Do any of you reading this recall the old episodes of The Andy Griffith Show? If so, you will remember one of the most endearing characters was Otis, the town wino who used to often stay on Andy's jail overnight as sort of a motel more than a punishment. One of the nice things about small towns is that even those with alcohol problems are often shown compassion by the local folks, and as a result despite their indulgences these people often become beloved members of the community. Although The Andy Griffith Show was fiction (although it was based in part on where Andy actually grew up in NC) there is a bit of truth to it in regard to the small town and how even the most mischievious of townfolk often are endearing. When I was growing up in the small town of Kirby, WV, we actually had a person similar to Otis who to this day still recalls fond memories, and I want to spend some time today talking a little about his story.
Kirby, WV, was by no means a Mayberry - in reality the place was poverty-stricken, and many people in town unfortunately did not live in the most ideal of settings as alcoholism, abuse, and other issues plagued many people there. But, one thing it did have in common with the fictional Mayberry was its own version of Otis. John Haines was quite the character - he drank like the fictional Otis, looked like a shorter version of Jed Clampett from The Beverly Hillbillies, and if you saw him walk it would remind you of a cross between Foster Brooks and Charlie Chaplin. However, despite appearances, John had a lot of complexity that many did not really see unless you got the chance to know him and talk to him. Fortunately, my mother got to be close with the old fellow, and she gained an appreciation about his life that many people did not realize. Although on the surface John appeared as a drunk who walked funny, he was in reality an astute observer of a lot of things.
We first came across John not long after Mom and I moved to Kirby in the summer of 1980. One of his chores was mowing the lawns in the trailer park the majority of the town lived in, and often John would mow more of the dirt road than he would the grass! One day, Mom felt a little sorry for him, and invited him in for some water to cool off from his mowing, which he did greatly need and appreciate. So, he would drop up for a visit on occasion, and once he found out that Mom could make a decent tomato sandwich (I hated them and didn't eat them, but they were a staple in the summer for others, and Mom would often make herself one for lunch), he would go into Nellie Cox's garden and steal a large tomato, bringing it to the house so Mom could make him a sandwich with a couple of slices of it. As he'd visit, he'd get to where he would talk about things - he didn't say a whole lot to many people, and for some weird reason he didn't trust kids at all (he was of that old school of "children should be seen and not heard," which at the time insulted me but as I grew older and see how kids act today sometimes, it would not be a bad idea for some of them!). Yet, although not overly fond of kids, he didn't hate them either - on one occasion, for instance, John hit the Frito-Lay vendor at Cox's Store up for a small bag of chips, which he gave to me. And, although he exhibited some behavior that made him appear in a constant state of intoxication, in all reality he really did not consume as much as many thought he did - actually, he was alotted a quart of beer a day by Nellie Cox (which, come to find out, he paid for anyway, but we'll get to that shortly), and there was actually another explanation for his behavior that didn't have anything to do with alcohol consumption. Now, I want to talk about that a little as I talk a bit about John's background.
John W. Haines was a native of Hampshire County, and I want to say he was born from somewhere near Slanesville in the east-central part of the county (Kirby was in the southeast corner, quite a distance away). Of course, in that county Haines is a pretty common name anyway, for along with the Hotts and Timbrooks, Haineses make up a significant portion of the residents of the county. He was born in February 1925, and was also a World War II vet, as he had served in the Pacific at that time. While in the military, he was seriously wounded and did have the iconic steel plate in his head. This did affect his motor skills significantly, and had more to do with his odd walk than the alcohol did actually. He was also prone to convulsions, which appeared similar to the grand mal seizures people with epilepsy experience on occasion. When one of those episodes would strike him, John would shake uncontrollably and could not stand up until the seizure passed. His own name for those spells was the "heebie-jeebies," and although he was definitely not epileptic, he did have them with more frequency as he got older. His honorable service and medical discharge actually earned him a comfortable pension for the remainder of his life, but due to his living humbly in a spartan-furnished trailer in Kirby, much of his wealth (and I say that factually - upon his passing, it was discovered that he had a substantial amount of assets which could have given him a more comfortable standard of living) was managed by local land baron Nellie Cox, who was also a distant relative of his. Due to some sensitive nature of the situation, I won't indulge some details of this arrangement, because this is not really the place for it, but suffice to say many people thought something didn't jive with this once it was disclosed that John was actually a man of means. For instance, although it was pretty much established as fact that John had these assets, he often had to beg for his daily quart of beer, and people felt sorry for the fact he had to live like he did, and many thought it was also unnecessary. John was not a bum, nor was he some freeloading riff-raff - he actually asked for very little in life, and largely minded his own business. Again, sometimes appearances can be deceiving, and John did often use the "dumb wino" act to learn a lot of things, and he had some pretty astute observations although many of the secrets he possessed went to the grave with him. I think too that was one reason why he often was not open to many people and had a genuine mistrust of kids and others - kids do tend to spit out things they shouldn't at times, and I think John knew that. Whatever the whole story - which we may never find out anyway - there was definitely more than met the eye when it came to John Haines.
When I was about 12 or 13, somehow one of the neighborhood people found out how to get an old TV John had operational at his place, and being we didn't own a TV set at the time, John gladly offered to let me watch his when I wanted to, as he had little use for it. So, for the first time in a matter of years, I was able to watch cartoons and Friday night sitcoms, which provided a little activity in a town where choices of entertainment were limited. In time, on weeknights several of us - including Mom, me, and one of John's oldest friends, a fidgety little fellow by the name of Guy Bowman - would spend the evening watching television at John's place. Those proved to be enjoyable diversions at the time, and it was actually fun to be able to do simple activities like watching a TV show when so much of that poverty-stricken town was often depressing.
Despite living pretty simply and having a relatively stress-free life, complications from a variety of health issues began to take their toll on John, as at times toward the end he would even not be seen for days. On one chilly February morning in 1983, someone decided to check on him because they hadn't seen him for a while. That year, I was finishing up the 6th grade and was on the verge of entering adolescence, and therefore I was still relatively young at the time. I also do not recall who went to John's house that day, but they found him - he had passed away not long before he was discovered, and the "official" reports said he suffered a fatal heart attack. He was at the time only 58 years old - or, he would have been, as he passed shortly before his 58th birthday. Nellie Cox took care of his funeral arrangements, and that was one of the first funerals I attended, and also one of three times I was a pallbearer. It was a true honor though to bear John's remains to their final resting-place, and it was also humbling - the weather that day was overcast but also a little warm for February in that neck of the woods. John was buried close to where he was born, in Slanesville at the Salem Church Cemetery. He was missed by many, as he was actually a very iconic figure in town and almost everyone who lived there had a fondness for him.
One interesting and amusing story also comes to mind about John. Sometime around the middle of 1982, this family of really dumb stereotypical hillbillies consisting of an elderly woman, Goldie, and her two middle-aged sons, Vernon and Boyd, moved into the small house just across the street from John's trailer. Goldie was a nosy busybody, suffered from bad illiteracy (she could not even write her own name!) and in general she was just a pain in the butt! On one occasion, John really had to go to the bathroom and he was booking it over to his trailer from the store. Anyone who has the classic "short hold and heavy load" knows that feeling well - you have to go, and you have to go now! But, of course, old nosy Goldie saw him, and had to ask where he was going - so, in explicit terms, he told her, as he was exasperated anyway! She never did that again! We all laughed about that one for years. Also, John loved country music, and often when he'd get a little tipsy he would sport this huge button someone gave him emblazoned with "I Like Girls!" on it, and then proceed to serenade anyone who would listen with his own unique rendition of Kenny Rogers' song "Lucille." Interesting enough, in my first year of college there was a classmate of ours who actually bore an uncanny resemblance to John by the name of Randy Vaughn, who we all endearingly called "RV" for short. RV was much younger (mid-20's then) but he walked the same, talked the same, and his story involved a similar injury - RV was involved in a car accident which gave him a condition similar to cerebral palsy (which many though John also had, interesting enough), but the only difference (and a scary one too!) was that RV drove a car! And Lord have mercy, that was an experience to be talked about at another time! Fortunately, John never had a car to drive, nor was he in need of one - he seldom left Kirby, and the most risky activity he engaged in was probably mowing the dirt roads in the park and occasionally zinging someone's window with a piece of slate gravel from the road! But, I wanted to briefly mention RV, because when I first met him (and he later became one of my closest friends in school) he made me think almost instantly of John Haines!
The legacy of John Haines could have a lot more detail to it, and unfortunately I don't have a picture anymore to share of him. At one time, Mom had three good photos; one was recent, and the other two were from his World War II days - one was when he enlisted, and the second was after he was injured and got out. That is really too bad, because a good picture of John would have enhanced the story better. Suffice to say though, John was actually a decent guy who although was at first appearances easy to write off as a stumbling drunk, in reality he was actually interesting and more complex under the surface than many knew. He carries a special place in my own story as well, because he is one of those people who does leave a lasting impression. And, despite his limitations, John had a quality of character that these days is rare - he was humble, exercised good judgment, and had wisdom about some things that often went unnoticed due to externals. He imparts a lesson that sometimes the greatest of riches can come in a plain wrapper, even one that's wrinkled and banged-up some. May we all learn to look beyond externals and learn to appreciate unique people like the John Haines' of the world.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Monday, November 18, 2013
Remembering the Cake Walk
Recently, on one of our Tucker County Facebook pages, an interesting discussion about the old cakewalks piqued my memory a little, because it is something I remember fondly. I want to just share some of that with you today.
The cakewalks in my hometown of Hendricks, WV, were tied into the Hick Fair that was a part of the town's tradition for decades. To explain what the Hick Fair was, it dates back to the times the lumber industry was more prominent in the area, and those who processed the lumber from the woods to the railyards were called "woodhicks," hence the name (a "woodhick" was distinct from a lumberjack in that the latter actually had the task of cutting down the trees, while the former processed the cut lumber for production) - many of these "woodhicks" would on their weekends off come into towns like Hendricks to have a good time and kick back a little after a long stretch of work in the railyards. According to Cleta Long's county history, the Hick Fair dated back to 1962 in Hendricks, when the first was held by the local Ruritans (Cleta Long, History of Tucker County {Parsons, WV: McClain Printing, 1996}p. 19). The grounds for the Hick Fair were located between the railroad and the Black Fork River area on the south-central area of town, just adjacent to where my great-grandmother's old place used to be on Charles Street - the Hick Fairgrounds were separated from our area by a thicket of brush bordering what was then Delmar Snyder's old property, just behind the old United Methodist church. Although the Hick Fair itself was held on Labor Day weekend, throughout the year many other events were held in the large pavillion on the grounds, including on Saturday nights the weekly cakewalks. Unfortunately, when the '85 Flood hit Hendricks, it pretty much destroyed the fairgrounds and the Hick Fair is now held nearby at what is called Camp Kidd Park. Any rate, although the Hick Fair and its history is tied into the local cakewalks, I wanted to mention the cakewalks specifically as I remember them.
Back when I was a kid, the weekly cakewalks were held on Saturdays in the evening at the Hick Fair pavilion in Hendricks, and they were usually MC'ed by a prominent local businessman by the name of Luther McCrum. My great-grandmother would usually designate Saturdays as a baking day anyway, and she would bake all the week's bread, etc., and along with that she would often bake a cake for the cakewalks. I remember that, because the house smelled so good on Saturdays with all that baking, and to this day it still makes my mouth water thinking about it. Any rate, Granny's way of unwinding from the day's activities was to participate - as many local ladies did - in the weekly cakewalks, which were fun. So, as a little youngster of 7, I would go with her to those on Saturdays because to be honest I had nothing better to do, and I also had an ambition to actually win one of those delicious cakes. Kids today don't really appreciate the fun in stuff like that as many of us used to, because nowadays it's hard to get many of these kids off their lazy butts and away from the Wii's, cellphones, and computers to actually do a constructive activity. It is another reason I feel blessed many times with being from the generation I am from.
I suppose now I should explain how the cakewalk works. Essentially, you have to get a ticket, which was usually purchased at the door. There were a set number of tickets sold to correspond with a set of numbered squares on the floor, and each number in the square corresponded to a number on the ticket. The sales from the tickets usually went to some local charity as a fundraising project. Any rate, from that point the concept of the game was similar to the childhood "musical chairs," in that as a record or band would play a tune, the participants walked around the squares until the music stopped and a random number was called by the MC. If someone's ticket corresponded to the number on the square, that person won the cake that the walk was for. Ah yes - almost forgot to explain that part! Each cake was put up as a prize for each round, and the person whose number was called won that particular cake. The cakes were usually baked that day by a lot of the local ladies who contributed them, and I remember the great variety of those delicious cakes on display - your mouth would water just looking at them! And, they were all shapes, sizes, and varieties - many were as plain as yellow cakes with chocolate icing, or they would be elaborate confections made with fresh-picked local berries or other different ingredients. Some less-motivated people would even contribute a cake they bought at the local A&P in Parsons from the bakery, but that was fine too - there was no clause saying the cake had to be baked at home, so contributing a "store-bought" cake from the A&P was acceptable as well. Besides, a cake won tasted just as good, whether one of the town ladies baked it from scratch or they got it from the bakery at the store; as kids especially, we didn't really care where it came from, as long as we got to win one.
I remember as a kid really having the ambition to win one of those cakes, and when I went with Granny to the cakewalks I was always praying my number would be called. When it didn't happen, I got ticked off at Luther McCrum (as if it were his fault - he just called as he drew the tickets from the basket) for not calling my number. But, eventually, if you go to enough of those cakewalks, you are bound to win at some point, and one day I finally did! I still remember it - nothing fancy, as it was just a yellow cake with chocolate icing, but I won one! The joy of a 7-year-old kid winning something is an experience that you have to actually be a 7-year-old kid to understand, but I can remember it to this day. As I was talking to some other Tucker County natives the other day about memories of the cakewalks, I found out there were similar memories. And, as I mentioned on the discussion, that day for me was truly and literally a sweet victory - in particular that good homemade chocolate icing! I don't even recall who actually made the cake I won, but I remember I didn't have any complaints about eating it! It is the little joys in life sometimes that are the most memorable, and that one truly was for me.
Since those days, I have attended one cakewalk since - back in 1990 at my step-grandmother's family reunion up at Camp Horseshoe, I was a 20-year-old college student at home on summer break and participated in the cakewalk they had there. I don't recall winning anything, but it was still fun to do. It would be nice if people went back to simple community activities like this, because the old and young both enjoy them. Unfortunately, in the crowded urban environments many of us now live it, that is practically an impossibility due to the fact often we don't even know who the people next door to us are, and in some cases that can be a good thing! The small towns in West Virginia where I grew up were not like that though - not only did you often know everyone in town, but more than likely you were probably related to many of them! I do miss that on occasion, especially when I realize in many aspects how society has depreciated itself in recent years. People are becoming more isolated due to many things, and the sense of community no longer has any relevance to many people like it once did. This new generation, the "Millenials," are a particularly scary group - while they diddle their I-Phones while clad in skinny jeans and hoodies at the local Starbucks, they miss out on so much. Many churches would do well to have more things like cakewalks and less crap like "Christian rock" concerts, because if they did that not only would it enrich the lives of their own members, but it could also be a witness to the community. God is not against having a little clean fun once in a while, and a cakewalk is about as clean as one can get. I know that for much of our society this is unrealistic nowadays, but for those of us who are like-minded, we could form our own communities to hold events like that. That is something many of us should consider. Community cohesiveness and a sense of good values may be the ticket that saves some facet of the nation we live in, and perhaps we need to think about fostering those more. Any rate, I am honored to share some good memories with you again, but that concludes today's thoughts until next time.
The cakewalks in my hometown of Hendricks, WV, were tied into the Hick Fair that was a part of the town's tradition for decades. To explain what the Hick Fair was, it dates back to the times the lumber industry was more prominent in the area, and those who processed the lumber from the woods to the railyards were called "woodhicks," hence the name (a "woodhick" was distinct from a lumberjack in that the latter actually had the task of cutting down the trees, while the former processed the cut lumber for production) - many of these "woodhicks" would on their weekends off come into towns like Hendricks to have a good time and kick back a little after a long stretch of work in the railyards. According to Cleta Long's county history, the Hick Fair dated back to 1962 in Hendricks, when the first was held by the local Ruritans (Cleta Long, History of Tucker County {Parsons, WV: McClain Printing, 1996}p. 19). The grounds for the Hick Fair were located between the railroad and the Black Fork River area on the south-central area of town, just adjacent to where my great-grandmother's old place used to be on Charles Street - the Hick Fairgrounds were separated from our area by a thicket of brush bordering what was then Delmar Snyder's old property, just behind the old United Methodist church. Although the Hick Fair itself was held on Labor Day weekend, throughout the year many other events were held in the large pavillion on the grounds, including on Saturday nights the weekly cakewalks. Unfortunately, when the '85 Flood hit Hendricks, it pretty much destroyed the fairgrounds and the Hick Fair is now held nearby at what is called Camp Kidd Park. Any rate, although the Hick Fair and its history is tied into the local cakewalks, I wanted to mention the cakewalks specifically as I remember them.
Back when I was a kid, the weekly cakewalks were held on Saturdays in the evening at the Hick Fair pavilion in Hendricks, and they were usually MC'ed by a prominent local businessman by the name of Luther McCrum. My great-grandmother would usually designate Saturdays as a baking day anyway, and she would bake all the week's bread, etc., and along with that she would often bake a cake for the cakewalks. I remember that, because the house smelled so good on Saturdays with all that baking, and to this day it still makes my mouth water thinking about it. Any rate, Granny's way of unwinding from the day's activities was to participate - as many local ladies did - in the weekly cakewalks, which were fun. So, as a little youngster of 7, I would go with her to those on Saturdays because to be honest I had nothing better to do, and I also had an ambition to actually win one of those delicious cakes. Kids today don't really appreciate the fun in stuff like that as many of us used to, because nowadays it's hard to get many of these kids off their lazy butts and away from the Wii's, cellphones, and computers to actually do a constructive activity. It is another reason I feel blessed many times with being from the generation I am from.
I suppose now I should explain how the cakewalk works. Essentially, you have to get a ticket, which was usually purchased at the door. There were a set number of tickets sold to correspond with a set of numbered squares on the floor, and each number in the square corresponded to a number on the ticket. The sales from the tickets usually went to some local charity as a fundraising project. Any rate, from that point the concept of the game was similar to the childhood "musical chairs," in that as a record or band would play a tune, the participants walked around the squares until the music stopped and a random number was called by the MC. If someone's ticket corresponded to the number on the square, that person won the cake that the walk was for. Ah yes - almost forgot to explain that part! Each cake was put up as a prize for each round, and the person whose number was called won that particular cake. The cakes were usually baked that day by a lot of the local ladies who contributed them, and I remember the great variety of those delicious cakes on display - your mouth would water just looking at them! And, they were all shapes, sizes, and varieties - many were as plain as yellow cakes with chocolate icing, or they would be elaborate confections made with fresh-picked local berries or other different ingredients. Some less-motivated people would even contribute a cake they bought at the local A&P in Parsons from the bakery, but that was fine too - there was no clause saying the cake had to be baked at home, so contributing a "store-bought" cake from the A&P was acceptable as well. Besides, a cake won tasted just as good, whether one of the town ladies baked it from scratch or they got it from the bakery at the store; as kids especially, we didn't really care where it came from, as long as we got to win one.
I remember as a kid really having the ambition to win one of those cakes, and when I went with Granny to the cakewalks I was always praying my number would be called. When it didn't happen, I got ticked off at Luther McCrum (as if it were his fault - he just called as he drew the tickets from the basket) for not calling my number. But, eventually, if you go to enough of those cakewalks, you are bound to win at some point, and one day I finally did! I still remember it - nothing fancy, as it was just a yellow cake with chocolate icing, but I won one! The joy of a 7-year-old kid winning something is an experience that you have to actually be a 7-year-old kid to understand, but I can remember it to this day. As I was talking to some other Tucker County natives the other day about memories of the cakewalks, I found out there were similar memories. And, as I mentioned on the discussion, that day for me was truly and literally a sweet victory - in particular that good homemade chocolate icing! I don't even recall who actually made the cake I won, but I remember I didn't have any complaints about eating it! It is the little joys in life sometimes that are the most memorable, and that one truly was for me.
Since those days, I have attended one cakewalk since - back in 1990 at my step-grandmother's family reunion up at Camp Horseshoe, I was a 20-year-old college student at home on summer break and participated in the cakewalk they had there. I don't recall winning anything, but it was still fun to do. It would be nice if people went back to simple community activities like this, because the old and young both enjoy them. Unfortunately, in the crowded urban environments many of us now live it, that is practically an impossibility due to the fact often we don't even know who the people next door to us are, and in some cases that can be a good thing! The small towns in West Virginia where I grew up were not like that though - not only did you often know everyone in town, but more than likely you were probably related to many of them! I do miss that on occasion, especially when I realize in many aspects how society has depreciated itself in recent years. People are becoming more isolated due to many things, and the sense of community no longer has any relevance to many people like it once did. This new generation, the "Millenials," are a particularly scary group - while they diddle their I-Phones while clad in skinny jeans and hoodies at the local Starbucks, they miss out on so much. Many churches would do well to have more things like cakewalks and less crap like "Christian rock" concerts, because if they did that not only would it enrich the lives of their own members, but it could also be a witness to the community. God is not against having a little clean fun once in a while, and a cakewalk is about as clean as one can get. I know that for much of our society this is unrealistic nowadays, but for those of us who are like-minded, we could form our own communities to hold events like that. That is something many of us should consider. Community cohesiveness and a sense of good values may be the ticket that saves some facet of the nation we live in, and perhaps we need to think about fostering those more. Any rate, I am honored to share some good memories with you again, but that concludes today's thoughts until next time.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The Little Babushka
Olga Kovalenko (1920-2005)
In organizing a lot of my memorabilia, I am able to recall a lot of folks over the years I have been blessed with knowing. I have met these people in churches, at work, and in other areas throughout my life, and they are the type of people who essentially leave an impression on you once you get to know them. I try to document the stories of as many of them as possible over the years, as often one can lose touch if you don't recharge the memory cells a little. One of those was a precious little old lady we met some years ago when we attended briefly an Antiochian Orthodox parish in St. Petersburg, FL, and I now want to share a few thoughts about her here with you all.
Olga Kovalenko was a short, stocky little lady who struck me as being the picture of the classic Russian babushka - all she needed was a black shawl and she would have fit the picture well honestly. She was of Belarusyn descent, and at the time we knew her she was around 84 years old. But, she was a sweet little lady who constantly had a cheerful disposition, and she was one of those people you couldn't help but love. A devoutly Russian Orthodox Christian, she attended church faithfully, and the devotion she had for Christ resonated from her countenance. Although the parish she (and we) went to at the time was largely made up of roughly 50% each of Arabic-speaking Middle Eastern people and American converts to Orthodoxy, Olga still felt right at home and the people loved her in that parish.
Olga was born in New Jersey, a fact I had just learned from her obituary after she passed away in May 2005. For some reason, I had thought she was born in Minsk or something, as she would often talk to us at coffee hour after Liturgy and tell us stories about her roots, but it turned out that she was talking about her mother more than anything - her mother was born somewhere in the eastern stretch of the Carpathian Mountains, close to where Belarus, the Ukraine, Poland, and Hungary all sort of converged. As a result, Olga was taught from an early age how to speak several languages, and she knew Polish, Ukrainian, and Russian. While at coffee hour enjoying her donut or baqlawa with a cup of black tea, Olga was a delight to listen to. Many younger people today don't know the true value of just listening to the elder generations, in particular someone as fascinating as this little lady was. I feel as if many young people today are sort of deprived of principle as a result - a shallowness grips the present generation and spreads among it like a cancer (which is why they have no taste by and large, or an idiot like Justin Bieber would not be famous if they did!). Over the years, I have gotten to appreciate hearing the memories of the elders as they talk, and I hope I talk some kids' ears off when I get to be that age too! Any rate, I got to where I looked forward to coffee hour and listening to Olga talk about her life, and what a blessed life it was too.
A short time after we left that particular parish, Olga departed this life to receive her eternal reward. She passed away on May 23, 2005, at the Bayfront Medical Center at the age of 85. I know that many at St. Nicholas Antiochian Orthodox Church missed her too, as she was a much-loved member of that congregation, but as I often say, our loss was heaven's gain.
I have gotten to know many interesting people over the years, but Olga was a special sort - a sweet lady, and also possessed of a great joy of life that she lived to its fullest over her 85 years on this earth. If Olga were alive today, she would have been 98 this past February 24th. Остальная часть вечной, dear Olga, and we'll see you in the hereafter.
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