FACTS VERSUS TRUTH

A Commentary by Bill Johns

What kind of double-talk is this? Aren't facts the cloth from which truth is cut? Not exactly; not always. The old moldy example of a two-car race in which the Ford came in second while the Chevrolet could only manage next-to-last; sounds as if Ford beat Chevrolet again. Now, for the truth: This having been only a two-car race would have a great bearing on the truth while essentially no bearing at all on the facts.

Facts are just facts, the refuge of cheats, lawyers, and charlatans as often as of truth-telling honest people. Truth is never the refuge of scoundrels; "the truth shall set you free", as lovely piece of poetry as I've ever read.

Point to all of this? Yes, as a matter of truth, there is. My and my siblings' mother was the kindest, most gentle, peace-maker I've ever been around. But I wasn't around her when she was young. And that's a fact. But her sisters were and they're more than willing to verify the truth of what I've just said.

Take a person like this and drop her down in the middle of some of the most lawless people this country knew between the early 1930's and the early 1940's. Okeechobee, FL was known as the last frontier of the United States until Alaska gained statehood. Also known as being on par with Chicago and parts of New York City for criminal activity during the same time period. The crimes may have been of a different scope and type, but crimes nevertheless.

So, we ask ourselves, just how does a person with this kind, gentle, peacemaking demeanor and disposition cope? She survives and writes stories about these experiences nearly fifteen years later. She can still see some good in murderous, bullying scoundrels:
"These men born in a rough environment, and possessed of complete fearlessness, could have been ( italics mine) real heroes, and some of the stories told about them possesses an element of heroism."

She hesitates to use the common vernacular from that era when referring to some of the victims of these outlaws: "but it seems that killing a 'nigger' ( italics mine) was considered no more wrong than killing a dog, and I'm sure that killing a horse was considered much worse, since people valued their horses."

Those quote-unquote marks speak volumes. That was the common vernacular of the times being used by common people. The quote marks indicate that my mother, the authoress of that piece of writing, was uncommon, not given to using those disparaging appellations, no matter what the norm for that or any other era. That type of appellation demeans the speaker, not the target or even the person trying valiantly to bear witness, to testify, to some of the crimes committed.

We've been given some writings of our mother from 47 years ago that testify to the lawlessness of that ten year period surrounding her, a period when she was essentially powerless to speak out or act. She gave birth to seven children during that time period. She also instilled in her children sufficient respect for other people such that I instinctively went to an old dear friend and his wife for advice about this piece of writing from my mom.

Emmett's wife Barbara told me she would have been offended by this writing when she was much younger and less sure of her own self-worth, but not now. Emmett counseled me to follow the dictates of my heart and to follow the truth. Emmett is currently attending seminary and learning to become a better minister and preacher. We've called each other "brother" for nearly thirty five years. Emmett is one-fourth Cherokee Indian and three-fourths African. Barbara is African. I may be part Cherokee Indian and so many other races that I gave up counting. And just exactly what does race have to do with all of this? Read on.

In honor and memory of my mother

By: Reatha Johns Albury

Alta Ruth Burdett was the second child born to William and Nellie Burdett. She was born in Kenton, Ohio on January 2, 1904. She died an untimely death on January 10, 1957, at the age of 53.

Alta Ruth Burdett Johns had seven living children of which I was the fourth, three older brothers and three younger sisters. She and Daddy married in the early 1930's during the Great Depression. Times were very hard and they lived with my father’s mother for many years. Several of us kids were born while they were living at my grandmother's. I remember my mother as being very kind, honest, and always putting others before herself. She was intelligent and educated, as she had gone to Normal School after high school to study to be a teacher. She always took the side of the under-dog. She endeavored to develop a conscience in her children and instill good moral principles. She used occasions of discipline to not only correct actions, but to teach right ways of thinking. She would not tolerate lying and strongly discouraged gossip. When we were living in the small community of Thonotosassa, the pastor of the church recognized her intelligence and told her that she needed to be teaching Sunday School. She learned to drive a car when she was in her forties.

Mama was not above using a switch to get a point across. One summer day, she looked outside and saw the boys busily cutting the long, limber branches from a mulberry tree in the backyard. They had decided they were tired of being corrected with a switch, and reasoned that to put an end to it, they would cut all of them off of the tree. Mama let them work for awhile and then with a raised voice said, "That’s good. I’m glad you all are cutting all the switches off the tree, now they will be right there when I need one." That kind of put a damper on their enthusiasm for eliminating the switches, and they soon abandoned the project. Sometimes she would make the one who needed correcting, go cut the switch. One of the boys was told to go get her one. He obediently went and cut one from the tree. However, before bringing it to Mama, he made cuts all along the branch so that when she used it on him, it was rather limp and not very effective. When she realized what he had done, she made him go get another one and this time it was very effective. She used pithy sayings often to make a point; such as, the pot calling the kettle black, cutting off your nose to spite your own face, etc. She used a lot of wisdom in dealing with us kids. With so many with such strong personalities, it took the wisdom of Solomon to settle all the disputes, maintain some order, and drive us in the direction we needed to go.

She had a strong faith in God which saw her through many difficult times. During World War II while Daddy was overseas, Aunt Viola and Uncle Charlie, along with several of their kids, came to Florida from Ohio. They stayed with us for some time until they could get the money to buy a house. We lived in a two room house out in the country from Temple Terrace. The living, bedroom combination was a very large rectangular room which I remember being divided into rooms with the furniture. The other room was a large kitchen with a kerosene cookstove and table. Where they put all of us, I don’t remember. Mama made things for our Christmas and she made the girl’s dresses and bloomers out of feed sacks. We used kerosene lamps for lighting the house. The well and pump were in the backyard and the water had to be carried into the house. A washpan or washtub was used for bathing. Later, I remember Daddy bought a gas lamp which had a tall shade on it. It was so much brighter than the kerosene ones, and eliminated the order of kerosene. We were rather isolated, living at the end of a long dirt road. We did not have a car during those war years and even if we had, Mama did not drive. The grocery store was a considerable distance, and I remember walking to it to pick up things for Mama. While Daddy was still in the service, he sent a large box of various things. The only things I remember in the box were two pieces of material for Mama to make dresses for herself and some make-up. One piece of material was red with some small print all over it. We called it her rice and soup dress. Seems the other one was a light blue, light lavender, light bluish green print. Mama said it was made from buttermilk. So we called it her buttermilk dress.

The kids spent most of the time outdoors playing and fighting and we did have a cow that had to be milked twice a day. I have vivid memories of the large stand of bamboo, the beautiful bougainvillea bush, the pomegranate tree, the persimmon tree, an avocado tree, and the small citrus grove with orange trees, grapefruit trees and a tangerine tree. Mama taught us what each of the fruit trees and flowering plants were. There was also a wild persimmon tree with extremely sour fruit on it. The boys thought it great fun to trick one of us into biting into one of those persimmons. When Aunt Viola’s kids came to live with us, they were initiated into the wild persimmon club. There were also some bushes of red hot peppers, which Joe took delight in rubbing in my face and eyes. I remember Mama catching him and rubbing some of the peppers in his face as a lesson. When they were young, the boys had a lot of fun digging caves and playing in them. However, they wanted to keep them a secret from us girls. If we found their cave, they would abandon it and find a more secretive place and dig another one. On one occasion, one of their caves fell in on them. I remember hearing them talk about how they had to frantically dig each other out.

With so many living at our place, Mama and Aunt Viola built an altar out under some large oak trees to have a place for quite meditation and communing with God. They would go out there and pray for the men who were overseas fighting in the war and for our daily needs.

The needs were not just for food and sustenance, but wisdom and patience in dealing with so many children under one roof. And then there was the matter of our safety, as the boys especially had wild imaginations and liked to try daring things. In all likelihood, there was a lot of showing off, especially when Aunt Viola’s kids came to live with us. Sometimes some of us kids would go out with Mama and Aunt Viola to pray, as I remember doing. In later years, when she wanted some time to herself to read the Bible, she would take a quilt and go out under the trees where she could read and think. I wonder how much stress could be eliminated today if we would follow the example of those women. In later years, Daddy had some friends who operated a bar. He pestered Mama to go to the bar with him and finally she relented and went. I don’t think he anticipated what would happen when he took her to a bar. She used the opportunity to pass out gospel tracts to the patrons. I wonder how hard he pressured her to go with him after that. Mama had some rather effective ways of instilling a desire within us to attend school. If we missed the bus we were made to walk to school, which was usually over two miles. I remember an occasion when I was six or seven years old and, along with my brothers, missed the school bus. When we went home, we were told to walk to school and so we started out, but I don’t remember being in a hurry. The school was in Temple Terrace and we lived about two or three miles out in the country. We had to cross a bridge over the Hillsborough River to reach the school. The bridge was made of wide, thick planks which were placed three or four inches apart. When I had to cross that bridge, I clung to the side rail as I gingerly made my way along. The fear of slipping through the cracks and falling to the river below, which seemed like it was 50 feet down to me, was agonizing. Needless to say, this made a deep impression on me and from that experience, I acquired a strong desire to be at the bus stop well before the bus came. Also, if one of said we were sick and could not go to school, we were truly sick. A sick day at home was not much fun, in reality it was torture. It meant a dose of medicine and being confined to bed all day. There was no such thing as being sick for a couple of hours and then getting up to play. In those days the medicine was not some mint, orange, or cherry flavored syrup; it was either castor oil or Epson salts. You know they used to believe a good cleaning out cured most anything. My mouth still contorts and my stomach churns at the thought of those cures, however, they were effective. How many kids learned to hate orange juice because it was used to get a dose of castor oil down. In those days, it wasn’t a spoon full of sugar which helped the medicine go down, it was half a glass of orange juice. After mama was a little older, she began to write down little stories of every day happenings which she found to be funny. By then we were all in school and she had some time away from all the confusion so her creative juices could work.

Everyone who knew her felt that she was a special person who was kind, thoughtful and one who exemplified a Christian

THE JOHNS KIDS

Right after we moved to the house on Nebraska somebody got the bright idea for me to take five of the Johns kids to the Florida State Fair with me. I already had Janet and Ivan. We took the streetcar downtown and then walked to the fair grounds. I told all of the kids to save a nickel so we could ride back home. When we got through the gates (children’s day) the Johns kids scattered like chickens. I spent the whole day trying to round up those kids. Late in the afternoon I went where the police had set up a room for lost kids. Three of the Johns kids were there, sitting in chairs with their heads hung down. They had spent all their money. Our Uncle Pete Franks was there and had picked them up running. Uncle Pete was a cop and Aunt Billie’s husband. I left Janet and Ivan there and Uncle Pete and I went to find the remaining two kids. I found one of the girls, and when I got back Uncle Pete had found the other one. He took all of us home in the police car. I hadn’t gotten to ride one ride or go through the exhibits to enjoy them. This happened about 1942. I was eleven, maybe twelve years old

by Cecelia Greene Wofford ("Corky")

MAMA

According to Hindu folklore there were blind beggars who were asked to feel an elephant and then to describe it. One felt its tail and said an elephant is long and floppy as a rope. Another felt its leg and said the elephant is big, round and very strong. A third felt its trunk and said an elephant is very elastic, round and hanging from the sky.

As I attempt to write about Mama I find that I can only tell about the facets I touched, for she was complex. Any description of her would tell as much about the observer as it would tell about her.

My earliest memory of her is of my standing up in my baby bed and hearing her voice saying, "How’s my baby this morning?" Not so remarkable a memory as one might assume as I probably lived in the baby bed until I could no longer fit, being the youngest sibling in the family as I was. This birth order also meant that I spent one entire school year at home alone with her. I sometimes would follow her around telling her tales I had "made up". One time I told her about a woman who had four daughters. The two she loved were named Evelene and Kathleen. The two she did not love were named Kerosene and Gasoline. She laughed and behaved as though I had given her rubies and diamonds. She did not preach at me or berate me. A simple, "Why, Virginia," was usually enough to crush me. If that didn’t get my attention, I got parked in a corner to think about what I had done. When I wanted to wander through the woods to climb trees or to try to figure out what all of those ants were doing down in those ant hills she simply said it was because I was a dreamer, and she left me alone. Mama sometimes would go out after dark with us, and we all would lie on blankets and quilts to look at the night sky. She knew the names of the constellations. One night she had a special show for us, a meteorite shower.

I grew up thinking I was the only one of the seven of us who was made to walk to school after missing the school bus. Here and there we compared notes, and I discovered that apparently we all had had to do it. That we would attend school was about the only inflexible rule Mama had.

I was only fourteen when she died, but she is forever my compass pointing true north.

_Virginia Isabelle, 4th daughter

"Oh, honey, I loved your mama. She was the kindest, gentlest soul I ever knew. How she ever put up with all those brats I’ll never know." _remarks by her niece and namesake, born on her birthday, January 2,Alta Ruth Higgins Vaughn, April, 2001