A variety of events took place at the new school, which had installed lights earlier than the churches. It thus became a focal point for social gatherings of several kinds such as fundraising activities in great abundance.
Now there seemed more things to want that had to be bought. Then home demonstration club meetings for the women, concerts, speaking contests, and parent-teacher meetings all became regular events. For general amusement, a piano was installed, then a wind-up Victrola. Gradually people contributed books for a library open to everyone. Thus folks got together in a new network of common interests outside religion, politics, and farm work.
A fellow might think all these new goings-ons would cut into the old activities, but that isn’t the way it worked out. Fact is, improvements happened all over the place. The churches, for instance, modernized by hooking into the electrical system and expanding buildings to include Sunday School rooms, kitchens with hot and cold running water, refrigerators, stoves, and by beautifying with stained-glass windows, carpeting, new pews, some brick veneer.
Health care improved with immunization programs against diphtheria, smallpox, and later, typhoid. There’d already been preventative efforts against hookworm. The infected were treated with thymol, and all were advised to wear shoes. These things were begun with the children in school.
Arthur sums up a decade of progress during John’s youth. John got to go to that consolidated school because of community activism led by his father, then matched in turn by the government. Technological improvements followed all during the nineteen twenties, along about the time I was born with all those advantages in my place of birth, Plattsburgh, New York. My mom pushed for community improvements—the library, better education, public parks—when she could take time away from homemaking duties. She taught me the importance of that.
By the time I married John and became mother of two small children, we had settled in Lexington, Massachusetts, which then had a school system in need of improvement. I and some like-minded friends formed a citizens’ committee in hopes of persuading the townfolk to pay more taxes for better schools. We had done a survey and found that our teachers could hardly afford to live in Lexington, despite second jobs such as waitressing and gas pumping. We made our survey public through talks to many established groups: the Rotary Club, Kiwanis, League of Women Voters. Our plan worked.
After a few years, Lexington became one of the most desirable bedroom communities of the Boston area, attracting young professional couples who wanted the best for their children. But the best of intentions can come with unfortunate side effects: along with higher taxes came higher property values, once again making it hard for teachers to afford living where they worked.
JOHN:
You know, Arthur, you mentioned those immunization programs. They worked insofar as the children cooperated. I did not, to my later regret. The night before my class was to be inoculated against diphtheria, I happened to overhear Papa remark to a friend (with whom he was reminiscing about boyhood days) that he’d play hooky from school sometimes to track rabbits and maybe get in a bit of ‘possum hunting. I thought to myself, Maybe tomorrow would be a good time for me to do a bit of hunting. I didn’t want to get stuck with a needle.
I escaped then, but boy did I catch it about ten years later—in college. I not only came down with diphtheria— the worse sore throat in the world—and got stuck with needles full of horse serum antitoxin, but I got an allergic reaction to the horse serum and broke out in one huge hive. The hives were so bad, I forgot the sore throat. It was weeks before they could certify three healthy throat cultures in a row and let me out of the infirmary.
I wish I hadn’t gone hunting that day.
Lordy, what else don’t I know about the love of my life? He could have died before I even knew he existed!
CHAPTER 10
Do Your Best
RALPH:
Thinking back to the earlier days, when we didn’t have those mechanical improvements Arthur talks about:
I remember various horses we had on the farm
But mostly Daisy and Maud
Not because of any particular qualities they possessed
Either good or bad
But mostly, I guess, because they were there
And because of the very untimely end to the former
When she fell on a sharp snag up the hill from the old sawmill
And had to be shot to put her out of her misery.
KENNETH:
I remember Maud because Father really loved that old mare. He talked to her a lot, or maybe the word is “commiserated” with her. She was old and complaining, and that’s the way Papa seemed at times when he wasn’t feeling very good. I think he identified with Maud.
RALPH:
I remember one hot summer day we had considerable hay down
And expected some rain in the afternoon—
At least Howard said so and he was our weather forecaster.
It was decided that Kenneth should go down to the meadow and rake hay
So we could start loading as soon as we got there.
The wagon made ready, we followed.
But on reaching the meadow No Kenneth, no hay rake.
We started back
And soon heard a noise up the old roadbed.
There was Kenneth, white as a sheet
Lying with one leg under the horse that was lying on its back
At the bottom of a gully about ten feet deep.
To get there quicker, he had taken a shortcut
And tried to make the horse jump an old tree
That had fallen from the gully across the old road
But the horse shied away and fell into the gully.
I wonder if that could have been Maud . . .
KENNETH:
I believe it was.
RALPH:
I remember us boys wanting to go ‘possum hunting with Eli’s boys
Wanting to use Eli’s old dog to locate, track, and tree the ’possums
And Daddy and Eli laughing at us.
Setting off across the orchard and into the woods
Not more than a hundred yards back of the house
The old dog started barking vociferously.
Within ten minutes
We had treed one up a small sourwood sapling.
We had a ‘possum in our sack.
This is just what I expected
But for years, couldn’t figure out why we didn’t catch a lot more
Before we came home some three hours later.
I remember the perfect elusiveness of little quail and peacocks.
Once Howard and I were on a hill in Jud Shutt’s pasture.
We saw an old peahen and her chicks, perhaps eight or ten,
Across the branch near an old stump.
As we approached, the hen scampered away
In an attempt to divert our attention from the chicks.
The chicks streaked for the stump.
We knew they were there.
We saw them.
And then they were gone.
I remember Arthur having the mumps
And feeling so good
Mother had trouble keeping him in bed.
As a matter of fact, she didn’t.
He eluded her
Went out into the yard
And ran around the house a couple times
Before she could catch him and put him back to bed.
The next day, she had no trouble keeping him in bed.
I remember Blanche would have girlfriends over
To spend the night,
To this day, I have never figured out
Why they would go to bed and just lie there
Laughing and giggling
Into the wee hours of the morning.
BLANCHE:
You weren’t meant to figure it out.
JOHN:
I’m remembering something you did, Ralph, I never figured out.
When I was a teen
ager, you would drive into Winston-Salem on some date or other. Howard would go along rather regularly to see Catherine, and Kenneth rode with them to see Mary Ollie once in a while. I’d sometimes ask if I could go along.
Well, on one particular occasion you all said I could go, but I was a little late in getting ready. Howard and Kenneth were waiting out in the car getting a bit irritated. They called in to me to hurry and I yelled back at them to hold their horsepower or something of the sort.
Dapper Ralph.
You were there, Ralph, standing by the car, all dressed up fit to kill, with white flannels, you know, going out on a date. You noticed Howard’s and Kenneth’s impatience and said, “If John bothers you, just go ‘P-s-s-s-s-s’ at him; he’ll calm down.” I called down to you from upstairs, “If you say ‘P-s-s-s-s-s’ to me once, I’m going to come down and drench you.” You immediately went, “P-s-s-s-s-s.”
So I went on downstairs, pumped a big pail of water. You stood by the car, I think wondering what I would do with it. I carried it over and dashed it on you: you just turned around, went upstairs, put on a whole new outfit, and have never said a word about it since.
Such forbearance, Sir Ralph, made a deep and lasting impression on me. Until then, I was accustomed to reprehension for such behavior, and I was prepared to accept it, but you left me utterly puzzled.
RALPH:
No comment.
JOHN:
You mean to leave me suspended indefinitely?
I suppose you took a lesson from our Grandfather’s temperance when his neighbor stole meat from the smokehouse.
Now other people were more predictable, like the principal of our school, for instance. He caught me throwing spitballs one day and made me make a peck of ’em for punishment. I didn’t have enough spit left to make another for a long time after that.
The same principal apprehended some of the schoolboys who were stealing peanuts from our father’s peanut patch, right next to the schoolyard. He sentenced them to protective patrol duty around the boundaries of that patch for all school recesses until the peanuts were harvested.
And then I recall the several occasions when Kenneth would start something, like picking up and throwing a terrapin at me, and just as I retaliated—as in this case, threw the turtle back—Papa would see me out of the corner of his eye, and I’d get blamed and scolded. Kenneth always looked so innocent; he’d shrug his shoulders, blink his blue eyes, smile benignly, and say, “What did I do?” Of course Papa seldom believed he did anything bad at all.
KENNETH:
Now, John, you’re being unreasonable. Father caught me plenty of times. You only remember the times he caught you.
JOHN:
Well, you always managed to look a hell of a lot more angelic than I ever could. I never seemed to be able to master that art.
BLANCHE:
You know, if you all don’t mind, I think here is as good a place as any to mention some old letters I found in Momma’s scrapbook. They are from some of you boys while you were away at college or in your first jobs, as was the case with Arthur and Luther. Most of them were written on the occasion of Mother’s Day back in the ’20s.
I have one here from Luther:
Dear Mother & Father,
Today is Mother’s Day, and as I remember last year, I told Papa that hereafter I would consider it Father’s Day also, so I gladly wore the red rose that a little girl came carrying and slipped in my pocket this morning, she, having heard me say that you were both living. I trust all we children are doing the best thing, and I hope you both will tell us if you have any preferences as to our steps.
It has been some rainy here today. It has cleared off now and will be cooler for a day or so, it appears. I wonder if the tobacco plants are most ready to go in the ground. I am afraid it will be dry weather now for a while judging from the way it has been for the past several years, when it did as it has this time.
Mr. Meekins and Mr. Hyrum, my chicken partners, are picking strawberries now. They are expecting something like two hundred crates of thirty-two quarts each. I have engaged you a crate at the last of the season, so remember this. They are fine now.
Love to all, Luther
And I want to read a bit from one of Arthur’s letters conjuring up a family dinner.
Dear Mother,
Well, it’s Mother’s Day again, and for me a rose, a big red rose. And the red in my rose stands for something, too.
I must have been a lot of trouble when I was a wiggling, cringing, fretful little fellow—but you just knew that I was worth some trouble. How did you do it? I wonder. There are eight of us, and everyone needed attention, and everyone got what was needed. And all eight of us are just as happy, just as happy as can be, ‘cause we still got you. I’ll bet you get lonesome for me and the others away from home at times.
Well, Mother, what can I say? Oh, here it is: I wish all eight of these red roses worn for you today, could be at home for dinner. Yes, you would need to get out the big pots and pans and the fire would need to be built a bit earlier. But that would be all right, for John could peel the potatoes, Ralph would be glad to carry in the wood and get the water, Howard would think it fun to hurdle across the barn lot after the fatted hen; Luther and Rachel know how to work together while dressing a chicken. Blanche just likes to make cakes. Gertrude would like to demonstrate her Yankee biscuits, while Cletus talks to father about the next presidential election.
Don’t you see? Dinner is almost ready. Now, you taste the gravy, while I give Billy the drumstick, and before you know it, we will be trying to get the whole bunch to the big old dining table. It’s funny that folks who are as hungry as we are take so much begging to get to the table. Yes, it’s all ready and nobody ready to eat except John, and the reason he’s there is because he’s afraid he’ll have to wait.
At last the crowd has gotten together . . . the wearers of the roses are too full of chicken and everything else to further restate their previous important position on some topic of the day. It’s remarkable, Mother, how your dishes allay wordy battles at our table. Things which seem so important and demand so much explanation at the beginning of a meal become insignificant by the time the meal is finished. Perchance a fellow full of good chicken does not worry much about the importance of the bread-line in Chicago, or the real significance of the new Ford car. At your table we are pleasantly filled, and we are satisfied to take our ease.
Then with slow contented steps the Tribe of Raper makes its way to the rooms farthest from the kitchen, all except Kenneth—he’s got to stay here and help me wash the dishes for you.
But, I can’t be there, and many of the others will not be there, either. So I’ll just stay here in Atlanta and send my very best wishes across the hills, hoping my wishes will find you well and happy.
I’m glad along with seven others for the big red roses we wear today. And Mother, we desire nothing more than to wear them for many many more years, ‘cause we wouldn’t know how to live without you.
Remember me to Father and know that as you share your love for me with seven more, I share mine for you with him, whom you chose to be my fathe.
Devotedly, your son, Arthur
Family discusses issues such as the bonus marchers in D.C. during the Great Depression.
HOWARD:
You know, I think we got more education around that dinner table than we ever did get in school, before going away to school anyway. There was considerable argument about one thing and another, more discussion, more theory expounded than you could get in a debating society for years.
I think the older ones, as they went to college, influenced the rest of us. They got it started, so to speak. Looking back at it, we had the benefit, if you can call it that, of as many as four of us in college for a period of three, four, and five years. For a continuous twelve-year period, at least three of us were in college, and four, part of that time.
ARTHUR:
Yes, and as burdensome as we must have seeme
d to our father at that time, not just financially but psychologically as well, he supported us, in fact encouraged us to go to college even though he’d never even gotten close to getting there himself. More than likely he felt overwhelmed at times.
He did worry about one thing in particular: I remember Dad saying he thought maybe he’d made a mistake in letting us all go to state schools. This was about the time of the Scopes Trial. He did not believe in the evolution that was being preached, and he sided with William Jennings Bryan.
JOHN:
This bears out the statement I made earlier about the Fundamentalist business. He was a tremendous admirer of Bryan. In fact, Kenneth Bryan Raper’s middle name attests to it. Father’s admiration for Bryan was heightened, if anything, by the role Bryan played in the Scopes Trial. His contempt for Darrow was not soft-pedaled in anyway whatsoever.
ARTHUR:
Yes, that’s true, but at the same time he let his sons go to the State University rather than putting them over in the Christian college at Durham. It was a hard decision for him to let you, Kenneth, go to the State College at Chapel Hill, but he did; and he did, if I may say so, because I said to him, “That’s the only sensible thing to do; it is in harmony with everything you have ever done.”
This fear of evolution was, of course, something that went through all the churches at that particular time, and Dad was fearful along with the rest. The decision finally turned on a rather fine point: they then had the honor system at Chapel Hill, with pencils and apples and other items for sale out on little stands by the paths, and as you went by you put in your nickel and took your pencil or apple or whatever.
I said to our father, “These boys who are over at this Christian college you are talking about”—and I named them—“they came over to Chapel Hill last spring and made a game, saying, ‘Look here, you can get apples and pencils over here for nothing; you don’t have to pay for them.’ They put the apples and pencils in their pockets, and they didn’t pay their nickels. As far as I’m concerned, the thing that you stand for goes with the folks who pay for their apples and pay for their pencils. I don’t care if they are at the State University or where they are.”
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