Excerpt
Courage Under the Big Tent
The smell of homemade buttermilk biscuits, sizzling fatback and hog jowl browning in the old square iron skillet spread through the house earlier than usual that morning. Those smells were better than any alarm clock. "Need more wood?" Amon yawned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and scratching his head. "Shhhh!” Mama hissed. The worry lines in her brow deepened. “Get your shoes and britches on." "Butter me the big one, Mama." Amon claimed the left over dough that formed a whole pone in a pan of its own. Rubbing the dough from her hands into a brown Kroger bag, Mama whispered back, “Applebutter, too?”
The cool early morning breeze carried the familiar drone of the old truck through the window. Uncle Tony would be here soon. Always sporting his big white ten-gallon hat, he looked as though he had stepped out of a scene from Gunsmoke. A tall, good-looking man with a wart in the fold of his cheek like Lincoln, Uncle Tony would twitch his lip to make his handle bar mustache quiver so the kids would laugh. Although he looked the picture of health, he harbored an underlying heart condition that prevented him from continuing his public job clearing trees from the mountains.
Uncle Tony's old truck, always full of kids from the mountain, was known for fun-filled days of hunting and fishing trips to Gunton's Park, hay rides, or just rides through the mountains looking for berry patches or chinquapins in nearby Wythe and Bland Counties. The berries and nuts would often be sold at the Jot ‘m' Down store in town. These trips were the only vacations any of us knew.
We didn't realize just how poor we really were. Had it not been for the love and strong will of Mama and Daddy, I could very well have spent the rest of my life in an institution. Mama's visits were limited, so I would forget who she was. Every woman who entered my hospital room was “Mama” as far as I knew. Each time I came home from the many hospitalizations, and was safe in Mama's arms, I held on tighter and tighter. I depended on her for my every need. I couldn't move about unless she carried me until I learned to scoot across the floor.
Mama was desperate. She tried everything anyone suggested that was in her power to help me. Her last hope for my healing was to take me to see Oral Roberts, the faith healer, who was going to be in Raleigh, North Carolina. Uncle Tony volunteered to take us. “Us” meant all my family and as many neighborhood kids and cousins he could fit into the bed of the truck which had tall wooden sides and a canopy over top in case it rained. Sissie stayed home to take care of our younger brother Jerry, who was only two at the time.
Mama's usual kiss, pressed hard against the corner of my eye, woke me. In a soft voice she whispered, “Time to wake up, Dawny.” Holding me over the slop jar, she sighed sadly, “We're going on a long trip today.” My eyes searched hers for the reason for her sadness, but Mama's eyes never met mine.
Everyone dressed in their ‘Sunday go to meetn' clothes. I wore a starched and neatly pressed pinafore Mama had made from chop sacks- large cotton bags that held the feed mixture for the hogs she raised. Chop sacks, usually patterned with pretty floral prints, were a bonus for people who raised hogs. The sacks were used to make children's clothing when store bought clothes were out of the question. Mama carried me in her arms to the truck. I doubt she slept the night before or the many nights before that. In those days, a trip to Raleigh was considered a long drive. But, for Mama, it was the only hope she had for her baby to walk again.
Mama and Aunt Frank (Francis, Uncle Tony's wife), packed egg biscuits--scratch-made biscuits made from the buttermilk Granny had churned fresh the day before. Some were filled with country ham from our smokehouse and some from Granny's fresh country butter and Mama's homemade blackberry jam. We took a thermos of coffee and jugs of water and off we went before the sun came up.
We traveled the back roads. Uncle Tony's truck could only go but so fast and the main highway was out of the question for fear the truck would blow something if we didn't stop every hour or so to let the water in the radiator cool down. With no radio to get my attention off the misery of sitting still and the never ending ache in the paralyzed muscles in my lower body, Mama, Uncle Tony and Aunt Frank would break out into song, “I'll fly away. Oh glory, I'll fly away. When I die, hallelujah bye and bye, I'll fly away.” They didn't remember the verses, so they repeated the chorus over and over.
This trip turned out to be the longest any of us had taken. Everyone was excited especially the kids about this new adventure and with hopes that I'd come home walking. Anxious to see what was ahead of us, the kids hung over or peeked through the worn wooden slats salvaged from the old collapsed barn at our Granny Guynn's house. Every now and then, Uncle Tony would spot them in the broken glass of his rear view mirror and would spit his tobacco juice into the wind to keep them inside.
A hard rain rolled up and Uncle Tony stopped to cover the kids in the back of the truck with a canvas cover. The kids didn't care how wet they got. It just added to the fun. We'd stop often for Uncle Tony to take a “walk in the woods” and for Aunt Frank and Mama to have some privacy along the road behind the door of the truck.
I can still hear Uncle Tony calling, “Come on young-ins, step it up, and stop that hoopin' and a hollerin'.... We're a runnin' out of daylight.” The kids came running toward the back of the truck and young cousin Jack appeared out of the woods carrying the remainder of an old Sears catalog.
I rode up front with Mama and Aunt Frank who took turns holding my fragile body. I didn't want anyone holding me except for Mama because I feared I would be taken away in an ambulance. From the onset of the paralysis, I would feel different, not like other kids. The kids in back would appear behind me through the smudged window of the truck and stick out their tongues to make me feel a part of all the fun they were having in the back of the truck. Jack would appear with thumbs in his ears and make faces with his eyes crossed. Amon would look through the glass and smile. He loved teasing me every chance he had and knew that Mama would “tear him up a new ground” if he did anything to hurt me.
When the rain stopped, Uncle Tony took the canvas down. Then we continued down the road with dust flying over the top and the windows cranked down to let the wind cut through the stale hot air inside.
Early that evening, we finally found the big tent. Signs plastered all over Raleigh advertised the revival. Hundreds and hundreds of people were there--more people in one place than any of us had seen in our entire lives. The smell of hotdogs tempted us, but we still had biscuits in the truck for later. We couldn't afford “store bought” food. However, the prospect of earning an RC Cola and a Moonpie if we behaved kept us from begging our parents.
Excitement mounted when the first thing that Amon and Jack spotted were pop bottles strewn everywhere! At home, this was a real “find.” We could get two cents credit for each bottle. In Raleigh, we had found a gold mine, and everyone else seemed oblivious to it. High spirits filled the air. Parents searched frantically for lost children; the faithful yearned for much-anticipated answers to their prayers; and people headed for restrooms--a welcome sight to us. Using a modern toilet was a treat since all of us only had outside “johnny houses.” Momentarily distracted from the purpose of the visit, the kids gathered those bottles from all over the grounds and loaded them into a basket which Uncle Tony always carried in case anyone gave him something he'd have something to carry it in. Time for the revival to start! We all hurried inside the big tent.
Oral Roberts preached a sermon not unlike some we'd heard at our holiness church back home. People shouted and spoke in tongues not unlike we'd been accustomed to. As the organist played “It Is No Secret What God Can Do, What He's Done for Others, He'll Do for You,” shouts of Amen and Hallelujah punctuated the hymn. Mama, Uncle Tony and Aunt Frank found an empty row of seats near the back. Seats were given to all the kids who knew to sit still and pay attention.
Mama sat holding me in her weary arms. My bout with polio was taking its toll on her. Thin and frail, she was a humble, shy person who chose to sit on the pews at the back of the church where she wouldn't be noticed. She knew she wasn't pretty and she kept her hand covered, ashamed to show the scars and the missing middle fingers. The only girl with four brothers and the loss of her father, she grew up working like a man in a family that survived through the Great Depression. Here she was about to go upon a stage before what must have appeared to be the entire world watching. As the sad music continued, Oral Roberts invited everyone who wanted to be healed to come forward.
Uncle Tony picked up his big brimmed hat that he laid on the grass beneath him and adjusted it on his head . Then he helped Mama to her feet urging her on, “Go on, Gump. Go on up there now.”
Two lines formed. Those who had visible disabilities, who walked on braces and crutches or used wheelchairs were directed to one tent, while others with invisible disabilities such as hearing loss, cancer, lung disorders and such were directed to another tent.
Underneath her homemade wrinkled cotton dress, Mama's thin, wobbly legs balked. Could she muster the courage to go forward? She had never seen--much less faced--a crowd like this before. Clutching me tight in her arms, she walked up the aisle toward the group of people who had formed a line. Like Mama, many held their own children. As she drew nearer to the steps leading onto the stage, her heart pounded and she fought her fears of fainting. Afraid to look up at what was ahead, she stared at the ground. Fervent cries from the great assembly, “Amen,” “Hallelujah” and “Praise God” resonated all over the tent. Mama never turned around to look behind her. Finally, she stood before Oral Roberts. To her, it might as well have been God Almighty, for people in those days believed Oral Roberts sat at the right hand of God. She held me forward. The disfigured hand she had hidden so well was on display, exposed for everyone to see.
“Do you believe God can heal your child?”
Mama nodded yes, her lips paralyzed, too frightened to mutter a word. He placed his hand on my forehead. Mama struggled to stand straight and hold me forth.
Though only four years old, I can still remember how he jolted my head and yelled out, “Heal, in the name of God ALMIGHTY! HEAL this little child!”
Silence filled the air for an eternity.