Another Mid 50s
From my earliest memories, I see the two room, plank sided, unpainted house where my Granny & Papa Phelps lived. It was set up on haydite blocks and was a perfect place for my cousins and I to go underneath, get out of the heat and harass doodle bugs. It set on the corner of South 9th at Ave H in Haskell, TX. Two unpaved roads…dirt roads. To the west was a cotton field. In the fall it was a great battleground for dirt clod fights. You could crawl between the rows and pop up to throw a golf ball sized red dirt projectile that would (in your imagination) explode on impact. You also could be hit by a red grenade tossed by a member of the “enemy”.
On special occasions…holidays, Papa’s birthday, reunions…there was food everywhere, often outside on tables with tablecloths. Pies and deserts on one end constantly guarded by aunts, older female cousins and other ladies who’s job it was to shoo flies and make you eat the casserole first…then desert. Each day would always include the photos. It was much more of an event than it is today. The groupings would be discussed, arranged and rearranged to make sure to include everyone…but always at the west end of Granny’s house. This plain, blank, windowless wall was the backdrop for all photos. I do not have any photos of any other parts of that house.
Until the early 60s the little house had electricity but no plumbing. That meant bathroom access was at the end of about a 50 foot path. Unless you have had that inconvenience be a real thing you cannot understand the dread you feel when you realize “you gotta go”. I will admit that if it was dark I peed just outside the back door. The red dirt soaked it up quickly and if you kicked a little over the spot no one would ever know. The outhouse…the baths in the galvanized tub…the “ice box”…the water well…seemed perfectly normal to me as I would go back and forth between Granny’s house and our house with all the modern conveniences. Only now as I look back do I see that it was the end of one way of life and the beginning of another.
To the east, two houses down, was my Uncle Dud & Aunt Shorty’s house…another anchor in my memory. Those who know me know that these two were next to my own Mom and Dad in importance and influence in my life. Uncle Dud, my Mom’s closest brother and his wife Lona Mae…Aunt Shorty. He was a quiet, steady, kind man. Even then I knew that was the pattern to follow and the times in my life I am most proud of came from his example. She was a “force” of nature…in love with her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ…and the energy behind her family and her church. She believed in me when I did not like myself and she would never talk to me without telling me she loved me. I miss her so. Her name came from her dad (Daddy Jack) calling her “Shorty”…it stuck…and since she was my aunt…Aunt Shorty.
My cousin Elaine … the only child of that household and one year older than me was the poster child for growing up in the 50s in small town Texas. Princess phone, hoop skirts and movies on Saturday afternoon. Those days deserve a story of their own.