The Middle of the Forest

Before I begin this particular recollection of mid-20th Century East Texas, I must make a few qualifications.  I do not personally recall this particular incident.  I was, I have been told, approximately 6 months old.  That would make the time somewhere during the early months of 1944.  I know of the happenings through the recollections of my mother, and while under most circumstances, I would regard the accuracy of her memory with suspicion, this particular tale revolves around certain actions of my Uncle Feagin, and her memory of the events fits quite neatly with my own personal memories of the individual I first remember from the age of about three, when he came home from that war that was supposed to end all such entities but did not quite make it.

According to my mother, Uncle Feagin had come home on furlough, and was intent, naturally, on visiting his parents.  His first stop was at my parents home in Orange, where he had hoped to obtain transportation to Helmic by convincing my mom and dad that they, too, needed to visit my mother's parents.  There was a bit of a snafu, however, as my father, who was busy overseeing the building of several destroyer escorts for the Navy, had too much going on at the shipyard to leave, even for a few days.  My mother did not drive, and my father's recollection of the time and work it had taken to remove the dents from the old '41 Chevy that had been acquired during my uncle's last visit home, had him reluctant to, once again, put his prized auto into the hands of his somewhat, well, you'll get to know my uncle better as the tale progresses.

Feagin was undaunted.  There was no problem. They would simply make the journey by train.  My mother was not particularly eager.  Not only was I around 6 months old, my older brother, by a bit of reckoning, would have been about three and a half.  Somehow, she did not relish the idea of spending several hours on a train with me, my brother, and, perhaps most of all, with her brother.  Feagin, of course, was as charming as ever, and before long, she was convinced.

The train that regularly made the journey up the eastern edge of the state was known officially as the Waco, Beaumont, Trinity, and Sabine; more "affectionately," it was called the "wobble, bobble, turnover, and stop."  Somehow, that title did not bode an auspicious beginning, to my way of thinking, but, at the time, at 6 months, what did I know?

The trip apparently began quietly.  I slept for some time, and my brother, Bill, was occupied with his picture books.

It seems the trouble began when the conductor came along the aisle selling food and trinkets.  Feagin just had to have some.  My mother was not pleased.  Among the little goodies he purchased was a tiny plastic old-style telephone - the one with a tallish, slender stand that held an earpiece, if any of you should remember.  It was of red and clear plastic, the clear part exposing an inside filled with tiny, multi-colored sugar candies.  My three-and-a-half-year-old brother was ecstatic, and, of course, wanted the candies right away.  My mother, of course, said "No," quite emphatically, I've been told.  My brother responded vociferously for a moment, until mother gave him "the look."  I remember that look quite clearly from the time that I reached three and a half.  It even worked, momentarily, on Uncle Feagin.

But Uncle Feagin had been away from his big sister's influence for three years, and during that time, this Marine graduate of Quantico, this ninety-day wonder, had led troops onto every island in the Pacific that his family at home had read about in the papers.  Although, when he wrote home, it was primarily to explain to his sister what he had learned about washing sand out of his skivvies, or to send word to my brother, who had become enamored of his Uncle Tom's wartime experiences in Alaska, taking photos USO visitors like Martha O' Driscoll and Ingrid Bergman, that the next time he saw the Air Force Staff Sergeant, he was to to tell the Staff sergeant to "jump in yon lake."  The experiences that he preferred to keep to himself had given him a certain amount of courage when it came to dealing with his formidable older sister.  Not very long after my mother's strong negative response, she looked around to see that her dear brother had a handful of the forbidden candies hidden behind his back, where my brother could reach them, and said brother was surreptitiously munching them down.

  Mother never thought clearly when she was angry.  And she most definitely was angry.  She responded instinctively, and slapped her brother's hand, whereupon the tiny candies fell to the wooden floor and began rolling around, with my brother dropping down on his knees and grabbing and popping as many into his mouth as he could maneuver before our mother grabbed him up and stopped him.

It was about this time that my uncle became embarrassed by the attention they were garnering.  He chided my mother for not having more control over her children, and escaped to the smoking car for the rest of the trip.

As my mother sat fuming, a very nice lady who had been sitting across the aisle, observing, leaned over and apologetically inquired, "Excuse me, dear, but please tell me that man travelling with you is not  your children's father!"