Double Names

 I have found myself highly perplexed the last year or two over something I had never considered as even being a problem before.  The issue: double names. That is, people who have double names and the burden that they carry around because of it.

Silly, you say. Well, I would have agreed with you before I ran into a double named lady up in Vinings one Saturday. It was then that I realized that some people have been branded for life with  a double or hyphenated name and that this labels them a certain way. At least it did in the mind of the lady I am referring to. And, this can cause a lot of explaining to be necessary when introducing one’s self to someone else. Nonsense, you say.

Well, when I met this lady I asked her what her name was and she hesitated. “You may laugh when I tell you my name,” she said. “I have double name. I am from South Georgia.”

That response, in itself, required more conversation as I needed to know what she called “South Georgia”.  Having grown up in and around Macon, Central Georgia, I knew that people are not always precise in referring to North Georgia and South Georgia. When she said Hazlehurst and added, “you probably never heard of it,” I knew she was, indeed, from South Georgia.  Anywhere below the gnat line qualifies in my book.

I replied to her that double names were not new to me, at all. I grew up in Georgia and had friends and relatives and acquaintances with double names and I had never given it a second thought.Until now, that is. My granddaughter, Mary Claire, has no idea of the problems she faces.

Mary Lou, Lilly Belle, Mattie Clyde,Georgia Belle, Norma Jo, Lida Jo, Mary Anne, Minnie Lee, Mary Margaret, MaryCatherine, Betty June, Ida Mae, Betty Jo, Emma Lou, Billie Jean, and Betty Lynnare just a few of the names that I grew up around. No doubt I am forgetting at least that many more. So, I never saw double names as unusual or problematic.At least, not until I met the double name lady down in Vinings, who, by all accounts seemed otherwise very normal and certainly a very nice person.

I can see some problems. Take Marianne. Now that sounds like a double name but is actually only one. So,Marianne’s everywhere are probably having to say, “My name is Marianne and that is one word. Not Mary Ann.”  The same with Imogene. Not Emma Jean. Then there is the situation with hyphens. “My name is Marla-Deen, with a hyphen.” More stress to deal with.

So, why am I bringing this up now? Good question.

I had about put this drama behind me until I picked up a June/July issue of Garden & Gun magazine. A one named writer, who has never had to deal with the double name stuff, named Julia Reed has an article called The Name Game. There she goes into Southern names and dares to use the word proclivity in discussing double names. Now, that is a brazen approach!

Imagine you are in New York and trying to impress the haughty tautey folks as to your sophisticated nature and back ground. Maybe trying to make them think you are from Atlanta or the Buckhead area and not Cordele. Then they ask your name and you say Mary Lou and they go “Aha! We knew it! You are from South Georgia!”

All this stuff came rushing back a to me and I will now lie awake nights worrying about my granddaughter having to go through life with a double name. And, one that sounds a lot like a magazine.And worrying about all the other Southern women afflicted in this manner.Although Betty June was born in Pennsylvania. One of my grandsons is named John Patrick and his mother thought he would be called that double name although I warned her that he would likely be “J.P.” That will never happen, she thought. But, J.P. it is.

But, you could be a boy named Sue.Or, Heaven forbid, Jerome. How about Bubba, Buddy-Ro, or Cuz. All of  those are not a double names or a hyphenated one but fraught with possible problems.

But my grandfather used to say, “In the end, all you have is your good name.” He could have added, “even if it is a double name.”

© 2018 JC

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ATV : A Tiger by The Tail

It seems every body has an ATV now. It wasn’t always that way.
We were sitting around one day talking about hunting and how nice it would be if we had a vehicle to use in the woods. There weren’t too many choices for an ATV back in those days like there are now. Why, you can buy an ATV on about every street corner today. In 1969, that wasn’t the case. In 1969 we did a lot of hunting together and after over 40 years, they are still at it. Me, not so much, anymore. I gravitated more to the fishing thing. Continue reading Tiger By The Tail →

Bent Nails

A while back my neighbor, who is near my age, stopped me on my walk. He was outside looking over some work being done on his house and had something in his hand. He had several bent nails that he had picked up off the ground.

He came over and held out his hand to show me what he was holding and asked if I knew what I was supposed to do with the items. I told him I did and he was surprised. Continue reading Bent Nails →

Baseball

My father liked baseball. He liked playing baseball and watching baseball. I have pictures of him and his cousin playing ball as young men and I also have pictures of him playing while in the Army in Germany and France. Baseball was one of the things that he and I did together when I was a kid. We would play “pitch” in the yard.

Little League baseball was basically unheard of when I was a kid but the elementary schools had a league in the county in which I lived. Most of the schools in the county had their own baseball fields and the ones in the city had use of several municipal fields for games.

I played baseball for two or three years in the Redding elementary school program. Our best pitcher was probably Buck Haygood, who only recently passed away, or Doyle Smith. Doyle may have been a tad over the age limit but I suppose that was never questioned. Virgil Duncan was one of our best hitters. Edward Carswell was our catcher and I believe Toby Bullington may have played first base.

I don’t believe my father ever saw me play. He was always at work in Warner Robins when the games were played after school and I don’t think he had any interest in seeing a game. I doubt that it ever occurred to him to take off early to come to a game. Taking off was a little harder then.

After my dad came home from the Army, he played ball on a couple of the local semi pro type teams. He played for Heath Ice Company and for the Hamlin Lumberjacks. I can find no records or photos of either team. I imagine that someone has pictures of some of the games and I would like to see some.

My dad was a pretty good pitcher and also played outfield. He played with people like Nat Hamlin, Ray Green, Fred Green, and others from the area.

He liked to attend the Macon Peaches games occasionally at Luther Williams Field in Macon. This was a Cincinnati Reds farm team and some soon to be famous people played in Macon. Once in a while he would take me to those games at Luther Williams Field.

We watched the pro games on TV. There was the Game of The Week on Saturdays and one of the announcers was Jerome Herman “Dizzy” Dean, after whom I was named. He played a number of years for the St. Louis Cardinals and was one of the last pitchers that they allowed to pitch so many games and he was also one of only a handful of major league pitchers to win 30 games in a season. There were 13 when this was written.

Jack Chesbro, Ed Walsh, Christy Mathewson, Walter Johnson, Joe McGinnity, Smoky Joe Wood, Pete Alexander, Cy Young, Jim Bagby, Jack Coombs, Lefty Grove, Denny McLain and Dizzy Dean are the 13 MLB pitchers who have won 30 games in a season as of 2014

His real name had been Jay Hanna Dean but he changed it somewhere along the way. There is some indication that he may have used several names in his lifetime. Why? I don’t know.

I listened to Dizzy Dean and Pee Wee Reese call the ball games on TV for years as a kid. He murdered the English language with such phrases as “he slud into second”.

When my dad got home from the Army, before he and my mother bought a house, we stayed at my grandfather’s house. On Sunday afternoons a big flatbed truck would come by and blow the horn and it would be loaded with guys going to play ball somewhere. I do not know how they communicated since few, if any, in the rural areas had a phone. No one had a phone on the road my grandparents lived on at that time. Nevertheless, the truck would show up and my dad would climb on and occasionally his brothers would be on there as well. They would play in places like Reynolds, Roberta, and Butler.

In Roberta, they played on a ball field that is about where the Roberta Evangelistic Church on Lowe Rd. is now. The Lowe’s had a service station on the corner and the new schools are on that road now. I cannot find any sign of that old field now as it has disappeared. Or so it seems. On this particular afternoon, this is where they were playing when they left the house. I can’t be sure of the exact date and more recently I’ve come to believe it was in 1946 or even 1947.

There was no organized league, as far as I know. These were more like “pick up” games and they did have umpires and tried to play by the basic rules.

The details of this game are pretty sketchy and I don’t know if there is anyone still alive who saw it first-hand. Probably best they are not with me putting this in print. But, sometime, late in the afternoon, we were all on the back porch at my grandfather’s house. My dad had gotten on the truck earlier and they headed to Roberta. The back porch was a place where a lot of work went on. Shelling peas and butterbeans, canning vegetables, and making homemade ice cream in the hand cranked churn.

We heard the truck stop and in a minute, my dad walked around the corner of the house and I will never forget the sight! He had on what was supposed to be a white “T” shirt, only it wasn’t white anymore. It was blood soaked and my dad looked like he had been in some wreck or other major accident! Everyone was swarming around and wanting to know what happened. My dad kept saying not to get excited, everything was fine and he was not seriously hurt. My grandfather was very upset.

My dad went on to explain that there had been a brawl at the ball field. The Roberta team and the county team had gotten in an argument over a call, we think, and it escalated into a fight and a number of players were involved. It gets a little fuzzy after that but we know there were some Thaxton’s, Moulton’s and others involved as well as my dad, his brothers, and other players who were on the truck.

One of the Roberta guys, Willie B. Moulton, picked up a hoe and hit my dad in the head a couple of times. My dad was down on the ground duking it out with one of the Thaxton’s. This had caused a lot of blood from the scalp wounds to cover my dad. Somehow, things had gotten somewhat under control and my dad and his team mates loaded up on the truck and got the heck out of there.

Now, here he was at home all bloody and beaten up. He kept saying not to worry about it. Everything was all right. I don’t believe anyone ever declared victory, by the way.

In a few minutes, my dad’s dad arrived in his car with one or two of my dad’s brothers who had been at the game. They were mad, had their shotguns and were looking for justice! They were going to go to Roberta and see the sheriff. If the sheriff wouldn’t do anything, then they would take matters in their own hands! Off they went. Both of my grandfathers, my dad and his brothers. All the while, my dad was saying that “everything was all right.”

They found Sheriff O’Neal and told him that something had to be done! Those “city” players needed to be arrested! The Sheriff was already aware of the situation because some of the Roberta team “city players” had already been to see him. They, too, wanted the Sheriff to take action and arrest the “county” players. It seems that they had some bloody players, too.

The story I heard was that when my dad got up from battling Mr. Thaxton ( not certain today which one he was duking it out with or who won) on the ground and having been hit in the head with the hoe by Willie B., he had grabbed a baseball bat and hit Willie B. in the mouth with it. (The very thought makes my skin crawl). Mr. Moulton had lost several teeth as a result.

Sheriff O’Neal suggested that it would be best if everyone called this a draw and clean up their wounds and move on. So, that’s what they did. There would be no more bloodshed that day. The ballgame was over! Take the shotguns and go home. Something like that today would result in about 20 lawsuits.

Mr. Moulton ran a grocery store on the courthouse square that served the pulp wood trade and others around that area. He also worked for the county. They sold a lot of potted meat, Vienna sausage, and sardines. It’s hard to describe to the younger crowd how many “pulpwood trucks” there were going to Macon every day from Crawford County.

In later years, Mr. Moulton and my dad became good friends and would sit on Willie B’s front porch and talk about the “good old days”. They both had some physical scars from that battle till the day they died. But they had put aside any ill feelings long ago. After all, it was just a game! Not to be taken too seriously, even if your head was bleeding from being chopped with a hoe. Or your lips were smashed with a baseball bat. Forgive and forget. Forgive, maybe, forget, well I doubt that.

I don‘t know what ever became of all those teams but maybe some of you have something in your archives. TV, probably, put ‘em out of business. Pictures of the brawl would be interesting to get to the real facts. I think the statute of limitations may be out since 1946 or so. I certainly hope so.

My wife’s father was related to a lot, if not all, of the Thaxton’s. No one apparently carried any grudges! I was never threatened with a hoe or baseball bat. But, I don’t think they had anymore ballgames, either! Some things just don’t need to be repeated. Even stories about the game, perhaps.

©10/16/2015

©10/16/2015

Aw, Shucks
(And other great expressions)

Aw, Shucks is just one old expression I heard all my life. Growing up in the South, I learned a number of Southern Colloquialisms. I feel sure that if I had lived in Minnesota or New York, I would have possibly heard the same ones or some very similar. Words, phrases and expressions that were, and are, used to express the point we are trying to make in no uncertain terms but which are never fully explained. The “meaning” of the words has more to do with the manner and tone in which they are expressed and the circumstances under which they are used. Continue reading Aw Shucks →

 

The Last Time

“There is a last time for everything” is not a saying we have heard said a lot. Those corny sayings that we heard as a child sometimes had little meaning or relevance at the moment we heard them. I remember hearing them from my grandparents from time to time and smile at the wisdom they were trying to impart in a simple saying or quote. They would probably be surprised that I remember the quote or that I even remember them or the lasting impact they had on my life. My mother’s mother had a little saying that she would utter from time to time and I have never heard it the way she said it any where else: “Nothing beats a can’t like a try.” Continue reading Last Time →