Grandpaw into the air several times until the mule stood up and slung Grandpaw off his nose.  Grandpaw had mule nose meat between his teeth.  It is a good thing that the mule did not retain the words of Grandpaw and talk, as did the Balaam’s ass

 

And when the ass saw he angel of the LORD, she fell down under Balaam: and Balaam’s anger was kindled, and he smote the ass with a staff.  And the Lord opened the mouth of the ass, and she said unto Balaam, What have I done unto thee that thou hast smitten me these three times? Numbers 22:26-28 KJV

 

Grandpaw Chapman became a Christian while on his deathbed.  I wonder if he met Balaam on the streets of gold.

 

PS: Family tradition- Grandpaw’s great, great, great granddaughter was playing with a dog that snapped at her.  Little Jessica grabbed the dog and bit its nose.