Papa

One of my earliest memories of Dad’s father, we called him Papa, was sitting around one night when I was about four and watching Papa make shadow images on the wall with his hands.

I was fascinated with how the images looked like real animals or other objects. Papa would hold his hands between the lamp and the wall to make the images. Papa was the best I have ever seen at making shadow images.

A cousin told me that when he was young he remembers Papa riding with them in their old car going into town. Every time they met a car with the headlights on during daylight, Papa would tell them that the person was "charging the battery" on the car. In those days, voltage regulators were not very good and sometimes people would turn on the headlights when they drove to keep from "overcharging" the battery. Papa must have misunderstood and thought they were "charging" the battery.

As a little kid, I had a problem of playing with matches. I was spanked several times for trying to set fires. One that I was spanked for, I did not do.

Dad and Papa cleared some cactus in the pasture next to us. They piled the cactus into large piles and said they would burn up. I kept asking why we didn't set them on fire. I was waiting to see them burn. As we came home from town one afternoon, the pasture was burning.

Dad just knew that I had set that pasture on fire. I got a real good spanking for that, but I didn't set it on fire. That is one spanking that I did not deserve. I probably deserved every other spanking I received and more, but not that one. I was with them and could not have set the fire. I guess we never found out who started that fire.

Some of my early memories of Papa come from Salesville, north of Mineral Wells. He stayed with us quite a bit of time. Papa would take me out for walks across the fields and woods. There was a railroad track near us and Papa used to tell me that he had worked on that track when they were building it. Papa was a short, small man that I loved dearly. I really loved all of my grandparents very much.

One time Papa and I walked by the field where a mean bull was. I told Papa how mean the bull was and he laughed. The bull had scared me several times when I had missed the school bus and walked two miles to school along the road by that pasture. That bull had always rushed towards me snorting and pawing the ground and I always ran.

This time, the bull was about 100 yards from the fence when we walked up and just ignored us. Papa called the bull over and rubbed the bull’s nose through the fence. The bull seemed so calm with Papa talking to it, but it still chased me the next time I walked by alone.

Papa stayed with us when we lived in Mineral Wells between Welcome and Bald Mountains. Papa and I explored those two little mountains. He told me about hunting and trapping back in Alabama when he was young.

Papa used to tell me that as a boy growing up in Alabama, he and the other Blackerbys could hunt on some Indian land. He always said that we were part Indian so our family was allowed to hunt on the Indian land when other whites were not.

I have not found that Indian link in my genealogy research. The only possibility of Indian blood in my research is Papa’s grandmother, Sarah Elizabeth Wright Blackerby, where I have hit a dead end.

Papa liked to go to the cattle auctions north of town. One time, Dad took us to the auction and said he would be back later. When Papa got ready to leave, Dad had not returned, so Papa and I just struck out walking across country. We walked east down a road for quite a distance and Papa decided that we were about even with where we lived. We cut south and came out on top of Bald Mountain just east of our house.

One time the class I was in at school, maybe several classes, walked from the school to the Grand picture show. We saw a movie about Woodrow Wilson. When I told Mom and Papa about it that evening, Papa said that Woodrow Wilson's second wife, Edity Bolling Galt Wilson, was a cousin of his wife, Ora Jane. I have not found proof of that fact in my genealogy research, either.

In the summer, Dad would leave me at his twin sister’s farm. I always enjoyed staying with Uncle Leon and Aunt Lessie. After a week or so at their house, they would take me into Anson to Granddad’s place, Mom’s father.

Papa also lived in Anson during some of that time. I would stay at each place a few days. Papa had a little two room house with an outhouse. Every morning, he would fix us pancakes. Mom cooked hotcakes, Papa cooked pancakes. I liked Papa’s pancakes better than Mom's hotcakes.

Papa and I would walk around Anson and visited with other old gentlemen around town. One old gentleman used to hum songs. Papa always had him hum, or doodle as Papa called it, some songs for me. They were old country songs, like “Coming 'Round the Mountain.”

Many days we would stop at a little cafe across the highway from the high school, The Hut, and eat lunch. Papa loved to eat a bowl of chili for lunch at The Hut.

In 1946 we lived about a mile from Uncle Clarence for two or three months and Papa was living in a little one-room house out by the road in front of Uncle Clarence's. I had to haul a five-gallon milk can about a mile from our house to Uncle Clarence's for water for two or three weeks. I would put the can in my wagon and pull it down the road. At Uncle Clarence's I would draw water from his well and fill the milk can.

While there, I usually visited with Papa. It was always fun to visit with Papa and listen to his stories. I wish I had written them down. I have forgotten many of the stories he told.

Papa chewed tobacco and smoked a pipe. One time sitting out in the shade, he gave me a chaw. I nearly got sick and never again tried to chew tobacco. Papa just laughed about it. He knew what he was doing.

Papa died July 10, 1962 after being in the hospital for about two weeks. Dad drove from Houston to be at Papa’s side. Dad would preach on Sunday morning and evening and again on Wednesday night in Houston. He was in Fort Worth at the hospital the rest of the time.

Once Papa was trying to sit up as he woke up. Dad leaned over, put his hands on Papa’s shoulders, and told him to lie still. Papa hit Dad on the jaw and as Dad told me, “buckled his knees.” Papa then went back to sleep. An hour or so later, Papa woke up and reached his hand towards Dad. Dad flinched and Papa said, “I’m not gonna hit you, Son.” Papa never knew that he nearly knocked Dad out just a few days before he died.

The day before he died, Papa woke up, looked at Dad and said, "Charlie's dead." He was speaking of his brother, Charles, in Alabama. They were very close.

Dad said, "Oh, you know he is okay, Papa. When you get out of the hospital, we'll call him."

Papa said, "No Son, he's dead. I'll see him soon." Papa died on July 10. A few days after his death, some of the family received a letter telling them that Charlie had died on June 23rd, a little over two weeks before Papa.

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