​DARRYL'S BOOK INSTALLMENT: 17 January 2008:
 
            In the course of trying to remember things in our past, I
was thinking about the birth of you kids. Time has a way of eroding feelings
and emotion, and age has a way of deleting details, so a lot of my
recollections are covered with a haze of distance.
 
                        Carol's birth, to me, passed rather quickly, as
I have recounted previously, and as I was in Korea when David was born, my
only recollection there is of waiting for the letter to tell me if it was to
be a son or another daughter. And later, Darryl's birth was so normal with
nothing dramatic to make the day stand out, that I just remember we were
pleased that the numbers (boys and girls) were even, and we had the perfect
family.
 
                        Valerie gave me several dramatic pictures to
recall the event. First of all, I was out of the Army for only three weeks,
and paying hospital bills and doctors was a new experience which I faced
with some trepidation. Your mother had heard of something called "twilight
sleep" from other Army wives which was supposed to provide painless labor
and delivery. By calling doctors in town, she found one whose nurse said "Of
course, Dr. Evans uses the latest technology." So, she became a patient of
Dr. O.B. Evans, an obstetrician who practiced at a clinic on Bank Street.
 
                        When we woke on the 23rd of January, it was
cold, snowing, and frozen over, but your mother had an O.B. appointment with
Dr. Evans at 9:00 a.m. which we had to attend. After the appointment, when
the doctor said "You're doing great, see you next week," we stopped at the
grocery store to pick up some things.  I stayed in the car with Carol and
David while your Mother went inside.
 
            The grocery store was located where Lucky's is now, next to
the Karate studio. In a few minutes I saw your mother come out and start
running across the parking lot, slipping and stumbling on the ice as she
tried to pick up something which was blowing across the ground. I panicked
at the sight, and was really angry when she told me it was just a dollar
bill that had blown out of her hand as she tried to tuck it into her purse
on the way out of the store.
 
            We made it home and I got to work about Noon.  At
two-o-clock I got a call from your mother and she said "It's time." So we
made quick arrangements and hurried to the clinic. She was taken into the
delivery room, and a nurse came to tell me that it would be quite a while,
so I went across Bank Street to a coffee shop where I talked to Thad Terry
for about 30 minutes.
 
            When I returned to the clinic, where all the expectant
fathers were seated in the hallway, a nurse came out with a bloody bundle
that was apparently a baby, and she said "It's a girl," as she handed me the
bundle. One guy, with bad teeth and tobacco juice dripping down the side of
his mouth, leaned over her and remarked that she didn't have much hair.
 
            I didn't see your mother for a couple of hours, and it was
then that I discovered she didn't get the "twilight sleep." She had been
given a spinal block shot, and later the nurses moved her too soon after the
shot, and she suffered recurring back problems from that day. It seems the
doctor was never asked about the procedure and consequently had no idea that
your mother did not want a spinal shot.
 
            As it turned out, that cold, snowy wintry day became a warm
and cuddly one, and after a few weeks, Valerie had enough hair that she even
looked like a girl.   --Love, Dad
 

​31 August 2009:
Next chapter in Darryl’s Book: this one to commemorate Carol’s 49th birthday:
 
Love,
Mom
============================
 
Unlike most little girls of my era whose sole goal in life was to get married, have the white picket fence and two children: “A boy for you and a girl for me…” I never aspired to either of those achievements.
 
Not that I had any concrete plans for a career or anything, it was just that I had seen no happy marriages, and I certainly couldn’t picture myself as a mother. Therefore when your father came along and changed all that, it took me a long time to acknowledge and accept the fact I might be pregnant.
 
In fact, because I had learned to trust, love and feel so free with your Dad-- whom I thought was all wise and knowing--I would have him rub my tummy and ask him if he thought I might be pregnant (which could easily have been the case). If he said no, I could dismiss that situation and continue being his one-and-only without the official bonds of marriage that seemed to mark the end of romance in every relationship.
 
He would happily oblige the tummy rubbing bit, (a practice I learned from watching my sister, June, during her 3 pregnancies) but he always hesitated to confirm or negate anything else. He told me later he relished the thought I might be pregnant because then I might be more inclined to marry him—something I had refused to commit to from the very first time he asked, shortly after the first kiss about 6 weeks after we met and had been seeing each other almost constantly—in between my other dates.
 
You see I had a phobia about kissing, not to mention the other intimacies such kissing might lead to. But your father was different. That was the era BEFORE the pill, and guys, particularly most of the young officers I later met, were content with the pleasure of my company.
 
The others I had no problem with, but as I said, your father was different. He was forever persistent. He never stopped trying and it became a sort of a game with him and I feared he was building up a mere kiss to represent an impossible to fulfill fantasy. I didn’t want to kiss him then, but didn’t want him to be terribly disappointed if and when we did kiss.
 
At the time I lived in a Civil Service Women’s Dormitory across from the Officer’s Club and one day when I was sick Ray called and asked if he could bring me some hot soup. I met him at the side door, sans make-up and wearing a ratty bathrobe. He still seemed so happy to see me that after taking the soup I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the mouth.
 
Despite my forebodings that he would be disappointed in the long awaited kiss, he beamed from ear-to-ear and later said he floated on air until the next time he was able to see me.
 
Now how could any girl resist someone like that!
 
It was about this time in my life when the secretarial skills I learned at Tech school stood me in good stead. I started out as a waitress at the Officers’ Club, worked my way up to becoming Cashier, and when the secretary to the Club Officer quit to get married, I was able to step into her position. For the first time in my semi-adult life I had my weekends free to be young and gay and go out and have a good time with the other young girls who lived in the dormitory. Peggy, Annette, and Macey became three of my “buddies.”
 
It was shortly after the 4th of July after returning from a weekend trip to Florida (the first such adventure for me with some of the girls and guys) when I reported for duty in my new job and learned a certain 2nd Lieutenant Raymond I. Coffey was assigned to fill the position of the Lieutenant who married the girl I was to replace.
 
As it turned out we were both leery of marriage. I didn’t wish to add my name to a list of unhappy wives, and Ray had plans to be a bachelor general. He evidently changed his mind about the bachelor status because he started asking me out shortly after we took on our new positions. My stance had not changed, however, and I also did not think it looked good to be dating the “boss.”
 
Ray was persistent however, and was not the least bit possessive or jealous as several of my former beaus had been, all of whom wanted to get married and bulked when I refused. One, a handsome Italian who drove a red convertible and looked smashing in his Military Police uniform, struck fear into my heart the last time I refused him by saying: “You’ll NEVER, EVER find anyone who loves you as much as I do, and you will be SORRY for the rest of your life.” I feared he might be right as he drove away and left me in a cloud of dust.
 
Another young lieutenant used to take me to dinner at the Officers’ Club and, a slave to the game of golf, tried to introduce me to the pleasures of chasing that little white ball around the golf course. I was bored to death and could barely wait to hit the last ball. After his last proposal, and my refusal, over dinner at the O. Club, he left me sitting alone, his dinner uneaten, and walked out of my life.
 
And then there was Jack, another cute lieutenant the girls in the front office set me up with. He was a good dancer, and that I loved, but anything else was out of the question. After a number of fun dates with him, particularly on Wednesday nights over at the “Little Club” where they had a live band, he intimated that most couples, after dating awhile, usually kissed. But I couldn’t bring myself to cooperate, so down the drain went that relationship, as well.
 
The truth was I had a phobia about kissing. Like so many other false images I had of myself, due to one or another perceived slights in my childhood, kissing was one of them.
 
During my pre-teen and teen years I had only one big crush. I met him when we were both in the 8th grade and we visited our Uncle Hut and his family who lived with Aunt Alice and Uncle Ed in Phoenix, Arizona. At the time we lived in Chandler, AZ, which was an eternity away from Phoenix. In reality, it was probably about 1 ½ hours away.
 
The name of my Dream Boat was Mickey, and I’ve loved that name ever since. We were both in the 8th grade and he was neat, clean cut and well mannered. He lived down the street from my cousins and that day we all played “Spin-the-Bottle” in Uncle Ed’s garage. Regrettably, we never got close enough for a kiss but that modest beginning was enough to keep me day dreaming about him for the next several years.
 
Shortly after that, Mom and Dad moved to Phoenix’s Alzona Park. That was about the year I started high school. I was ecstatic because I would be closer to Mickey even though we attended different high schools. He went to Phoenix Union and I to Phoenix Tech. The two schools were just a block from each other but Tech was a trade school. Since I wasn’t expected to go on to college, it was important I learn subjects like typing, shorthand and office machines that might help get me a job.
 
As fate would have it, the next year Phoenix Tech merged with Phoenix Union and I became physically closer to where Mickey went to school every day. Although there were over 5,000 students at Phoenix Union and I was just a number, I lost little time finding out what classes Mickey had. We didn’t share any classes, but I learned where he might be crossing the campus to head for another class and I did my best daily to run as fast as I could so I might just be “sauntering” by when he came out of class.
 
Little good that did me: Mickey, it turned out, had “lowered” himself to date a younger girl who was ONLY in the 9th Grade! Moreover, I felt she was far inferior to him and worse, had a “bad reputation.” How could he!
 
I didn’t give up. I planted myself in his way across campus whenever possible, though he rarely noticed and if he did say “Hi,” it was an indifferent “Hi.” I even sunk to the level of calling him after school whenever I was able to be near a telephone, which was not too often. I detested girls who chase after guys, but there you have it. My immature, insatiated, idealistic love for him caused me to humble myself to such depths of depravity, but the few times I actually reached him he was distant and cold.
 
That didn’t stop me! When the Rose Prom (A girl-ask-boy-event) came around one year, I invited him. He at first said no because he was going deer-hunting with his dad, but when his dad canceled out he allowed as he might be willing to go.  
 
Somewhere I still have a picture of myself with my Dad in front of Aunt Alice’s house wearing the home-made formal my mom put together for me. It was winter and I wore one of Dad’s jackets over it to keep me warm. Hardly the sexy vamp image I wanted to project.
 
Probably wouldn’t have mattered much because in those days it appeared Mickey was more interested in his guy pals than me, and he spent most of the time at the Prom standing around talking with other guys. Not a fun experience. And no, he didn’t even try to kiss me goodbye. Just dropped me off at the door with a polite “G’nite.”
 
Somewhere along that time period I went to the prom with a cute (but very dull) neighborhood boy. I can still recall the turquoise dress I wore that had an accordion like skirt. After we got home and were sitting in his back yard with the other teens who went with us, he kissed me. I had anticipated something of the sort happening, so previous to that night I queried my twin brother, Gary, who was more worldly than I.
 
“A friend of mine is going out with a guy and says she doesn’t know how to kiss,” I ventured. “You’re a guy, Gary, what would you tell her?“ Pleased at this rare status I had given him as a probable expert in such things, he replied that the  girl doesn’t have to do anything, she just lets the guy kiss her.
 
I didn’t feel well armed with that information so when Mom and Dad went to bed and Gary did his usual slipping-out-of- the-window-bit for some after-hours fun with his friends; I used the window to practice learning how to kiss.
 
I guess it didn’t help much because when my date kissed me and I just sat there, my lips yielding to his as I thought Gary instructed, he gave a grunt of disgust, wiped his mouth, and that was the end of our “necking” session.
 
That experience had a traumatic effect on my self confidence as a “kisser” and, in retrospect, might have saved me from succumbing to a far less desirable suitor than your father. From that day forward I was afraid to kiss a guy for fear of “turning him off.” My dates-- seldom that they were because of Mom’s strict policies--assumed I was just playing hard- to- get and few felt the effort worth a second date.
 
A few other events in those teen age years which, in retrospect were blessings in disguise, further diminished my self esteem as an attractive, well-worth-being-sought-after-femme-fatale. On hearing I had been stood up for two formal high school dances by the SAME guy, no less, my girl friend Lola’s father advised me not to let it tarnish my image of myself. That little piece of advice, in fact, just reinforced my negative self image.
 
My life was about to change dramatically, however, because my “hero” big sister, pregnant with her first baby, came to stay with us while her husband, T., was going to Army Boot Camp. He had been sailor when she, then an Air Force WAF, met him at a base dance in White Sands, New Mexico.
 
Pregnancy became June. She looked angelic in her pretty, new maternity clothes and soon became a hit with all our teen friends in the neighborhood. That included the “cool cats” in the black leather jackets who wrapped cigarette packs in their T-shirt sleeves to accent their muscles and assumed an exaggerated swagger to cover the inherent uneasiness at the thought of facing the real world.
 
All of us were infatuated with June’s pregnancy and even the guys wanted to take turns rubbing her tummy to feel the wonder of a new fetus growing within her. And T’s regular phone calls to check on the status of his wife and baby-to-be began to melt my fear there was no such thing as a happy marriage.
 
June stayed with us through Christmas when her friend, Gloria, also a former WAF, spent the holidays with us. I had barely entered puberty at that time and was way behind my voluptuous classmates in the breast and hips department. I took in everything I could learn from June and Gloria and could hardly wait until I had the “fixings” to put in a Maiden-Form-Bra, the same kind that Gloria wore. And I still recall the solemnity and the beauty when all of us attended Midnight Mass at the nearby Catholic Church.
 
After T. finished Boot Camp and came to pick up June so they might start their new life, I once again went into depression at being left behind. I was overjoyed when at the end of the school year June and T. invited me to spend the summer with them so I might become June’s “Mother’s Helper” to get her through the pregnancy which was due in August.
 
 The deal was I could do so IF I got a job after I got there and earned enough money to pay my bus fare back in time to start my senior year in high school. Hey, I thought to myself, “Throw me in the brier patch!”
 
June’s husband, T., who happily traded in his sailor uniform for Army fatigues, was going to be stationed at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, airborne, ranger, infantry. And I was a willing subject eager to learn all about making a PLF. (Parachute Landing Fall.)
 
But that’s another chapter….
 
Love,
Mom ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

In the early 2000s Darryl asked, instead of typical birthday gifts, that Mom and Dad write their early histories and give those as a gift. Here are two from my Dad. 

Darryls BOOK BY DAD
 
by Raymond Isaac Coffey, at the request of his son, Darryl
 
I was born in a two-room sharecropper house on the Wheeler Plantation, a few hundred yards from the Wheeler home in Wheeler, Alabama. This probably had an effect on decision I made later in life.
 
A couple of weeks after my birth. I was named for two of my great-grandfathers; Raymond Coffey, a Baptist preacher, and Isaac Ulysses Leatherwood, who raised my mother from a child.
 
I never knew Raymond, as he died about 15 years before I was born. Raymond was of Irish blood, and his ancestors arrived in this country in the late 18th Century. He married a woman of German descent, and her family lived in Georgia.
 
They came to the U.S. in mid 19th Century. My great-grandfather "Ike" Leatherwood and his wife were of English descent. Ike was born near Shiloh, Tennessee, just before the Civil War battle there. His mother, Susanna Leatherwood, was married to a man named Lindsey. He did not return from the battle of Shiloh, and Susanna was unsure whether he was killed or just deserted her. She returned to Courtland with her three children and raised them under her maiden name, Leatherwood.
 
Ike grew up in Courtland and eventually became a miller, running a grist mill there until his death in 1940. One of Ike's daughters, Susie, (called Kate because she admired a Courtland lady named Katherine) married John Stephen Terry, and they had three children: Etoyle, Clinton and Ella Lou.
 
Kate died when Ella Lou was 18 months old, and Ike took the baby and raised her until she married Hubert Coffey when she was 16, in 1934, June 24th.
 
(Great-Grandfather) Raymond Coffey was rather sickly most of his life, but he moved from Georgia with his growing family at the start of the 20th Century, and he settled in North Alabama. His oldest son, Homer, met and married Jennie Morris, who was a twin. Homer and Jennie married in 1912, and their oldest child, Hubert Cecil, was born in 1914.
 
Hubert was an athletic and active child until appendix burst at age 14, and he lingered near death for months. He recovered, although he was never completely healthy afterwards. He courted and married Ella Lou, and I was born in that shack which was located just East of my grandfather Homer's house.
 
Deep in the middle of the depression there was little work, and almost no money. But as the oldest son of an oldest son of an oldest son, I held a special place in the family and I was well cared for by aunts and uncles who were close to my age.
 
We were lucky because Homer was rural mail carrier, so had a paying job. My father got a carpentry job with TVA (The Tennessee Valley Authority: a massive U.S. Government project which built dams throughout the South that provided electricity), so I didn't suffer the misfortune of many depression kids.
 
Neither my mom nor dad had finished high school, but I can never remember a time when there was ever a question that I would attend college.
 
I don't remember a lot of specifics about my first few years, except that I must have been quite happy, because my fearful memories are few.
One of those fearful moments came when we visited Lubbock, Texas. I was five, and at some point my family loaded up in a pick-up truck and left. Without me. I only remember running and running through cottonfields, chasing the dust of the truck tracks. At some point I guess I was missed, for they did come back for me.
 
Another time that frightened me was when my father yelled "I’m gonna shoot that hawk, he's after my chickens!" I wasn't sure what a hawk was, but it scared me, as I watched my father pull out a double barrel derringer pistol and shoot twice.
 
I also remember crying with the whole family as we said goodbye to Granville Bond when he joined the Army prior to World War II. Granville was the son of my grandmother's sister, and after her death, he was raised as a son by my grandparents. The war had not yet started for us, but there was fighting in Europe and Asia.
 
Our economy started to grow as war became a probability, and my father took a job as a carpenter with DuPont, building powder plants. This took us to Louisville, Kentucky, and to Sylacauga, Alabama, with stops (stays) in Birmingham and Childersburg in between. On one pass through Wheeler, I was at my grandfather's just after church one Sunday, listening to my Aunt (Annie Mae, my father's oldest sister) play the piano, when my grandfather came in and said: "Oh, God, they're bombing Pearl Harbor!"
 
I didn't know where Pearl Harbor was, but the silence that followed sure scared me again. That night there was talk of my father and others having to go to War.
 
During the war years, living in Sylacauga, I learned how to make a garden for food, I pulled my little red wagon around the neighborhood collecting newspapers for recycling, and I attended school, joined the cub scouts, and watched all the men going to the War. My father, who volunteered for the Marines, was rejected because of his Asthma, and his brother Roy was exempt because of his job at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where the atomic bomb was being developed.
My cousins, Dan and Shirley Nichols (Etoyle's children) were a big part of my life during those years, until their mother re-married and moved to Kansas. (End: First Installment)
************
11 February 2003:
When I was in about the sixth grade, one of our class discussion’s concerned our families, and I described my father as an “entrepreneur.” That seemed to surprise my teacher, but to me it was descriptive. He was a farmer, a carpenter, he owned a grocery store and a general merchandise store. Within the next couple of years he would run a service station, a hamburger restaurant, and a cattle sale barn.
 
We had returned to Wheeler/Courtland after the war was over and Annie Wheeler gave Dad permission to open a store in the old saloon building in Wheeler. So over the next few years I had absorbed knowledge of retail sales, cotton buying, cattle grading, automobile servicing, pumping gas, and making hamburgers and other short orders.
 
But primarily, I learned that responsibility means doing whatever needs to be done, when it needs to be done. I also learned that responsibility means taking care of things, animals, and especially family. When my father was working for a salary, he always made deposits to a savings account each payday, even if it meant not getting something he wanted. It was a practice I followed years later when I was earning my own money. Even before, when Dad gave me a weekly allowance, I usually saved most of it. Consequently, when I did need something important, I usually had the money to pay for it. It was a comforting feeling.
 
Life for me in my early and mid-teens was somewhat of a routine. Before school each day I had to feed the pigs, the chickens, the cows, and the pony. Then I had to milk the cow (sometimes two of them), draw water from the well for mom to have for cooking, washing, and our baths. It was only later that we got electric water pumps, indoor baths, and all those conveniences. We walked about ½ mile to catch a school bus, and then rode for about 40 minutes to school.
 
After school there was ball practice, either football, basketball, or baseball. Quite often if practice was too late, rather than catching a train home, I would spend the night with a friend or at Kylie Berryman’s provided I could get someone to take care of my morning chores at home. Most of the time, however, I did make it home, where I got more water, milked the cows again, and fed the other animals. If there was no afternoon practice, then I helped clerk at Dad’s store.
 
Weekends were time for enjoyment after chores were done. Don Turner and I would play ball, or tennis, or work on our telegraph system. Sundays always meant church in the morning, but afternoons were usually free for more tennis, football, or swimming if the weather was right. But always the chores.
 
When I was in the seventh grade at Courtland, the school burned, and after a couple of weeks, the school reopened in an old hospital building at the Courtland Air Base which had been closes at war’s end. Classrooms were no big problem, but we had to make do with runway aprons and hangars for all our athletics. Concrete sure was rough on the knees and elbows, as well as the leather balls. We did two years in the Air Base, and then I started going to school in Town Creek, at Hazlewood.
 
School academics were never a problem for me, and I just always expected to be best in my class. This was not a conscious thing, nor, I think, vanity. I just accepted it as normal, and there was never a question that I would be going to college. And while I was a member of a championship basketball team, and I was named to the all Tri-County football team (whe had no district or state ........then) I knew that I would not be a college-level athlete because I was too slow, too small, and not motivated in that direction. So for that reason I think sports in high school were very important for me, and academics not overly stressed. I did study all the maths, physical sciences, and literature that was offered, and that certainly paid off when I reached college.
 
(Dad’s brother) Dick’s wife, Jean, was my home-room teacher one year and she informed me that I would be receiving something lower than I wanted on a report card. When I asked who could possibly give me a “B,” since I had never done “B” work, she told me it was less than a “B.” It seems that a teacher, Mrs. Houston, had give me a “C” for conduct in a Study Hall, because I had refused to pick up trash on the floor. It was a point of honor for me. Several pretty rough guys were always disturbing classes, and on this particular day, she had checed the class several times when they were throwing paper wads, books, etc. She was afriad to admonish them, and when class was over, she told me to pick up the mess. I told her that she knew who made the mess, and they should be told to clean it up. Thus my only non-“A” grade in high school.
 
I dated a few girls in high school, but none more than once or twice except for one, and we dated most of my senior year, and some while I was at Auburn. I knew I was going to West Point, so there was never a question of getting too serious. At that point I was going to be a bachelor general.
 
During my growing-up years, at my grandfther Coffey’s instigation, there was always a 4th of July Coffey re-union, usually held in the grove of the Wheeler Home grounds, and Annie Wheeler was always a welcome guest of honor.
 
My mother frequently would drive “Miss Annie” on shopping trips, or to some philanthropic endeavor. Probably because of this, and because I spent a lot of time with Don Turner (whose father was caretaker of the Wheeler Estate), I would have the opportunity to read to Miss Annie, and listen to her stories of West Point, of her father, and of the opportunities of service to the country. I think this is the genesis of my desire to become a cadet. When I told my father, he was pleased and immediately got me an appointment with Congressman Bob Jones.
 
The Congressman told me that, unfortunately, all of his allotments were full, but if I would wait for a year he would give me a Primary Appointment. I thanked him and then applied for admission to Auburn in the fall of 1953.
 
At the time I knew little about Auburn, but I had visited the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa enough to know that I didn’t like the strong Greek influence, and so off the “Plains.” It was a good choice.
 
I enrolled in chemical engineering courses, and was on the Dean’s List by the end of the first quarter. It was a fun school, mostly male, and had good engineering schools. I had almost forgotten about West Point until one week in May when I received a telegram telling me to report to Ft. Benning (Georgia) for a week of entrance exams.
 
In those days we had batteries of academics as well as physical and medical tests. At the end of the week I was told to get some cavities filled and report to West Point on the 5th of July 1954. And although I had been in many airlplanes before, that trip to West Point was my first commercial air flight.

 
 
Part II 1/17/04
 
When WWII started in Europe, I remember my great-grandfather Ike lamenting the plight of the “poor Finns.” I didn’t know who Finns were, nor did I know who the Poles, the Germans, nor the Russians were, but I was aware that evil people were doing bad things and that the world would forever be changed, because it was spoken of with such dire inferences. But the war did bring jobs, and people started to work, rather than look for work. After years of depression, there were optimistic days when it looked as though the U.S. might stay out of the war.
My father went to Louisville to work as a carpenter building plants for DuPont to produce gunpowder. With that same company, we moved from Kentucky to Birmingham, to Childersburg, and later to Sylacauga. I attended school mostly in Sylacauga, along with Dan and Shirley (cousins), and a number of other children who were there because of war jobs. The war brought lots of men to places where jobs were available, and housing was at a premium.
 
Dad bought a house and Roy and Velma moved in with us.
 
At times there were 4 to 5 other men bunking with us just to have a place to sleep as they usually worked two shifts. Other family members who moved to Sylacauga were Dad’s sisters, (Annie Mae, Dorothy, Jerri), my (Maternal) grandfather John and his family, and some of my distant cousins. Most of them worked in the cotton mills, or construction.
Mom and Velma both delivered babies while we lived in that house, and neither lived to adulthood. (Wilma Jean died at sixteen months.
 
After her death Roy took a job at Oak Ridge, Tenn. Building the atomic bomb development plant.
Dad bought a small grocery store down the street and mom ran the store while Dad worked. We periodically returned to Wheeler to visit, and one Sunday at my grandfather’s house we were listening to Annie play the piano, while my grandfather was in another room listening to the batter powered radio, when he came into where we were and said, “Aye God, they have bombed Pearl Harbor!” The yells and tears that followed made me realize that war was now a horrible, and personal thing, because we had relatives who were already in service.
As the war progressed, there were restrictions, food rationing, re-cycling programs, and constant attention to the news. Much of our news was gotten weekly on newsreels at the local theaters.
After school each day I pulled my little wagon around collecting newspaper to re-cycle. Everyone grew a “victory garden” in their yard, because gasoline, tires, batteries, and many food items were rationed. My playtime was usually with Dan and Shirley and close neighbor kids.
Because of wartime censorship we didn’t know where all my relatives in service were, and it wasn’t until 1944 that I learned that Junior (Mom’s brother), was driving landing crafts at the battle of Tarrawa, and it was only after the war that we knew Granvil was one of the first into one of the death camps, and was on the bridge when U.S. and Russian troops met.
Following the war, Dad moved back home and opened a general store in Wheeler which he ran for the next thirteen years. We lived in Courtland until 1948 when we moved to Wheeler in a house rented from the Wheeler estate, until 1964 when he moved into the renovated schoolhouse.
My junior high and high school years were spent at Courtland and Town Creek. As academics were never a problem, sports were my big interests in school. I had my share of class honors, but I was most proud of playing on championship teams. Of all the kids in school, I best remember those with whom I played ball.
Sometime during my senior year Dad asked me where I wanted to go to college. I knew he was hoping for the University of Alabama, but I told him West Point. That was the first time I had consciously expressed the idea, and it was probably the result of my exposure to Annie Wheeler and her stories.
 
Notwithstanding, Dad arranged a meeting for me with Congressman Bob Jones, and I expressed to him my desire to go to the Academy. The Korean war was still raging, so in any college I would have been in ROTC.
 
unfortunately, Congressman Jones had already committed his spaces, but he said that if I would wait for one year he would give me his Principal Appointment (EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENCES????). So that’s how I went to Auburn (at that time it was Alabama Polytechnic Institute) and studied chemical engineering for one year. Once again, academics were not a problem and I remained on the Dean’s List all three quarters, and I still managed to have a lot of ufn as there were a lot of guys there from North Alabama: Don Turner, Thad Terry, B.H. Corum, Joe Broadwater, Bobby Bowen, and others that made for a nice group to share stories and rides home.
 
I was dating Carolyn Terry whom I started dating in high school, so I made the trip home about twice each month.
 
I was having enough fun that I had almost forgotten about West Point, until the end of May when I received a telegram (this was pre E-mail days) from the Academy telling me to report to Ft. Benning where I would meet guys from all over the southeast for one week of physical and knowledge exams for qualification to enter West Point in July.]
We spent one full week of exhausting mental and physical tests, and while I fared will in comparison to others, I was told that I needed 12 cavities filled, and when that was accomplished I would receive orders to report.