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 “I
Remember Mama” in thousands of ways — but perhaps most
vividly as the fiery, determined little woman who did things
that couldn’t be done.
During
depression days dad came in with tears in his eyes. “The banks
will not open today,” he sobbed. “The only cash we have is
the change in the cash register. We are ruined!!”
Fire
snapped in mama’s eyes. “They can’t have my money,” she
said. Dad tried to tell her the signs were up and there was no
way to get into the bank; but mama threw a little black shawl
around her shoulders and headed for town. She came back after
awhile with $2,000 — the only capital we had to “start over”
— and if anyone ever knew how she did it they would not tell.
No, mama didn’t own a gun.
We
had a black cook who made wonderful pineapple pies — when she
was not eating the starch. But on an important day, when mama
expected big company, Sevella didn’t show. Inquiry revealed
she was in jail. So, mama called the jailer and told him to send
her up there to make those pies, and she would be sent right
back. (By now you have probably guessed that we lived in a small
southern town, and mama knew everyone, top to bottom.) But the
jailer said
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he couldn’t do that. Sevella had
“stabbed” a man and might face murder charges. Well — on
went that little black shawl, off went mama, and soon back came
Sevella. The pies were made, Sevella returned to jail, and we
didn’t see anything unusual about that.
Mama
had a “thing” about the court house. It was all right for
those who needed it, but she wouldn’t go about the place. I
don’t remember her even voting. Then one day a man brought a
summons. Judge wanted her to appear as character witness in a
trial.
“No,”
she said, “I’ve never been in the courts, and I’m not
about to start now.” The man was puzzled. The Judge had
ordered it, and “He’ll send the Sheriff to get you if you do
not appear.” Mama exploded, “They’ll have to carry me over
there, and I’d like to see George Newman do that.” I’m not
trying to justify this; I’m just telling it like it was. She
didn’t go!
Yes
I remember mama! She taught me to take on the world if I thought
I was right, and would keep at it. Her memory is like a little
black shawl, so handy to throw about my shoulders.
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