Today My Name Is Billie

by Neile Parisi

  We lost eleven students that day, one teacher, and our principal.

  CHAPTER 22

  Aftermath

  AFTER THE FIRE, life was different in Easly, South Carolina. We had not only lost Becky Sue and eleven other students, we had also lost Mrs. Augusta Blackmoore, a kindergarten teacher, and Mrs. Henrietta Calhoun, our beloved principal. School was canceled because of the tragedy, but it was also spring break, for which we already had five days off. It was not enough time to recoup anything. The devastation was beyond physical and financial; it was emotional and spiritual. The school needed extensive renovations, so we planned to move temporarily to a nearby building, the grange, to carry on classes. Other school districts provided some necessary items: books, paper, furniture, and writing utensils, but no frivolities.

  It was difficult for our little town to hold so many funerals at once. Three of the families moved away, returning to their hometowns to bury their children. Shortly after her funeral, Becky Sue’s family moved away also. They say you can live all around the world, but when you die, you always go home, as indicated in the obituaries. We had eleven funerals to plan, attend, and deal with—a huge task for all of us to endure.

  We only had one florist, one undertaker, and one cemetery, but we had seven different churches. The florist ran out of flowers, and had to ask other towns for help. The undertaker had to do the same. It took a toll on him. He said preparing young children for burial is always the hardest, and that he often cried through the entire procedure. He was glad to have the help of the neighboring towns. The assisting undertakers, three in all, graciously volunteered their services and talents. They tried to make the children look angelic, beautiful, and peaceful. It was the hardest task any of them would ever have to complete. I still don’t know how they did it. They didn’t sleep for a week, and when the families would show up with clothes, toys, and mementos for their children, they had all they could do to hold it together and not cry in front of the families.

  Even with the donated services, there were still bills to pay. There were no Facebook or GoFundMe accounts to help—only good poor people who gave all they could to the cause. Between the Easly Gazette and word of mouth, most of the money was donated, and when there appeared to be a shortage, the Calhoun family (the family of Mrs. Henrietta Calhoun, our principal) humbly said they would take care of anything left. They knew the grief they were going through, and their mother had been quite old. They couldn’t imagine what it would be like to bury a five-year-old. They wanted to help, and they knew Henrietta would have been happy with the decision. They even offered gravesites in their family plots for the children to be buried. Some of the parents chose to accept their gracious offering.

  Of the seven churches, Easly United Methodist, Abundant Life Baptist, All Souls Pentecostal, Pendleton Street Presbyterian, The Lutheran Bible Church, Seventh-Day Adventist, and and All Saints Episcopal Church—all but the Seventh-Day and the Pentecostal churches—held the funerals. I was always fascinated that there were so many religions and a church on every corner here in this little town of Easly. Why couldn’t they all believe in the same God? Why couldn’t they all worship together? But now, it was a blessing to have so many pastors and churches to handle the funerals and the grief. The preachers spread out the funerals so we could attend several in one day. There just wasn’t any way to cope with this except forgiveness. That was the recurring theme in most of the sermons. We had to forgive God, ourselves, and everyone involved. There was no other way to achieve peace and survive without forgiveness.

  Mrs. Henrietta Calhoun had been a fine Southern lady. Her reputation was known throughout the South, not just in South Carolina. She claimed she could trace her genealogy from Adam to present times, and actually claimed that the Garden of Eden was in South Carolina, not far from where she was raised. She came from a well-to-do Southern family, prim and proper.

  There had been many photos on her office desk, and a number of them were displayed at her funeral. They depicted the events in her life. Some of her favorites had been of her debutante ball, or cotillion, as they referred to it in the South. She actually married her escort, Samuel Calhoun. They were sweethearts, and were together sixty years and raised seven young ones who all went on to live memorable lives and made the Calhouns very proud. They produced twenty-five grandchildren and five great-grandchildren…her joy. Nothing was more important than family.

  Then there was the last family portrait taken before Mr. Calhoun passed. There was an enormous live oak tree on their estate, with clumps of Spanish moss hanging from nearly all the branches. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren who were old enough were seated in the branches, and their parents and grandparents sat in front of the “Family Tree,” as they called it. Everyone in the family was in attendance. The Calhoun family had the largest pecan plantation in South Carolina and all the young-uns worked on it, learning a work ethic that could not be duplicated anywhere else. There was also a picture of her four hound dogs, whom she cherished like her children. Another favorite photo depicted Henrietta sitting in front of the Thomas S. Easly School, surrounded by the staff and all the students.

  Every year, she had made sure to take this picture and gave each student’s family a framed copy of it at Christmas time. She was so proud of her school. It was the first school at which she herself had taught. She loved it. After twenty years, they asked her to be principal, and she had graciously accepted.

  She only knew this one school throughout her entire career. It was around the corner from her home, and in her younger years, she’d walk to school. There were numerous pictures from all of their vacations around the world. There was also a picture of Henrietta and Augusta Blackmoore sitting together having tea under the oak trees, Spanish moss blowing in the wind behind them.

  Augusta was the first teacher Henrietta hired, and they became the best of friends. She always admired everything about Augusta. Even though she was a humble woman, Augusta was always neat, clean, put together, and accessorized—boy, could she match things. Henrietta admired the way she lived: her parenting skills, her teaching skills, her talents, the way she dressed, and her children. The only subject they disagreed about was religion. Henrietta was a member of the only true religion, as she put it: the Baptist Church. She attended the Abundant Life Baptist Church, and was buried from that church, as was Becky Sue. Henrietta would tell her parents they made the right choice when it came to the Baptist Church.

  There was no such thing as separation of church and state in the South. Here, they played by different rules. They had the American flag hanging in the classroom, and they said the pledge of allegiance daily. They had the South Carolina flag and the Confederate flag both hanging outside on the flagpole. They sang “America the Beautiful” and “Dixie.” Mrs. Calhoun was always ready to discuss religion with you, even inside the school! She used to ask Augusta, “When are y’all gonna come to your good senses? How can you be so smart and not know the true church? Girl, I have tried and tried to teach y’all what is right, and girl, you just ain’t listening. I have invited y’all so many times, and y’all just ignore me. What IS your problem, Mrs. Augusta Blackmoore? Lordy, Lordy, sometimes I just don’t get y’all!” Augusta would just smile and drink her tea, nodding her head at everything Henrietta said.

  She was the closest thing to having a sister. Henrietta had four brothers. Her daddy adored her being the only girl. He had big plans for her, and expected her to become a doctor or a lawyer. He was noticeably disappointed when she announced she would be a teacher. At least she hadn’t chosen to be an actress.

  Each day, her father would bring her something special. She remembered this happening since she was two. Sometimes it was just a flower, or a trinket; other times it was a big baby doll. But he never forgot. When he came home, she would run into his arms and ask, “What did you bring me, Daddy?” He would say, “All my love,” and she would wrestle with him till he opened his hands and revealed a surprise just for her.
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  She was the oldest child; her first brother had died in childbirth. The third child, a boy, joined the family when Henrietta was three. Needless to say, she was quite spoiled, and was known to pull the new baby out of her mom’s bed so she could cuddle with her momma. She just didn’t understand. She was used to getting all the attention, and now she had to learn a new behavior: sharing. Well, after four brothers, she learned to share everything—but she was always better at everything than they were. She could shoot better, ride better, work harder, and dance better than all of them, and told them so daily. “I am better than you at everything, and don’t you forget it!” She was willing, however, to teach them anything at all; all they had to do was ask. She was such a good teacher.

  The one love that Augusta and Henrietta shared was the love of reading. They had each owned an extensive collection of children’s books. In fact, both Augusta and Henrietta had been reading to the kindergarten students when the fire broke out.

  Once a week, they would have reading marathons. They would compete with each other to see how many books they could read to the children. (I remember taking a class at the University, called Kiddy Lit. We had to read one hundred children’s books to get an A, and I did it. I did so love that class.) They would debate between them which were the best books. Henrietta loved The Little Match Girl, and read it to the class every Christmas. She cried more than the kids, but they loved the story, too. She also adored The Princess and the Pea, which became one of the children’s favorites. Charlotte’s Web and The Snow Queen were also at the top of the list, along with Where the Red Fern Grows and The Yearling. Augusta loved these as well as The Emperor’s New Clothes, Rapunzel, The Spider and the Fly, Guess How Much I Love You?, Frog and Toad are Friends, and Oh, The Places You’ll Go. Between them, they had quite a selection to choose from.

  The students loved listening to Henrietta and Augusta as they put on accents and disguised their voices to make the experience dramatic. I’m sure the competition between the two of them was fierce, which would have made it even more exciting. Henrietta really wanted to be an actress, but that was not an approved occupation for a lady of her standing, and her father, Jasper Grady Calhoun, forbade it. So she did the next best thing: she became a teacher, so she could act in her classroom every day.

  This reminded me of myself. I constantly wore costumes in class, dressing up as Galileo when I taught astronomy, Einstein during physics, even Madame Curie for the heck of it. It made class so exciting. I had the largest costume box (I mean trunk) in history. Many of my students would come to my class after school and ask for help with costumes and makeup…and not just at Halloween! I eventually took on the role of drama teacher after school, and coached class plays and musicals. I already had the costumes and makeup, and had so much fun that it was a natural transition for me.

  Henrietta was a kind and generous woman who would share everything she owned with anyone who needed it. Many a night, people of the town or their families would stay at her house for a variety of reasons. Sometimes they were visiting; sometimes they had lost power; and sometimes they had no home. You could always count on Henrietta. Now that her children were grown and her husband had passed, she had plenty of room.

  She had only one other person living with her. Maybelle had lived there for forty-eight years and performed a variety of tasks over that time, from cooking to cleaning to childcare. She had been like a member of the family, but now she was family. Her last job had been simply to keep Henrietta company. Henrietta’s extended family told Maybelle that she could live there as long as she wanted, now that Henrietta had joined Samuel in Heaven.

  Maybelle was so forlorn, she said she just wanted to go to Heaven with Henrietta and return to her Maker. She probably wouldn’t live much longer, as she said that her purpose in life was over now.

  Henrietta’s funeral was lovely. The flowers were among her favorites: pink peonies, pink roses, pink azalea, and pink dogwood interspersed with Southern greenery. All of these could be found on the grounds of her estate. She had lived a long, happy life, and brought happiness to everyone. And everyone came to her funeral: most of the townsfolk, her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and some distant relatives.

  The service was long, because the preacher invited anyone to come up and say a few words about Henrietta. People got in line to secure a place so they wouldn’t miss their chance to express their gratitude.

  The most touching comments were from Memphis Sawyer’s dad. Memphis was a five-year-old kindergarten student who had perished in the fire. He was found in the arms of Henrietta, along with three other students who never made it out. Just like the mother she was, she had stayed with these children until the end. I’m sure she comforted them, wrapped her arms around them, sang to them, and walked into Heaven with them.

  Henrietta had walked slowly, with a limp and a cane; she probably couldn’t get out quickly enough, and with all the smoke and the intensity of the flames, had she stayed with her students and helped them into eternity.

  Mr. Sawyer had just finished burying his son, but he said he wouldn’t miss Mrs. Calhoun’s funeral. He said he had loved Mrs. Calhoun as much as his son did. Memphis had always felt love from the principal, and considered her a granny. Mr. Sawyer thanked her family for lending her to them and letting the children feel so cared for. “Every day, Memphis would share a story about Henrietta with us, his parents, as he walked home from school. He always smiled after seeing her. Thank you, Henrietta, for being with Memphis, then and now. What an exceptional woman to have been able to touch so many children’s lives. I know that Heaven is a better place with her there, and I know that all twelve children are there laughing with her, and Mrs. Blackmoore is taking attendance.”

  The crowd continued to reminisce and file past her coffin for hours, until the final person had paid homage.

  The next day, on the other side of town, Augusta Blackmoore was honored at her funeral. She was being buried from the other church: the Pendleton Street Presbyterian Church. This was also the church that had handled the services for Alden Boone, one of the kindergarteners who had died in the fire.

  Augusta was a dedicated teacher, born and raised in Easly. She had never left town, and had no desire to do so. She was content to be a teacher and mother in her hometown. Unlike Henrietta Calhoun, she came from a poor family, but that hadn’t affected her teaching or her grandeur. The students loved her and related to her. She had taught generations of the same family in her fifty-five-plus years of teaching. She was also the only one to graduate from high school and college in her family. Her dream was to become a teacher—and she lived her dream. Her students adored her. She was a wonderful kindergarten teacher, the best in the county.

  I knew that she wouldn’t let her students be frightened, alone in the dark, so she stayed with them. Four more students were found with her shielding their bodies. The remaining five children were found near the doorway and staircase, all huddled together, holding hands. Becky Sue was one of these five. I was glad they were not alone. I was glad they felt some comfort. I prayed they all fell asleep from the smoke and peacefully drifted into Heaven.

  Augusta’s husband and three children silently cried, and spoke such beautiful words of love for her. Her husband said very few people on this earth perform their job for years and love every minute of it. Very few people feel the love she received from her students, faculty, and family. And very few people get to be married to someone you love so much, it hurts terribly—unbearably—to lose them.

  Augusta was a private woman, but she had opened up to Henrietta. She felt safe with her. She shared her fears and dreams with her friend. She worried about leaving her children and husband alone. Well, at least that happened when they were older and out on their own. Although Jamison Blackmoore never got over the loss of his wife, he remained in Easly until he died. She had been his world. They were together over fifty years.

  Very few people knew that Augusta had a teacup coll
ection that she had gathered together over the years. She cherished it. She never really left Easly, but lived vicariously through her children and friends. Each time one of them visited a new area or destination, they would bring back a teacup for her. These were very special to her. She would use them for her nightly tea. She didn’t believe in saving things for the right time. She said to use them now, because you don’t know what tomorrow brings. I’m glad she let her family drink tea from them, because now they would have a fond memory to hold dear. Augusta said memories make a great pillow for old age. This was Augusta Blackmoore.

  On the same side of town, the Penley twins, Bonnie and Callie, were laid to rest—a double tragedy. The All Saints Episcopal Church held the services for the twins along with those for Kent Austin. Imagine losing both your daughters at the same time. It was definitely more than her parents could handle. They did not stay together; shortly after the funeral, they each went their separate ways. This often happens with the death of a child.

  My mom said you cannot fathom the loss of losing a child. She lost two; I would have had two more brothers. She said those days were the worst of her life. She blamed herself for a long time—a common reaction among parents who have lost their children.

  The last funerals were held privately, as the families couldn’t bear to deal with their grief publicly. They were for Olivia Jefferson and Grady Mason, both members of the Easly United Methodist Church, which put them to rest. And Billy DeLuke and Memphis Sawyer were buried from the Lutheran Bible Church. May they all rest in peace.