Tag: Personal Storytellers

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Except for three years between 1961 and 1964 I lived in a house in Hackett.  For the three years we lived in a house in North Little Rock because my dad got transferred.  He took a new job in 1964 with Dana Corporation, manufacturer of Perfect Circle piston rings, Spicer power transmission products, Victor gaskets, and other OEM and aftermarket automotive parts.  Since the regional office was in Fort Smith, moving back to Hackett made sense.

My mum and dad did not plan to stay in the metro Little Rock area when he was transferred there by McQuay-Norris, another automotive part manufacturer.  They were both hardcore racists and the black population in western Arkansas was a fraction of the population in central Arkansas.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Hackett had several churches, both in town and outside of town.  I can think of three in town, a Southern Baptist, and Assembly of God, and my little church, the Hackett Methodist Church.  I do not know when it was formed, but the old building had extremely high ceilings, frosted whitish windows, handsome hanging light fixtures, and a belfry.

There were four rooms:  the main sanctuary and three smaller rooms for children’s Sunday School, divided by age into preschool, grade school, and high school.  The adults used the main sanctuary for their Sunday School.

I can not remember exactly how many pews the old building held, but I would guess that it would seat around 200 people, hardly ever seen except for Christmas, Easter, and some weddings.  Normally around 40 or so people, including children would attend on any given Sunday.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

When I was in grade school in the second through forth or so grade Bobby Gene was one of the pupils.  Hackett was so small that there was only one class for each grade, so everyone of roughly the same age were in the same room.  Bobby Gene was in my class.  I am not using his last name on the distant chance that he might still be living, but even if here were I promise you that he would not read this.

Bobby Gene was what now would be called a special needs student, and I shall explain why later.  He was not a little “slow”, he was profoundly disabled.  He also had some physical problems, such as being very slight, and poor motor coordination.  These days he would be put into a special needs program and not in a regular class.  But we are talking about early 1906s Hackett, Arkansas.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

In summer in that part of Arkansas it got extremely hot from the early part of June through late September.  In the early 1960s air conditioning was quite rare, at least in my part of the of the state.  Thus, we slept with the windows open.  We lived in an old two story house and slept upstairs.

With no air conditioning, fans were the only alternative.  We had an attic fan in the house, which because they are large and slow moving, make little noise.  Because of this, it was easy to hear the nighttime sounds.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile or so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Here is how we washed clothes back when I was little.  We had a wringer washer, and it was not automatic at all.  Actually, it could be a fairly dangerous piece of equipment, especially for older women with pendulous breasts.  I mean that as no insult at all, but they were sort of “grabby”.

However, for folks who liked to line dry their clothes, they were the best.  I shall try to include some pictures here, so here we go!

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Ben Boggs was a nice guy, but had a lot of problems.  He lived in the rock house that Granddad built in the early 1950s whilst Granddad lived in the bus.  Ben had a very nice and understand wife, Johnnie, and two kids who are likely still living, so I will not say anything about them.  You know that I do not write about living folks from My Little Town without their express permission most of the time.

Ben was a World War II veteran, and had a leg shot off almost at the hip.  He did not have enough bone left for the technology at the time to offer him a prosthetic leg, so he used crutches, and those were made of aluminum when my memory began in 1962.  these memories are mostly from 1966 and later.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Yes, I know that this is sort of an odd title, but it occurs to me that I wrote about what she grew and how we preserved it, but not about how we ate it.

Perhaps this shall clear it up a bit.  We ate lots of fresh things from the garden, and for the most part, except for the turnips and the green beans, they were pretty good.  Notice that I never grow any of those in my garden, because just to grow things for historical reasons does not feed me.

Now we shall examine, in no particular order, how we ate what Ma grew.  I shall even include the green beans and turnips!

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Last time I told you what Ma grew, and this time how she (and the rest of us) preserve it.  There is a bit more to it, because of the peaches, and that shall involve a whole new era about My Little Town, when I started 8th grade.  Many of those folks are still living, and I shall say only nice things about them, because they are all nice folks.

Only recently have I had the excellent luck to get back in touch with more than two of them, and as soon as many of them realized that I am not quite dead yet, they are being very nice to me, as they were to me at my school.  But, this is about Ma’s preservation techniques.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Ma always raised a big garden when I was little.  Before Dad had the concrete driveway poured, it was south of the fence in the yard and was pretty big.  After the new driveway, she had to move it south of there, and it was still big.

Those of you that read this regular series know that I am from Hackett, Arkansas, just a mile of so from the Oklahoma border, and just about 10 miles south of the Arkansas River.  It was a redneck sort of place, and just zoom onto my previous posts to understand a bit about it.

Aunt Agnes was really my Great Aunt Agnes (my grandmum’s sister), born Agnes Roberts in the 1910s.  She was the baby, although Ma outlived all of her siblings.  Uncle Guy was a McBride, and a really nice fellow.  I never heard anyone say anything bad about Uncle Guy.

They lived a few miles south of Hackett near James Fork creek, the only all weather running water nearby.  They had a farm, and raised cattle and some truck.