At my age, I often find myself remembering the past, especially the stories of my childhood and the experiences that happened, forgotten, then now remembered. This memory come to mind, with laughter, tears, and love.
I had one of the best grandmother, ever , MaMaw Dick ( I know this is a crazy name, but that is another story).
MaMaw lived in Lillian, Texas, a small community of maybe, 300 people, a Baptist Church, Post office, a cotton gin, gas station and an elementary school, two rooms for grades first through eight. The only real excitement in the little town, was when a train past through once per day, and maybe a stranger filling his tank at the gas station.
I loved spending the night with my MaMaw. She would cook the best fried chicken, mashed potatoes, beans and cornbread, maybe ice cream but most the time it was a cobbler, peach, or apple for dessert. It smelled so delicious in the oven. After dessert we would watch Gunsmoke on a small black and white TV. MaMaw had a ritual every night preparing for bed and I would watch from her bed, as my eyes got heavy for sleep. She used some type of greasy cream to wash her face , no eye makeup, then a cream for her wrinkles, she said. A blond hairnet to hold her hair in place while she slept. Then the dentures came out. Yikes ! She placed them in a water glass, carefully, not to drop and break them. Then she dropped a tablet into the water, I thought it was an alka seltzer for years. I fell asleep.
I woke to the smell of breakfast cooking, buttermilk biscuits, gravy and bacon, yummy! My favorite! MaMaw would make hot tea and I would have it with cream and sugar. I would sip slowly, and sit quietly as I listen to my grandmother and her best friend, from down the road, Bess. They would start telling the stories that they shared, laughing so hard they would pee their pants. “Not so loud”, “Carla can hear”. They were right, I could hear.
“Can you believe how dirty, greasy he was.” Who? I thought, but then it became clear…
Old John Burke, lived by the railroad track, in a hut with tall reeds surrounding. A cistern, caught the rain for his water, a wood stove, a cot and a dirt floor. He scared me, not because he yelled at me, but because I was five years old, and he was bent and small and so filthy. I could only see his eyes. I like playing in the reeds by the railroad track. I would hide in them and my imagination would go wild, with thoughts of dragons and monsters. I would build roads and bridges through the reeds and pretend I was the conductor on that train that passed once a day. Suddenly, I heard Mr. Burke open his door and I dropped down flat on the dirt to hide from the old man, I did not want him to see me. If he did, he never said one word, just walked by.
He probably was a nice man, just down on his luck…
John Burke died, found in his hut. I don’t know who found him, but probably my MaMawDick, He lived only a short distance from MaMaw’s house, and her habit was to check on all the shut ins.
Bess and MaMaw were the women in the community that were called when someone, especially the persons who were alone, without families or money, died, like John Burke.
They needed a plan before going to the hut . Water and soap is needed, find some clean clothes, maybe one of the men in the neighborhood could give them a pair of pants, shirt, and jacket, shoes would not be necessary, no one would see his feet, but maybe socks would be a nice touch. So they headed to the hut, lying on his cot is Mr. Burke, dead and cold, he was stiff by the time they arrived. Bess and MaMaw, moved the cot out to work on each side of his corpse to be efficient and speed the process of bathing.
The trains that passed his hut were coal trains and Mr. Burke, a white man, was as black as the coal that puffed from the stack of the train. On each side, Bess and MaMaw worked in unison. Start with the face, warm cloth with soap placed on his face and left for a few minutes. Gentle strokes on his neck and face, then a shave. As they described the scene, I closed my eyes and imagine how difficult that had to be, washing his ears, eyelids, his wrinkled old face. The process had to be long and tedious, each arm and leg, front and back, feet and toes. I didn’t understand the conversation about washing his private parts, and at my age, I am so glad I did not understand.
But, sitting at the kitchen table, listening at the casual way they spoke about the body was reassuring somehow. It did not scare me at all. In fact I wish I had been there to see it happen. It seemed so natural and normal. Bess would laugh her loud laugh, describing how hard they had to scrub to clean his skinny arms. It was not being disrespectful, it was just surviving the hardships of all their lives, the lives they lived and survived.
A wooded coffin was provided by the funeral home. I do not know who paid for this, but someone did. Maybe there was a collection.. The Baptist Minister officiated the service, 6 men to carry the coffin including my father, Johnny Cronkrite, into the church and back to the hearse. No family came, and no one knew his family. He was always alone, but a small town of good people showed up to the little Baptist Church for the service to show their respect for the dead.
Everyone at one time or another has or had someone. Mr. Burke, during this time had no one, but close your eyes and imagine that his life was with a wife and children, he leaves for the war and returns not prepared for the the sadness he saw, or heard. Maybe he had PTSD, maybe he was mentally challenged, or maybe he was where he wanted to be, alone. Like a child , I can still pretend what someone’s life was or could have been. I just know, that someone cared for him when he died and it was MaMaw Dick and her friend Bess and a small Texas community. A community of Good People…
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